Chengyuan Long Lamp

In the three hundred and seventeenth year of Chengyuan, the throne hung empty, and the gray fog of Xuyuan was approaching. He woke up from the dust of the construction site, with foreign soil in his mouth, and an unknown short knife hanging on his waist. There are five cracks on the spine of the sword that no one can solve, and if you touch it, there will be a buzzing in your head. A bowl of gruel, a square wall, and a boy with ears that are slightly larger than ordinary people. He set up the first stake at the westernmost outpost on the mainland. The undercurrent in the court is surging, the injustice of the old clan has not been settled, the seal is gradually weakening, and something is ready to move in the gray fog. The truth of the fragmentation four thousand years ago is hidden deep in the gray mist, hidden in her blood. He is not a hero. He is just holding a light at the edge of the abyss.