The afternoon sun shines through the gaps in the sycamore leaves and shines on the small bluestone courtyard, giving it a warm and lazy grassy atmosphere. Chen Mo was lying on the old rattan rocking chair in the center of the yard, covered with a thin blanket that was not old and new. As the rocking chair swayed slowly, it made a slight "squeaking" sound.
He closed his eyes and breathed evenly, as if he was asleep. Only he himself knew that his mind was racing through past events.
Those images are not pretty. Blood and fire, betrayal and roar, and the biting coldness and despair when Dantian was destroyed. In his previous life, he climbed up with all his strength, daring to enter any dangerous place, and daring to fight for any opportunity. In the end, the cultivation he gained from a narrow escape was no match for the person next to him who said "trash" softly, and the poisoned dagger.
How stupid.
