The night wind was like a knife, and on the cliff in the sky, the moonlight shone coldly, making the snow epiphyllum on the edge of the cliff look dazzlingly white. The petals tremble slightly and the fragrance floats, seeming to tell the endless loneliness of this desolate place. Ling Hanchuan stood on the edge of the cliff wearing a black robe, with the Frost Sword in his hand pointed at the ground. The remaining blood on the blade had not yet dried up, glowing dark red under the moonlight. His eyebrows were frosty and his face was stern. Only the corners of his slightly pursed lips revealed a trace of exhaustion.
Purpose: Lead readers into a fantasy world