On the Immortal Platform, the sword light is like a forest. Immortal Emperor Xuanwei looked at his close friends and Taoist companions who were surrounding him, and the last thing he remembered was a dark shadow hiding behind the crowd.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw fifteen-year-old Lu Chen clenching his fists on the broken wooden bed in the Qinglan Sect's janitor room.
The spiritual root is still the mixed root of the five elements, the enemy is still young and proud, and there is a return to dust seal hidden in his sleeve, and there is a wisp of sword intent lying in the sea of consciousness that refuses to disperse.
Three thousand years of memories are in hand: he knows which rain will collapse the medicine garden, knows which elixir prescription is priceless, and also knows that in the Mid-Autumn Festival three years later, a bloody night will come to Yunlai County.
From the handyman to the outer sect, from the outer sect to the sword pointing to Kyushu. This time, he didn't just want revenge.
He wanted to ask who was playing chess behind this longevity.
