The spring rain is still wet in the deep alley, and there are not many pedestrians.
Several umbrellas float silently in the warm air, flowing slowly over the city.
Wen Shuiyu walked through the bumpy path with his head lowered, his expression as calm as a spring rain.
The general in military uniform stood in front of the young man, his expression stern, but everything that blew in the wind was soft and gentle. His cloak is scarlet than blood, and his eyebrows are a little cinnabar. Staring at both sides, there was no gap, and how could it be seen? Then he came and stood on the roof in the distance, holding the famous sword Feixue. At that moment, the language became pale and bleak, with nothing to say and nothing to rely on. For the first time, the feeling of defeat gripped him, like a drop of blood melting into the lake. No matter how hard you try, you can no longer pull it away.
As proud as he is, he knows that his defeat is complete.
So what if he won the world for him, but he was overthrown by one person.