This time, the strange old man didn't bask in the sun in place, it was empty. On the contrary www.biquge.info there were a few soldiers chatting nearby, and they couldn't look at the excitement of the strange old man, they seemed very bored.

The heart of the scrivener box is broken, is it strange that the old man thinks that someone has broken into his territory and moved? He walked into the main hall deep in the ruined temple, but there was still nothing. It's hard to do now, if the old man really wants to leave, where can he go to find it? By the way, there was one last place, and he tried to go to another place.

It was a clearing, in the middle of the ruined temple to the west. Yesterday, it was here that the old man was blamed for most of the day. Fortunately, the old man was still there, basking in the sun on the branches of a tree. Seeing the arrival of the scrivener, as soon as his hand was loosened, the whole person fell down with a whoosh. When he was close to the ground, his body suddenly flipped over, and his limbs landed firmly on the ground.

Good Kung Fu! The scrivener couldn't help but stick out his thumb. The strange old man was very polite, and went up and put the limbs of the scrivener together, and folded them like a quilt. The scrivener feels that the lumbar spine and cervical spine are going to be broken, and the old man is playing harder than yesterday, and he must not be played to death if he continues to play like this!

"Sir, can you be lighter?" The scrivener begs for mercy.

The strange old man ignored it, and still pressed the old generation's body and rolled on the ground. This roll lasted all day, and it didn't stop at noon. The scrivener hurt so much at first that I almost fainted, and it felt like every part of my body was going to be dismantled. Later, he became numb, he didn't feel any pain, and his whole body was numb like electricity.

The old man didn't stop until it was dark. The scrivener felt like his hands and feet were no longer his own, and he couldn't even stand up. It almost climbed down the mountain with a rolling belt. I didn't think about anything but sleep when I got back to my accommodation. Just like yesterday, I slept very sweetly, and when I woke up in the morning, my body was recovered.

The scrivener box is amazing, what is the old man doing here? It won't just be for the sake of self-rectification, right? There's no reason for that! A question suddenly occurred to him: the old man was probably forging his own bones. Thinking of this, he solemnly became serious, it stands to reason that his muscles and bones have died at his age, but under the old man's "rectification", he may be able to regain his vitality. Thinking of the old man's yoga skills, the scrivener thought about it, and how good it would be to learn that skill by himself.

The scrivener didn't dare to slack off anymore, got up early to go uphill, and accepted the old man's "rectification". The strange old man will naturally not be polite, and he will rectify it with heavier means than yesterday......

More than half a month has passed in the blink of an eye, and the scrivener box has been rectified by the strange old man every day. Now he no longer thinks that this is to rectify himself, but to forge his own muscles. These days, I feel as if my body has been rejuvenated, and there is an ethereal and ethereal air in every gesture. It's unbelievable that I can still rebuild my muscles and bones at this age.

The scrivener can no longer be described as just grateful to the strange old man, after all, people have saved his life. If it weren't for someone else's action, the old generation would have died under the saber of the Japanese killer. This kind of kindness cannot be repaid by sending a few meals.

On that day, the bookbox was lucky, and I met two pheasants on the mountain, bang two shots, and the two delicious ones were in hand. He plucked the pheasants, gutted them, washed them, roasted them on the fire, and carried them to the mountains to improve the old man's life. There was no one in the sun, no one in the hall, and no one in the open space where the muscles were sharpened. The scrivener was a little puzzled, where did the old man go? Roasted pheasants don't taste good when they're cold. He had to carry his belongings around the rubble.

I couldn't find a lot of places in a row. The scrivener began to be anxious, where did the old man go? He had to ask the soldiers stationed at the top of the hill. When the soldiers saw the scrivener carrying two roast pheasants in their hands, they immediately became polite, and they came here and brought any gifts. Several soldiers went up to take the pheasant, and each unscrewed a chicken leg and stuffed it into his mouth. The golden chicken is fragrant and crispy in your mouth, and the oil bubbles out along the corners of your mouth.

"Good craftsmanship!" Several soldiers gave thumbs up to the scrivener.

The scrivener was speechless for a while, what else could he say when he was like this. "A few brothers have eaten well, I want to ask you something, where is the strange old man who lives here, do you see it?"

Several soldiers talked while eating: "Morning...... In the morning, I saw it, and you should look for it, and it must be on the mountain. ”

The scrivener is a little deflated, isn't it the same as not saying? He was ready to keep looking.

At this time, several soldiers who ate roast chicken suddenly found out in their conscience, and they felt that they had eaten other people's things but did not help, and they were upset. So he stopped the scrivener: "Wait." ”

The scrivener seemed to see a turning point, and hurriedly turned his head: "What's the matter with the brothers?" Didn't you remember something? ”

One of the soldiers had just stuffed the torn chicken wings into his mouth, clasped his hands around his mouth, and spoke in a low voice, which tasted rather mysterious. "Dude, you can find someone, don't go to the main hall. Ever since people died there, every night has been haunted. ”

The scrivener was deflated, "Just stop me for this?" ”

The soldier nodded: "Yes, this news is not important?" ”

The scrivener rolled his eyes, ignored the other party, and continued to weave through the ruins to search. Waist-high weeds covered a large area of rubble, and only a taller wall could expose the grass, making it difficult to find a man. Turning around and walking into the ruined hall, where four Japanese killers had died, their bodies had long since been removed, and the blood on the ground was still there, but it was blackened. The smell of blood provoked many small animals, and the ground was littered with animal crawling footprints.

The sun was shining outside, and when I walked into the hall, I suddenly cooled down, thinking that someone had died here not long ago, and I felt gloomy. The scrivener has experienced countless lives and deaths, so naturally he will not be frightened, let alone frightened by the nonsense of the soldiers, but he is still a little awkward in his heart. Just as he turned his head to leave, something suddenly slapped him on the left shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that it was a very white and skinny palm, much like the legendary white bone spirit.

The scrivener was shocked, and out of instinct he reached out to touch the scimitar in his waist, but he didn't touch it, his waist was empty, and the scimitar was gone! This has never happened before, and there is an iron ring on the scimitar hanging from the belt, and it is impossible to slip off. There is only one possibility, it was taken away by the person behind him. What a person so fast! If this man wants his life, it's not a matter of minutes!

The scrivener did not dare to slack off, and the upper body twisted downward in an incredible posture, avoiding the palm on the shoulder. Keep your feet still, twist your legs back, and face the person behind you instead of facing back.

This time, I saw it clearly, it turned out to be a strange old man, his hands did not know what was going on, they became thin and white, and he was reincarnated as a white bone spirit. He was carrying a scimitar with chains, which had been removed from the scrivener.