The most precious thing is that the prodigal son cannot be bought with money, but Qian Yexue smiled and took a sip of the wine in his glass, breaking away from his poisonous heart.
"To kill me, only those who have killed me once are qualified."
The dim sword is dull and dull.
"And of the people I've killed once, I've never escaped death."
As long sleeves fluttered, nameless snow fell from the sky. Whose heart and tears were chilled?
"Qianye Xue, killing without blood."
No one in the martial arts world dares to face the sword in Qian Yexue's hand alone, the sword in the snow, the sword hidden in the snow.
The blood has stained a thousand lines, and the night has also stained it. But he still smiled softly and slept lazily in the snow, waiting until everything solidified.
Dried blood, loss of life. You will always be the dead soul under my sword.