Zhao Layue carried Yin San's body and walked out of the town, stepping on the green grass very lightly.
The bright light from the sky cast an extremely long shadow of her petite body on the ground, which was gradually faded by the brighter light.
The most important thing in the entire continent was happening, but she didn't look back, but just watched the shadow in front of her change in intensity, it seemed that this was more interesting than the vision of heaven and earth.
No one noticed her, and naturally no one saw her expression finally change.
The corners of her lips are slightly raised, and she is smiling.
There were cheers gradually among the peaks.
There seemed to be cheers in the town.
As the sky and the earth became brighter and brighter, the cheers became louder and louder, and her smile became bigger and bigger until she showed the dimples on her cheeks, which was a little cute.
She was really happy and also a little bit regretful.
It would be great if he could be in the same era as a genius like Master Uncle.
Regardless of learning, or anything else.
The cheers among the peaks suddenly disappeared.
No surprises.
The silence at this time represents good wishes.
Like the light that illuminates the world.
Of course, there will still be some regrets after all.
Uncle Jingyang has ascended.
Zhao Layue finally turned around and looked towards the sky.
Looking at the gap that gradually disappeared, and the sword light that was almost invisible, for some reason, he raised his eyebrows slightly.
She looked at the corpse in her hand, her smile gradually disappeared, and she was a little confused and uncertain.
…
…
There is endless moisture in the clouds and mists, and the streams are often accompanied by it.
Not far from Yunji Town, there is a stream. The stream flows around the high cliffs and low hills with mist. After traveling for dozens of miles, it re-enters the wall of another mountain peak.
I don't know how far the stream enters the mountain wall. The waterway is getting wider and the light is getting brighter. There is a stone room inlaid with rare bright jade in the world.
The stone room is very simple, just a stone bed connected to the mountain wall, and there are two rotten futons in front of the bed.
A young man with his hands behind his back looked at the stone bed with his head tilted. Occasionally, the wind would blow up his white clothes.
There was a person lying on the stone bed, covered in blood, with wounds everywhere, narrow or wide, deep or shallow, it was impossible to tell what kind of weapon the wound was from, and his clothes were in tatters. The belt was made of woven fabric, the belt was still intact, and there was a very faint evil spirit that appeared and disappeared from time to time. It was actually made of the tendons of the underworld dragon. There was a waist plate tied on it, but it seemed to be carved from ordinary black wood.
This person has no breath and has long since died. The strange thing is that there is always a layer of mist covering his face, which is so deep that it is impossible to see his face clearly.
Standing in front of the stone bed, the young man looked at the man silently, not knowing what he was thinking.
After an unknown amount of time, he finally spoke.
"Really annoying."
His voice was clean, but a little harsh, and he spoke very slowly, as if he seldom spoke.
Light fell in his eyes.
His eyes are like a sea, seemingly calm and clear, but extremely deep and wide, hiding countless storms and waves.
There is confusion, anger, regret, some fatigue, and some vicissitudes that do not match the age.
After a while, all the emotions in his eyes disappeared, leaving only peace.
It's like the clouds and mist disappearing among the nine peaks, and it's like the light that falls from the sky finally turns into nothingness.
"Some envy you, you can take a good rest, but I have to work for many more years."
The boy in white said to the dead man on the stone bed.
The dead man's belt moved slightly, and the wooden sign suddenly disappeared.
A ray of cold light left the stone bed and flew around his body, illuminating the stone chamber without stopping, before stopping in front of his eyes after a while.
It was a flying sword, about two feet long, the thickness of two fingers, and the blade was as smooth as a mirror. Apart from that, there was nothing unusual about it, but it gave people a very unusual feeling.
The young man in white raised his right hand, and the flying sword fell on its own, with a soft slap, wrapped around his wrist, and gradually darkened, like an ordinary bracelet.
Turning around and walking to the stream, the boy in white suddenly remembered what the man said to him back then.
— It is impossible for a person to step into the same river twice.
really
Thinking about this question, he walked into the creek.
…
…
The stream runs through the mountain for an unknown number of miles, and exits on the other side of the mountain, forming a small waterfall more than ten feet high, which is very beautiful.
The boy in white fell down from the cliff along the stream, and was about to walk on the water, but his feet broke through the water and fell into the lake.
It wasn't until he floated into the depths of the lake and his feet touched the bottom of the lake that he roughly understood what happened and was a little surprised.
But he didn't seem to know what expression to use to describe the emotion of astonishment, so he looked a little dumbfounded.
The slightly cold lake water had no effect on him. He opened his eyes and looked around, and saw a stone at the bottom of the lake.
He picked up the stone from the bottom of the lake, walked forward along the terrain, getting closer and closer to the water surface, until he walked out of the lake and came to the shore.
There was a muffled sound, the ground shook, and the water on the shore swelled slightly. It was because he put down the stone in his arms. One could imagine how heavy the stone was.
He was drenched all over and felt a little uncomfortable. He thought about drying his body with sword fire, but found nothing appeared.
The dripping hair and the wet clothes clinging to his body reminded him that a fire should be lit at this time, and then he remembered that he had never lit a fire.
He tilted his head, recalling the books he had read many years ago, and repeated in a dry voice: "Dry grass and branches of different thicknesses are needed."
After confirming that all the water in his left ear had flowed out, he turned his head to the right, continued to rummage through those long memories, and said, "If you don't have flint, you need crystals, or drill wood."
There was a forest on the shore. He walked into the forest, stretched out his hand to stroke it, the fallen wood rustled down, and soon piled up into a hill.
He picked the smoothest piece of wood from the inside, and put a few lint under the bark on it. With a slight movement of his mind, the silver bracelet on his wrist became the little sword again, and hovered over it.
The sharp sword edge was pressed against the wood chips through the silk, and it spun at an unimaginable speed. Soon there were sparks, then blue smoke, and then flames.
Clothes rest on branches, steaming.
Looking at the thickness and rising speed of the steam, the boy easily calculated that it would take another three minutes for the clothes to dry completely.
What to do during this time is something that he does not need to think about.
All time has only one purpose for him.
He sat down cross-legged, closed his eyes and began to meditate and practice, looking very natural.
But the next moment he opened his eyes and thought blankly, what is the entrance formula