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Rainy nights in Lingzhou City always smell of sandalwood and ashes. When Xie Yu was curled up in the woodshed tracing his mother's blurry features, he didn't know that he was carrying a chaotic spiritual root that could swallow up the stars and the moon. All he wanted was a bowl of hot porridge and a winter coat to sew. When the snow on Qingxiao Peak falls on the jade clear sword scabbard, it always stirs up the fragrance of pear blossoms. The youngest elder of Xuanjian Sect leaned over to take care of the medicine field, with half a piece of dawn mist curled up on his clothes. She remembered the fire in Yaowang Valley, and she also remembered that she wanted to cultivate her own way in this absurd world. When chaos touches the ice and snow, When the dark night embraces the moonlight, Two souls who were supposed to have different paths, But we walked onto the same corridor of martyrdom. --This body is like a feather, this heart is towards Kunlun