Night.
Cold night.
The cold night locks Kunlun.
The snow is like a knife and the wind is like a sword, blowing through the pass made of black iron. There are two broken lamps hanging on the wall. The wicks are dancing staggeringly, illuminating the people standing under the wall.
Green shirt, white hair, carrying a sword.
The name of the sword is "Zhenguo", and the scabbard is engraved with a map of mountains and rivers, but it is covered with three feet of frost and dust.
"You're here." He didn't look back, his voice was colder than the snow outside the pass.
"I'm here." The person who came was dressed in black like ink, with bone-eroding ghost patterns embroidered on his sleeves. "Xuantie Pass is about to be broken, and all the immortal sects are hiding in the sea of clouds. How can you, a useless immortal, hold on?"
The man in green shirt turned around, and there was a star-like light in his eyes, which was the immortal essence that was not extinguished, and the blood that was not yet cold.
