The snow falls silently, and the mountain gate is as silent as a death tomb. Yun Liao walked through the snow, her white boots stained with mud, and her clothes stained with frost. Behind her, an old sword was thrust into the snow. The blood stains were not yet dry, but the cold light was still the same. The sword was called "Cold Blade" and he left it behind when he left home seven years ago. The scabbard was cracked like a spider web, but the blade still had an unyielding coldness. Today, above the gate of Qingya Sect, a new plaque hangs high - the four characters "Qingya Zheng Sect" are dazzlingly gilded, the ink is still fresh, but there is no other name. The second disciple guarding the gate stopped him, his eyes arrogant: "Who broke into the mountain gate without permission?" Yun Liao did not answer, he only raised his eyes to look at the plaque, his eyes like a knife, slowly scanning every inch of the golden paint. On the snow behind him, a line of footprints snaked like a line of blood, reaching up to the hilt of the sword. "You... Are you Yun Liao?" One of them suddenly trembled, with shock and doubt in his eyes. Yun Liao said nothing, turned around, and climbed the steps slowly. With every step you take, the snow breaks into pieces. He didn't draw his sword, didn't say a word, he just inserted the cold blade into the head of the mountain step steadily, like inserting an old oath. "I
