The peach blossoms in Wangyou Valley are blooming again. Shen Qingci, the chief of the Immortal Sect, stood under the peach blossom tree holding the Frost Flower Sword. The jade pendant on the hilt was as cold as someone's fingertips.
The peach blossoms bloomed ahead of schedule, the moonflower grass beside the cold pool was stained with blood, and the cry "Don't come here" became a dead ringer. When the wind picks up the petals again, no one will quietly dust off the fallen flowers from his shoulders. If he hasn't said anything yet, how many peach blossom seasons will he have to wait for? . . . . .
Intention: Immortals and demons are separated from each other, love is difficult to reconcile, and regrets will last forever