Bai Wuji's heart was tightened, and he felt a pang of colic at this moment.

"I'll prove it to you." He said firmly, "I will be better than him." …… It's not about beating him, because I've already lost, so you should take it as ...... It is the prodigal son of this rebel who turns back. ”

The two stood in the silver-gray fluttering grass, both of them teary-eyed. However, the gaze that passes on to each other is no longer confrontation and rebellion, but the strength that can transmit heat to each other.

After pondering for a long time, Lushan Ling slowly opened her mouth:

"Glazed seawater...... Right. You, come with me. ”

…………

The Nether Days have been in full swing for two days. The beacon fire under the blockade of blood mist is like an undisciplined naughty child, noisy and endless. And the Qingya Academy and the Golden Halberd Fengjian, which each reside at one end of the Nether Heaven, are the core hinterland of the Beacon Fire.

Qingyuan boundary. Since Dongfang Shiming and others joined, the dying battle situation has eased slightly, but the turmoil has not yet been restored, and it is only a matter of time before the Seven Factions of the Golden Halberd fall.

The seven factions used all the solutions and launched a breakthrough in two days, but all ended in failure.

The military camp of the Nine Shadows gradually approached the canyon. The heavy army is pressing, and the remaining hope is like a candle in the wind, ethereal.

- At least, that's what it seems.

In the Nine Shadow Barracks, a lazy figure rarely appeared, but after some disguise, no one recognized it.

It's getting late. As autumn approaches, the days begin to shorten. Before the halfway point of the unitary time, the darkness engulfed most of the blood mist, and the blood light in the distance also dimmed, and the surroundings began to be unable to see clearly.

The tent was built on a meadow, and not far from the sparse woods. The Qingyuan Territory is a small basin in the group of peaks, and it is indeed a little barren compared to the surrounding peaks.

In the private rooms of the camp tents, a wounded soldier with half of his face covered in blood-stained cloth flashed. The exposed half of his face was also extremely rough, and there was a scar hanging on his cheek, which was very ugly no matter how you looked at it.

He walked slowly, leaning over to a burning fire. It was even more lively, and he could hear the noise from afar.

Through several linen tent curtains, his ugly face was suddenly reddened by the firelight in front of him.

Around the fire, there were many soldiers drinking and merry, more than 100 of them. They plucked the grass in advance, and the dry soil was covered with charred firewood, and the fire was shining.

He ignored the crowd around him and slowly swayed to the front.

The people around saw such a person join recently, and although they didn't speak, they were all a little disappointed with the naked eye. But the wounded soldier also ignored their gaze, and walked to the fire before he slowly sat down leaning down.

"Brother...... Begging for a pot of wine. He whispered as he looked at a man with a large flask beside him.

The big flask was drinking with a person beside him, and suddenly heard an angry voice here, and was startled, and turned around to pull out the knife on his waist.

This is also one of the habits of the soldiers of the Blackwater Fortress: never drop their weapons at any time.

Naturally, the same is true for others. But it was only after a burst of boos that the man realized who it was, and put back the half-drawn blade with a false alarm.

The wounded soldier also ignored the sword light just now. He slowly repeated again: "Brother, ask for a pot of wine." ”

The man was carrying the flask and glanced at him. The flask was never lid, and the liquor inside slowly floated with fire.

"You, why are you hurt like this?" The man thought for a moment and asked.

However, the wounded soldier did not answer his questions. His eyes were fixed on the wine in the jug, and his throat swallowed dryly from time to time.

The crowd around them stopped talking, and the atmosphere dropped to freezing point because of the wounded soldier. Countless pairs of eyes looked over, at the wounded soldiers, and at the flasks.

Naturally, the person who carried the flask couldn't stand it first. He muttered two inaudible words, mostly scolding his mother, but he still stretched out the wine jug in front of the wounded soldier: "Come on, brother, isn't it just a jug of wine, I won't consume it with you." ”

But the wounded soldier did not bring a vessel for wine. The crooked mouth of the flask was handed to him, and the wounded soldier groped twice, and finally shook his head with some regret.

Everyone thought he was gone—and some even laughed lowly. However, before everyone's speculative thinking could be extended slightly, the wounded soldier made a move that they didn't expect.

In full view of everyone, the wounded soldier gently raised a finger, pointed to the mouth of the wine jug, and then to his own mouth.

Suddenly, the wine in the jug was like a sense, and it actually followed the trajectory of his fingertips in the air, gurgling into a thin line, flying out of the jug and pouring into his mouth.

The thin line of wine is like a magical trick in mid-air. The man who carried the jug was also stunned, and he didn't realize that half of the jug had entered the man's mouth, and his eyes were straight.

The surrounding crowd was also in an uproar. This kind of skill is certainly worthy of envy, but as people who practice martial arts, they are more clearly aware of how profound internal skills are needed to achieve such a degree.

But the wounded soldier was indifferent to his surroundings. After a sip, he blew lightly, and the line slowly fell back into the pot.

Wiping the corners of his mouth, he slowly got up, bypassed the crowd, and walked towards the chaos in the distance.

Walking through the tents, he did not follow the way he came.

On the way, he passed two or three fires like that, but he had just drunk enough wine and stopped joining in the fun.

Walking all the way through the tent and over the meadows, according to memory, this should be almost to the Heart Lake Canyon. So he stopped slowly and removed his disguise.

As the bandages fell, Xi Zishi returned to its original and elegant appearance. He brushed his hair and looked alone at the canyon in front of him, wrapped in blood mist and darkness.

The firelight was far away from his back, and it seemed to be too ancient, and it seemed extremely quiet under the shroud of blood mist.

Autumn nights are getting cooler. He took a breath, and a little fishy spicy taste of the turbid wine came to his mind, but it made him very refreshed.

This is the second time he's been here. Actually, he came here yesterday, but he also stopped there.

He knew it all too well. Time is running out for him.

Acting for the tiger, living and dying with the Nine Devil Shadow and the Ghost Howling Changyuan...... Or find a way to rescue Ah Tian, and then leave without hesitation and fly away.

Two choices, two paths, two endings. But he couldn't see the road ahead, the future was like the scene in front of him, fermenting in the dark, but now he could only smell a little fishy sour.

Every time he thought of the last glance of the sound of the earth, he felt a rush of blood boiling—but then, it was extinguished by the current predicament.