Chapter 1: A Teenager Here

"Son, wait for Daddy to kill the dark...... Husband, you are so stupid, how could I leave you......"

"You'll remember me, if you could keep alive...... I also hope to ......"

"Brother, Xiaoman can see his father and mother soon...... Xiaoman is very happy......"

"Xiaoman!" ......

It was late at night, and there was no Qiang Guan here, and there was no white hair of the general here, only a young man who was lonely. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 info Qiang Guan Youyou and the general's white hair are nothing more than fragments of a dream after all.

The boy was still a boy, the boy was only fifteen or sixteen years old, and there was still a little childishness between his eyebrows, but his dark eyes seemed to contain many secrets that the teenager was difficult to solve.

He has always had a pair of good-looking and useful eyes, not from the birth of a teenager, but for many years, far more than fifteen or sixteen years.

In the same way, the dullness and bitterness in his eyes are not something that can be accumulated in fifteen or sixteen years.

Under the cold moonlight, the simple houses can be seen at a glance, but the young man's mind is hidden deep in the fog under the moonlight.

The young man looked out the window, and looked at the warm moonlight in the distance, adding a bit of nostalgia that could not be erased.

It was as cold as water, and the young man's eyes seemed to hold a lake in the moonlight, and the lake was bottomless.

"It's not the red moon after all......" The young man didn't say to himself, just thought like this, it's been two years since he came here, the originally familiar red moon has changed, the originally familiar world has become strange, and the aura that used to faintly surround his body has also disappeared.

In addition to the moonlight on those nights, he also remembered some sporadic memories, as if the memories of other people remained in his mind, one of which belonged to a little girl, a lovely little girl.

"Little Man......"

......

Solemnity is always solemn, solemnity is always quiet, and the palace belonging to God is of course the most solemn place in the world, and it will also be the quietest place.

God likes to be quiet, especially God likes to read quietly, but the twenty-eight-year-old girl behind God can't help but make a sound.

"What's wrong? God's gentle voice remembered in the main hall, awakening the bewildered girl.

"No... It's all right, sir. The girl hung her head and replied cowardly.

"Huh. God did not pursue any further, but still covered a gray book in his hand, and then looked back at the young girl who had followed him for many years.

As if sensing God's loving gaze, the girl never dared to raise her head, and could only see her long eyelashes fluttering. The gods were silent, and the deserted palace was silent again......

The young man here did not understand the silence of the distant temple, but he was also quiet, and like the gods, he liked to be quiet.

But unlike the solemn solemnity of God, the boy is more like a forgotten little beast, forgotten, the silence of being abandoned is also quiet, he licks a wound somewhere in the moonlight, and then silently but firmly promises his ambition.

"I'll find you. Xiaoman. I'll kill you, God. ”......

No matter how arrogant and arrogant you are, no matter how vicious your curse is unforgettable, when you don't pick up the knife and stab it into the heart of the enemy, everything is just ambition, and the premise of all ambitions from existence to realization is only to live.

Because only by living can you see with your own eyes the blood that splashes when the knife stabs the enemy in the throat, even if it is not bloody.

The boy is still alive, but he doesn't know where he lives.

The day is dawn, I don't hear the rooster crowing and the dog barking, I only smell the sharpening of the knife.

Quiet teenager sharpens his knife by the quiet river. It is also a small town located by the river, known to the locals as Giethoorn.

The poor mountainous area is often named after the local symbol, and there is a river next to the town called Giethoorn Town, which is also called by the locals.

It's just that this river neither bends and twists like a sheep's horns, nor has it nourished the sacred sheep on the grassland with the sweet water in the river. As for the name, it is just a name that has been handed down from ancient times, and I am used to it.

No one knows where the name came from, or where it originated, but there is a majestic green hill that you can see in the direction of its source by the river.

The good doers wonder if the mountain is a mountain called Giethoorn Mountain.

The boy didn't know whether the mountain was called Sheephorn Mountain, but he knew that the upper reaches of the river were not mountains, but grasslands, large grasslands, grasslands with horses, grass, and people.

The grassland was so big, unimaginably big, that no one in the town had crossed the grassland to the mountains farther away.

As far as the boy knows, the north bank of the Sheephorn River, including the so-called Sheephorn Mountain in the shadows, and the large areas of land further north and even further are also large grasslands, all belong to the desolate people, all belong to the desolate country, and it is also the most powerful and mysterious country on this continent.

Every grass, every sheep, every horse, and even every person on the steppe belongs to that powerful and mysterious country.

They have the broadest but also the most barren land, with the strongest warriors. They can go south and take possession of the fertile black land, which is sufficient to feed all the desolate people, but they are willing to guard the barren land, like an ascetic who stands hard but determined in the extreme cold of the north.

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, he has been standing like that on the grassland, silently watching, watching another country on a fertile land.

It was a rich land, and it belonged to a powerful country.

The fertile soil that can grow into a tree by sprinkling a seed belongs to a country that is rich and oily, and that country was the strongest country a hundred years ago, with a land that is more vast than the barren, and he is called Yin.

The Yin of the Great Yin, the Yin of the Solid.

However, Yin has been constantly encroached upon in the past hundred years, although it cannot be said to be a corner of the southeast, but compared to the vast area a hundred years ago, it is really not developed.

Yin could only be trapped in the glory of being the first power in the mainland, and slowly faded his strength.

Besides, plus the one on the dragon chair in the middle of the current court, as well as those so-called literati, after all, it is just a country that is about to die......

There has always been a constant struggle between nations, and this has been the case since ancient times.

Therefore, no matter how much the good deeds instigated, no one tried to get past the forbidden and lived peacefully in the remote corner of the country.

As for the boy, he didn't know how he had come to this town, nor why he looked three or four years younger than the other self that occasionally appeared in his dreams, and he had even lost most of what belonged to another world, as if it were just a dream.

Only the murmur that appeared in the dream would let the boy know that it was not a dream.

Maybe it's not a bad thing that it was a dream.

The cyan whetstone brightly lined the young man's face, and he looked intently at the knife in his hand, which was a very ordinary knife, an ordinary handle, an ordinary blade, and an ordinary material.

Ordinary to the extreme is mediocrity, and this is also a mediocre knife.

Although its origin is a bit extraordinary, it is still an ordinary and mediocre knife after all, without the ability to break mountains and rocks with a single wave, nor to awaken strange demons, let alone hide the peerless old grandfather to teach young people exercises.

No matter how mediocre a knife can kill, the boy wants to kill, so the boy only sharpens this knife a little bit, sharpens himself a little more, and makes it easier for himself to kill.

The sound of a rooster crowing from nowhere, the boy put down the knife in his hand, looked at the few wisps of smoke wafting through the town, and then carefully withdrew the knife and walked towards the town as usual............

Good luck to all of you, new books to touch and collect