The first time Murong Min met Zhuang Xuan was on a snowy night when he was thirteen years old.
On the day the demonic sect was destroyed, blood flowed like a river. He climbed out of the pile of corpses and fled aimlessly into the mountains and into the heavy snow. He ran until he could no longer run and collapsed in a mountain temple on an unknown mountain.
The wounds hurt, the bones hurt, and the internal organs hurt. But what hurt the most was his eyes - he kept his eyes open desperately, fearing that he would never wake up once he closed them.
The temple door was blown open by the wind.
The wind and snow poured in and wrapped a person. Dressed in white, with a sword on his back, his brows are as cold as frost and snow.
The man looked down at him, his eyes indifferent, like looking at a dying hare.
Murong Zhen opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but only blood foam came out of his throat.
"Still alive."
The man knelt down and reached out to feel his pulse. My fingers were cold, but compared to the snow on the ground, they were still warm.
"The remnants of the demon sect?"
Murong Xin's pupils shrank suddenly.
The man looked at the fear in his eyes, and suddenly gently pulled the corner of his lower lip, half-smiling.
"Don't worry, I won't kill children."
He picked up Murong Min and walked outside the temple.
When Murong Min was unconscious, she heard the man say something in a low voice——
"It does give me a pair of good eyes."
He tried his best to raise his eyelids, trying to remember this face.
Later he found out that this person's name was Zhuang Xuan, the number one swordsman in the sword sect and the moon of sword cultivators in the world.
And he, Murong Min, was destined to be a moon chaser from that moment on.
Intention: Silence is better than sound at this time
