The moonlight pierced the clouds, and the only silver glow reflected the blood stains on the ground very clearly.

It was a different kind of poignancy, the blood and the moonlight reflected each other, the blood was hot, the light was cold, the cold and the heat accepted each other, fused with each other, the bright red blood covered the blue-gray stone road, the bright red had become ochre, and the top was plated with a layer of silver light.

Lin Dingkuo was independent in this, his face had been splashed with blood, dotted with stars, the tip of his tongue was on the root of the lower row of teeth, swept half a circle, his cold eyes glanced at the ground, the corners of his lips hooked up, he was like a bloody Shura.

In his hand was a battered wooden stick,......

"The Dream of Light Rain" one hundred and sixty is in the hand, please wait a moment,

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