[Traditional fantasy + no system + mortal flow + magic + no heroine]
It took Song Wujiang a year to make the old devil Wei Duan completely let down his guard.
He did not hesitate to cut off his sister's head to present a certificate of surrender. Seventy-three bowls of poison brewed by his own hands gradually eroded the meridians.
Every morning when I knelt in front of the futon to say hello, I hid my murderous intention in the most submissive smile.
He has three spiritual roots, and he is willing to worship the loser on the second floor of Qi Refining. He has been pretending to be a dutiful and virtuous disciple for a year, and he is waiting for tonight.
The poison penetrates into the bones, the cultivation is crushed, and the black flag is in hand.
Wei Duan, the old demon cultivator, vomited black blood and stared at him in disbelief.
Song Wujiang tore off the mask he had worn for a year, and said softly with a curve in the corner of his mouth.
"Master, it's time to enter the Ten Thousand Souls Banner."
