The Third Young Master's Sword Yan Shisan

Can autumn. The leaves of the trees were rustling and the sun was setting in the sky. Under the rustling wooden leaves, there is a person standing, as if he has become one with the autumn colors of the earth. Because he is too quiet. Because he is too cold. A kind of indifference and fatigue that has penetrated into the bone marrow, but it also has a compelling murderous aura.