A Hundred Generations of Taoist Ancestors

At the exit of the Dark Realm, the sky is filled with torrents of death. The black crane in the sky flutters its wings for nine days, and the crane's cry is clear and clear, washing away the evil spirit from thousands of miles away. Ling Yu weathered inch by inch in the annihilation, and her spiritual core was eaten away by thousands of resentments, but she still firmly protected the entrance to the secret realm behind her. At the last moment when the spiritual core shattered, his vision was blurred. In the torrent of silence, it seemed to see a person coming from the end of time - white clothes, a bamboo chair, a pot of tea, and behind him a small green bamboo courtyard, where eleven teenagers were playing and practicing. The man came closer and closer, stretched out his hand towards it, and asked like he did many years ago, "Back?" Xuanhe wanted to scream, but couldn't make a sound. It used its last bit of strength to flap its wings—— Fly in the direction of that person.