On the day Jiang Suihan accepted Mo Qianjin as his disciple, there was a heavy snowfall in the Qingheng Immortal Sect.
The young man knelt in the snow and looked up at him, his eyes astonishingly bright.
"Master, from now on, my life is yours."
Three years later, Jiang Suihan stabbed his sword into his heart.
Blood splashed on the snow, but Mo Qianjin didn't hide.
Before he died, he just asked: "Master, are you a little bit reluctant to let go?"
Two hundred years later, Mo Qianjin came back.
Still the same face, still the same smile, seemingly unchanged at all. The scene in front of Jiang Suihan overlapped with that of two hundred years ago.
He looked at Jiang Suihan on the high seat and said softly:
"Master, you are fine."
"Two hundred years."
"The last sword you taught me back then, my disciple will return it to you today."
Intention: Obsession breeds hatred, but it is also resolved by love. The real salvation is to dare to face the past.