One Sword Hides the World

They said it was martial arts. In fact, it is the first half of the boy's life. Before Li Mochuan was fifteen years old, he thought the most difficult thing was to master the swordsmanship taught by his master. Only after I was fifteen did I realize that the hardest thing is to live. The fog in Zhongnan Mountain has bones. The young man practiced his sword among the pine needles, thinking that the world was under the mountain. He didn't know that Jianghu was on his chest - a warm birthmark, an old sword that had never been taken out of its sheath, an alcoholic master, hiding a secret on a snowy night. In the 20th year of Jianwen's reign, Gong Shuruo, the head of the Mo clan, blew himself up into powder to buy a baby time to burn a stick of incense. A stick of incense is enough for a person to run out of the bamboo sea with a child in his arms, enough for fifteen years of silent guarding, and enough for a secret to sleep in the fog to this day. Now the ripples have spread. Xiao Chun's three pictures of mountains and rivers were buzzing in Chang'an City, and the perception skills of the Nether Cult messengers were scanning the world inch by inch. The master grew old all night, stood at the mountain pass and said: "Remember to bring back the good wine from the mountain." At the foot of the mountain are the dragon veins of Kyushu, nine pictures of mountains and rivers, a game that spans a thousand years. The young man put his wooden sheath sword on his back and walked into the chess game. He doesn't know what's at the end of the road. "I entrust you with my life, and I hope you will protect me with your life." Nine pictures of mountains and rivers are there, but a sword hides the rivers and lakes.