Five years ago, he was the number one swordsman in the Shence Army of the Great Zhou Dynasty. He entered the Xuan Xiang Realm at the age of eighteen, and all the generals in the court bowed their heads when they saw him.
Five years later, the Great Zhou Dynasty died.
He was poisoned so much that he lost one of his legs and dragged a broken medicine box along the street to treat people. I asked for food, tried medicine, and buried refugees who froze to death on the roadside.
There is something in his head that always pops up a string of numbers after he saves someone.
He didn't know what it was. All I know is that if the number goes up, the poison will be lighter and the life will be longer. When it reaches thirty, it can suppress half of the poison. When I reach fifty, my legs can regain some warmth. When it reaches one hundred, you can hold the sword again.
So he tried his best to save people. Save one and raise it a little. Like trying to survive in the snow.
Until that day, he saw a child in the crowd.
The child was holding half a dragon-patterned jade pendant in his hand and said:
"I am the prince of Zhou Dynasty."
He said, "Follow me."
But behind him, Daikin's master had already arrived.
Lu Wuya slowly stood up and held down the rag wrapping the sword with his left hand.
"Today, who is not afraid of death?"
