The old man pursed his lips and smiled lightly, with an indistinguishable smile in his eyes, and still sat under the oil umbrella and drank his own wine.

In the early morning of the third day, the continuous snow finally stopped, and the plum blossoms planted horizontally and vertically on the mountainside quietly bloomed unconsciously.

The old man sat on the other side of the wooden door and drank with his shoulders draped, squinting his eyes, admiring the scattered plum blossoms from a distance, and then watching the occasional speckled blood red in the cold wind fall on the snow with the wind, splashing a different kind of demonic red.

Redder than the petals of the plum blossom was the blood of the young man, and he knelt there quietly with his hands tied, without saying a word, with an indifferent expression, like a wounded wolf king on the snowfield, licking his wounds arrogantly.

The young man's slender arms were wrapped in a white cloth, which had been torn from the placket of his robe, and the wound on his arm oozed blood.

The wind was cold and cold, his thin robe was already scattered in pieces, his palms were swollen from the cold wind, and then cracked like broken porcelain, and his fingertips were covered with blood.

His delicate face under the ground was also dried up by the cold wind, and he looked really depressed, like a beggar begging on the street.

It's just that the unruly look between his eyebrows has not diminished in the slightest, as if the gods of the Nine Heavens have been knocked down to the mortal world, and his spine is still upright.

His long, thick eyebrows, covered with tiny flying snow, stood diagonally sideways, like a sharp sword unsheathed.

The corners of the old man's mouth raised a slight arc to look at the young man, and his expression fell into reminiscence.

It was also a cold winter with heavy snowfall, the thick snow could not reach the horse's legs, and the mountain under his feet was not called Guigu at that time, and his hair was not so gray at that time.

At that time, he was also a young man, kneeling in front of his door, burying his head very low, and said respectfully.

"Sir, I'm here to apprentice and learn the art of dragon slaying!"

"What's your name?"

"Nalan Shanyue!"

"Where are you from?"

"Far away!"

"Why did I take you?"

"I should preach the name of the teacher to the world, and the teacher's doctrine should be admired by the world!"

"Not enough!"

The boy looked up and down, was silent for a long time, and then looked up again.

"I am willing to practice this way with my own example, ten years like a day, until the sun and the moon change to a new day!"

"My doctrine only accepts two disciples in my life, and you are the first!"

"Thank you, teacher!"

"I will only teach you for ten years, and in ten years, you will learn more and ask more questions, and you can learn a few points of your skills and see your creation. Ten years later, you go down the mountain to do your thing, don't go back to the mountain if you can't do it! ”

Twenty years have passed, and there is a big dream in the world!

The old man bowed his head and chuckled, and blew a strange whistle, and the strangely dressed servants immediately pushed the door open and carried the old man back into the house.

The young man looked at the back of the old man leaving, his expression darkened, and he took out the remaining dough cake from his arms, his eyes were cloudy, and there were two dough cakes.

"Xiang Zhuang, the glory of the Jinding family is waiting for you to inherit, and the souls of the ancestors are watching you!"

His voice was so hoarse that he couldn't even distinguish it, like the roar of a wild beast, and he laughed silently with his chapped lips tugging.

The young man's smile retracted, and he slowly leaned down and buried his head in the high snowdrift, his expression not sad or joyful.

He straightened up again, silently facing the closed wooden door, and the sky gradually became dark again.

"You're really stubborn."

"Please pass on my dragon slaying skills."

"How do you know I have the art of slaying dragons?"

"I've heard about sir. I've been looking for a long time for sir's whereabouts. ”

"Do you know what the art of dragon slaying is?"

"Yes."

"Then you think I'll teach you?"

"I can wait."

"I can't wait long, you're going to die tonight, you won't live long."

The old man shook the snowflakes on his sleeve robe, and the three attendants quietly carried the sedan chair out, and the old man leaned lazily on the soft collapse.

This time the old man did not set up a wooden table at the door to drink or enjoy the snow under an umbrella, the weather was getting colder and colder than the previous days, and the howling wind swept through the valley, rolling up the snow on the ground.

The last half of the boy's bread was also finished, the dough was as cold and hard as a stone, he didn't know how many times he chewed it and didn't chew it, he finally swallowed it raw, his mouth was full of small wounds that had been cut, and the smell of blood was full, and his stomach seemed to be cut inch by inch by a knife.

The boy knelt in the snow and rubbed his legs and arms vigorously, it was too cold, he didn't dare to let his legs and feet lose sensation now, he always kept rubbing his hands and feet, otherwise it would only take a moment for his hands and feet to freeze, and he would die unconsciously.

He doesn't want to be a man without hands and feet, he still has a long way to go in the future, he has to do big things, and he has to overthrow a dynasty.

All the sounds are silent, and the moon is on the mountain.

He passed out at some point, and slowly opened his eyes, the cold moon hung on the snow-white mountain, and he was already half buried in the snow.

He struggled to get up, but his whole body was already stiff, and only the last bit of heat in his chest seemed to support him.

He lay on his back in the snowdrift, and saw the great stars in the night sky, and he vaguely heard the sound of the sound of the mountain forest, a low roar, and a panting breath, and he knew that it was the hungry beast that had come out to feed.

The boy saw in the cold moonlight the beast that was coming straight to him, a blind bear two feet tall, with fanatical colors in his eyes, walking towards him step by step.

The boy could already smell the stench on the blind bear's fur, and he knew he was going to die, and he began to struggle and swing his hands.

"You can't die yet! Can't die yet! Can't die here! ”

He said to himself that he was desperately trying to swing, but his body was already full of exhaustion in his bones, and the most terrible thing was that his legs and feet were not felt.

What stunned the blind bear was the boy's dying roar, the scream that would allow him to escape from the mouth of a hungry beast.

"My name is Xiang Zhuang!"

"I'm coming from far away!"

"I want to serve Mr. Broom, always accompany me, and learn the art of dragon slaying from Mr.!"

"I can't die! I still have a lot to do! ”

No one dared to imagine that a dead person could make such a sound, it was simply a roar of a tiger, deafening, squeezing out every trace of strength in the young man's body, every trace of desire to live.

No one knew what the young man was trying to say at the end, and he ignored the beast that was approaching him, but stared at the darkness of the night with wide eyes, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks on either side.

The three slaves exchanged glances, the young man named Xiang Zhuang had lost his voice, and after receiving the old man's reply, the blind bear had fallen to the ground when they raised their knives in their hands.

The wooden door was vigorously pushed open by the slave, and the creaking boy was placed beside the warm fire, and the old man sat quietly on the soft floor, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he did not look at it.

"What's your name?"

"Xiang Zhuang."

"Where did it come from?"

"Far away."

"Why don't you go the long way?"

"I hope to be able to hold a broom, Mr. Chang is around."

"What about serving me?"

"I hope to learn the art of dragon slaying from Mr."

"Then, come with me!"

When the servants carried Xiang Zhuang into the wooden door and placed it beside the fire, the old man looked at him silently, Xiang Zhuang only looked at the old man with straight eyes, and he could not say a word.

"But you're right, you are more sincere than anyone else.

Then you are the one I have to wait for, my last disciple, I have been waiting for you for many years! ”