Demons, gods, spirits, rivers and lakes.
On Wudang Mountain, a young Taoist priest with disheveled hair and a sword was ordered by his master to go down the mountain to look for someone; outside Wulong County, a girl in indigo clothes stood with her sword in front of everyone.
The ancient sacred trees are hidden deep in the mountains in the southwest, and the pre-Qin demons have been waiting for thousands of years in the depths of the world. In the night market, under the red light, I don't know how many are humans and how many are monsters; in the wine shop, Hu Nu smiled and avoided other people's hands, her tail swaying slightly under her skirt.
One person, one sword, and one stick.
A lot is written on the Lingtai, once every seven days - asking about good or bad luck, asking about the future, and asking whether this journey through muddy water is worth it.
The demon-slaying sword is unsheathed, slaying demons and ghosts, and killing all kinds of spies.
Someone asked: Beiji Xuantian responded in vain. That position has been vacant for hundreds of years, how dare you fight for it?
Cui Cheng smiled.
The road is at your feet, the Tao is in your heart, and the sword is in your hand.
