During the five hundred years that he was imprisoned in Xueya Mountain by his senior brother Ji Yuyin, Zhou Fuxue briefly fell in love with a little sword cultivator who accidentally fell in.
But it turned out that Xiao Jianxiu, who often blushed at Zhou Fuxue, only wanted his blood.
The white-haired man was lying in the cold and biting snow, with blood staining the ground under his body, and a slight smile appeared on his indifferent face.
"It doesn't matter, I will kill him." Zhou Fuxue thought in vain.
Five hundred years later, Tan Xieyan, once the proud son of heaven, died under the nameless sword.
Zhou Fuxue, on the other hand, played the harp and mourned her late husband, and briskly wrote the 218th letter to Lidu.
Intention: Love yourself