In the miasmatic land of Lingnan, the spiritual veins are exhausted. Longyan, a casual cultivator, lived here for twenty-three years in a leaky banana shed and practiced with a chipped iron sword for eight years before building the foundation. There is only one sentence that can be said about him in a hundred miles away: "That shameless toad."
That year, Su Ziwei, the saint of Yaochi, went south to get rid of the flood dragons. She was poisoned by someone and fell into a mountain stream. When he woke up, he found himself lying in a leaky shack, and a young man in patched clothes was squatting at the door, brewing medicine. The medicine bowl was broken and the medicine soup was as black as mud.
"Is this drinkable?" She frowned.
"Yes." He handed the bowl over and grinned, "I've tried poison."
It was the worst medicine she had ever drunk in her life, and it was also the stupidest person she had ever met in her life.
Later, she recovered from her injuries and left, leaving a distance of three hundred thousand miles between them. Everyone says that a toad cannot eat swan meat. Until the No. 1 Sword Sect in Zhongzhou came to ask for marriage with the entire spiritual line as a recruit. On the day when the wedding date was set, the Lingnan cultivator appeared outside the gate of Yaochi Mountain with a broken sword on his back.
"What are you doing here?" Someone asked.
He slammed his sword on the ground and said, "Come and steal the bride."
Reader comments
It's very beautiful, better than other routines.
Yes, at least some people can have the desire to read it. Some novels are simply unbearable.
It's very beautiful, better than other routines.
Yes, at least some people can have the desire to read it. Some novels are simply unbearable.
Nice! Come on, author!