Library

The rain in the west mountains of Chengdu always falls hardest at midnight. When the copper bell on the eaves shook the rain curtain, Lu Zipei could always hear the sobs in the jade flute - the "talisman" forced by Ye Luoxue contained the sigh of a certain god three hundred years ago when he was cutting out the bones. The storyteller on the street corner knocked on the faded wake wood and chewed over and over the old story of Shura Devouring the Sky, but no one knew that the blood jade pendant hanging under the eaves of the tea house was a tear dropped by Qing Yi during his reincarnation. The sword spikes of the Eighteen Soldier Immortals are still stained by the thunder and fire of Sishui Pass, and the chess game of good and evil has reached the ninth level. Qiu Moyu squatted in the ruins and gnawed on candied haws, wrapped in sugar-coated talismans. When he bit them into pieces, he saw the last hexagram drawn by the one-eyed old fox in a pool of blood; Song Zhenyao played the ice-stringed pipa on the seventh night, and what was on the strings was not frost, but the rust oozing out of Jin Zhongshen's bones. This is a chess game in which the common people are at the heart of the game. The jade cicadas between the twins' necks locked the contract of killing gods, but the flesh and bones of the mortal fetus were filled with Shura's curse. When Qing Junli's sword edge reflected the blood moon in Qin Huanyang's pupils, the cracked pendant suddenly chuckled: "Guess who is in the hunting ground and who is in the cage?" It's still raining. Blood drops dripped from the tile, writing a prophecy of annihilation on the bluestone: "It rains heavily at night in the Western Mountains, but heaven and earth do not disobey."