The sound of the whisper has faded, the person has passed away, and everything is as if it never happened...
He was still sitting at the foot of the sun-drenched mountain, gently wiping a pure black sword with a light blue handkerchief.
The clean sword blade reflected the man's angular face, which was so determined.
"Don't stop fanning because of the wind and rain. This heart-breaking song only sounds from the north. The low-rise building and the path to the south of the city are like the golden saddle facing the fragrant grass." Half of Li Shangyin's poem came out of his mouth. A swordsman who can recite poetry is strange, right?
The sunlight hit him, and the shadows on the ground looked so sparse, so lonely, so lonely...