Before I could find out his name, a passerby informed An.
Wear a forget-me-not sword.
On the night of September 9th, all passers-by were planting dogwood trees, but Liu An was walking alone.
Like a cold wind blowing through, the sword aura is awe-inspiring.
Memories are like an abyss, and Liu An thinks that there is no harm in having a sword in his hand.
Liu An's brain would feel unbearable pain whenever he started to recall it.
I simply didn't want to think about it and looked around for a place to return.
At this time, I passed by the tavern and stopped to rest.
