The three-foot sword light also returns to the sun and the moon, illuminating the dust of the rivers and mountains. - - Heroine's perspective: Song Huiya woke up with a serious injury on the mountain road, and only half a breath was left, so he could save a life, but his cultivation was a big loss, and he didn't remember a little bit of the past. She rummaged through her belongings, and the only thing worth a little was a sword that looked like broken copper. She's supposed to be a swordsman with little merit. Song Huiya thought. The swordsman profession is really poor. Then he found out that he had been a boy who had scattered wealth, giving grace everywhere, and most of these people were now successful and wealthy. admired her even more, and chased her with tears in his eyes and said, "Senior sister, I don't know how to repay it!" "I know." Song Huiya took out his notebook and said, "Don't worry, I've written it down." ” …… What kind of swordsman are you here?! Rich friends!! -- Male protagonist's perspective: The male protagonist's life is uncertain, and he moves forward on the powerful knife mountain. I am used to seeing false feelings, and I have seen too much love in the world, and I rarely have sincerity. There was an unspeakable and depressed past, and I recognized a fellow sister who was not very decent. The other party was born in the market, humble as an ant, tough as a grass, although he is extremely talented, he seems to be born with a little less blood. At that time, the monsters were rampant, all over the wilderness, and the male protagonist was so ambitious that he couldn't show it, and he couldn't get used to her hippie smiling face and self-depraved appearance. Coax her to drive herself in a few words. Later, it was also the little senior sister who bowed her head and broke the knots, accompanying him to travel in the snow and break the siege of thousands of people. He also cut off his left hand, turned his back on his name, was chased and killed by ten directions, and fought a bloody battle without a name. For more than ten years, I have been deeply grateful. thought she had already died in that nameless encirclement and suppression, but many years later, she met her at an inn outside the capital. The man who set off countless bloody storms in the rivers and lakes leaned on the windowsill with his eyes closed and pretended to sleep. Hearing him approaching, he only asked with a light expression: "Who are you?" ”