The evening when Qi Cheng died under Gu Yan's sword was as bright as blood.
He remembered the feeling of the sword cutting into his flesh, and also remembered Gu Yan's eyelashes drooping when he sheathed the sword. There is no pleasure or intolerance in it.
Nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, outside the window was the cicada chirping in the back of the sect when he was sixteen.
Qi Cheng has no great ambitions. I want to live again, just to stay away from that person.
He handed over the transfer order and moved to the most remote medicine valley. No one saw him off on the day he left.
But he saw Gu Yan in the mist at the mouth of the valley.
The young man leaned against the tree with his sword in hand. He stood there for an unknown amount of time, and half an inch of dew fell on his shoulders.
Seeing him coming, Gu Yan raised his eyes.
There was finally something in those eyes. It's very heavy, like a thousand years of frost.
Intention: It is easy to cut off fate with a sword, but it is difficult to cut off the obsession in the heart.