Hidden Blade

Jinling City is full of plain.

At the end of the three-day national war, monk's coffin was carried out from Changle palace in the morning.

The Dragon chariot opens the road, and the emperor carries the coffin.

Not to mention the state of Chen, even since ancient times, no prince has been able to have such a special treatment.

On both sides of the streets of Jinling City were filled with people who came to see them off. Some of them were dignified and respectful. Some women looked sad and wanted to cry. Some children looked at them. Although they didn't know why, they were infected by the scene and did not dare to play.

After that, the mourning music began to play, and the official in front of him drank high.

"Return of soul, return of soul!"

The people on both sides worshipped and sang in mournful tones: "the soul returns, the soul returns!"

This sound is continuous, occupying the head of Jinling City for a long time.

In the crowd, a man in black with a sword on his back looked at the coffin moving slowly, and his eyes suddenly fell on the white haired emperor who lowered his head to carry the coffin.

At that moment, the killing machine ran out of control from the man's body. The blue veins on his forehead burst out, and his eyes became blood red in an instant.

His hand stretched out slowly and was about to press on the hilt of his back.

But at this time, an old hand stretched out from behind him, holding the hand that he was about to grasp the handle of the sword.

Man a Leng, side head look, but see an old man with white hair is standing behind him.

"Master!" He exclaimed in surprise.

The old man took a deep look at him and said, "go back to the mountain with me."

After saying this, the old man did not pay attention to the struggle of the man. He pulled up his clothes and stirred up. At that time, their figures disappeared in the streets of Jinling City.

Not far away, the white haired emperor who lowered his head to carry the coffin seemed to feel something. He raised his eyebrows slightly, but at the next moment he returned to the original state. He sang with the crowd: "the soul returns, the soul returns!"

The tone is mournful, just like all the people in the city.

...

from the top of the mountain, in the imperial palace.

The old man with white hair sat opposite to Meng Liang on the low couch.

"Master, why do you stop me?" Monliang looked at the old man and asked in a low voice that he had never seen before.

"Have you ever played?" The old man blew the warm water in the teacup, not salty, not urgent or slow.

"The hatred of killing my father is a bitter feud, but we should fight it if we can't beat it!" Meng Liang's hand shaking slightly, he had to use all his strength to restrain himself, in order to ensure that he would not crush the cup that the old man had always cherished.

The old man did not seem to feel Meng Liang's anger at the moment. He lowered his head and said, "that's to find death?"

"Master, I have also achieved some accomplishments in Jianling these days. If I had to fight for my life, I would not have tried..." Meng Liang frowned. He did not like that the old man stopped him from taking revenge for his father, nor did he like the attitude that he looked down on him, who was once an expert at leaving the mountain.

But before he finished his argument, the old man looked up at him again and asked, "have you become an immortal?"

Meng Liang's voice stopped for a while, and he shook his head. His momentum was a little weaker: "still a little bit worse..."

"less?" The old man asked again, but his eyes narrowed suddenly.

Most of all, Meng Liang's momentum weakened a little bit: "just now in the middle of Dayan state..."

but soon he regained his strength and said in a loud voice: "but so what, I have a fierce sword and an evil dragon. Can Chen Xuanji still be an immortal?

the last word" Cheng "was trapped in Meng Liang's throat and could not be vomited any more The old man opposite him nodded in silence.

Meng Liang's heart was terrified, but he was not a man who was afraid of life and death. He was about to say something more.

"Chen Xuanji is a genius. He can bear the title of Kendo or intelligence. If your father chooses him, he is the only one who can afford this responsibility." The old man seemed to see through Meng Liang's mind, and he said again.

"What do you mean?" Meng Liang was confused.

The old man took out a letter from his arms and handed it to Meng Liang. He said, "your father asked me to give it to you."

"Well?" Mengliang took the letter and unfolded it slowly in his own hands with confusion.

As he read the letter, his face grew ugly, and at the end of the day it turned into an indescribable anger that he had restrained. His eyes turned blood red, and his hand holding the letter trembled.

The indifference on the old man's face dissipated at that moment. He went to Mengliang's side, put his hand on his shoulder, and said, "go back to Jianling, there's a big problem..."

...

in the hearts of the barbarians who were born and died in the South wilderness, the people in the sword tomb are the gods of heaven.

In the oral stories handed down from generation to generation, it was the gods in the sword mausoleum who taught them to hunt. They just had something to eat and taught them to make a fire. They were able to spend one long cold night after another.The tribes of the barbarian tribes in the southern wilderness have been in turmoil for years. It is not uncommon for Wang Ting to change his name. However, no matter who takes the seat of the royal court, before the end of autumn every year, the helmsman of the royal court will lead his wife, children and children to the sword mausoleum to send rich tributes to thank the gods for their protection.

This year is no exception.

The king of the new Jin Dynasty is a strong man about nine feet tall. It is said that he has great strength and can tear open the tiger and leopard with his bare hands. The last king of court died in his hands. The change of power of barbarians was always like this. Of course, in the Central Plains, this did not change at all. It was just that the former put it in a dignified way, while the latter preferred to give him a high sounding reason.

The Lord of the king's court is called "Wuda" by the barbarians. In the simple and deficient system of barbarian language, Wuda means double heaven.

The name of the god man in Jianling is "Mora", which means a heavy sky.

The new Wuda, with his family and more than a hundred warriors, came to the sword tomb.

Wuda was very grateful to Mora in Jianling. He thought that it was the protection of mora that he could defeat the former Wuda. For this reason, he prepared a very rich tribute - three fat sheep, a cow and more than ten pheasants.

But when they came to Jianling gate, Mora had already stood there early, waiting for them.

It was the first time Wuda saw Mora. He was a little excited. He was dissatisfied with looking at each other up and down. It was an old man who looked very old and thin. If he was put in the tribe, such an old man would not survive. The south is barren. If a tribe wants to survive in this place, it must follow some cruel logic.

Everyone in the tribe must play a role in hunting, breeding and grazing. Once lost its function, that person will be abandoned by the tribe and walk into the southern wilderness alone and die alone.

However, Wuda didn't despise the image of mora. In fact, there is such a story about the immortal in Jianling. There is more than one mora, but only one white haired Mora is the real Mora. The rest of the mora are his incarnations. He can be a teenager, a beautiful woman, or anyone. You can see it every time Wuda worships Mora There are all kinds of mora, but only when Wuda, who is really favored by mora, can you see the real body of mora, that is, the old man with white hair.

When UDA thought of this, he couldn't help feeling a little excited.

The tribute procession knelt down in front of mora, and they called out devoutly in Savage language, "long live Mora."

Then, according to the usual practice, Wuda's team came forward and put the prepared tribute in front of mora, and then Wuda, kneeling on the ground, carefully looked up at Mora to see whether the other side was satisfied with the tribute he had prepared from his face.

And he was surprised to find that after sweeping his tribute, a smile really appeared on his old face. Of course, Udana is not outstanding wisdom, and can not tell the difference between a wry smile and a smile.

He began to look forward to Mora talking to him, which was a rare honor of Wuda. Many times, Mora would leave after receiving the tribute, but there were so few UDAs who could get the favor of mora and say something to them.

Maybe it's because I can't forget it.

After seeing the tributes, Mora suddenly looked up at Wuda. His mouth really opened slowly at that time.

UDA's heart was raised to his throat at that time. He was staring at mora, waiting for the oracle of the immortal population.

"From next year on, there will be no more deliveries." This is what Mora said in Savage language.

That simple more than ten words fell into Wuda's ears. Just now Wuda, who was still secretly proud of his own luck, almost fell to the ground like the world collapsed at this moment.

After a good meeting, he just came back to his mind. He looked at the mora in bewilderment and panic. He explained in Savage language: "Dear mora, if the tribute makes you dissatisfied, I can go back to the tribe to prepare more generous tribute for you. Please do not abandon me."

The old man shook his head and responded in barbarian language: "no, there will be no sword mausoleum in the world soon..."

in Wuda's mind, Mora naturally exists omnipotent, such existence naturally does not have the concept of death, and Wuda's understanding of the old man's words inevitably turns into the idea that Mora will leave the world.

He was suddenly in a state of confusion. The procession leading the tribute paid repeatedly kowtowed to the old man. He said something in his mouth, which was to pray that Mora would not leave and continue to protect Nanhuang.

The old man grinned bitterly and shook his head. Finally, he put aside his thoughts and told them in detail. He was not unwilling. It was just that such a thing was too complicated for these barbarians.

He simply turned around and stepped into Jianling.

Wuda looked at the back of the old man's leaving, and their retention gradually turned into a shrill cry.

The old man listened to the voice coming from his ear. He felt a little melancholy at the bottom of his heart. He sighed, but he took a step againAt that time, the song of mora was heard again in the ears of the barbarians, which was the hymn handed down from generation to generation by the barbarians in a language they did not understand...

there is a tomb in the southern wilderness.

We don't bury the guests when they come.

No burial, no return.

There is a man in the grave.

Guard thousands of blades.

Keep to eternity.

The sun rises and the sand sets.

When the moon comes, the rivers roll.

He's waiting. He's waiting.

When the nine petals of the lotus blossom, the immortal falls into the dust...

at the end of the song, Mora sighs.

"Well, I can't see that day after all...

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