Under the heavy snow, Chang'an.

The palace is busy with a mess, and at this moment the emperor is about to give birth to an heir.

Wen Po has gathered in Qifeng Palace, anxious.

戌時.

A baby's cry came from the Qifeng Palace, piercing the hanging night.

Wu Meiniang's cheeks were covered with sweat, and the green silk was stained on her forehead, she stared at the baby in a daze, and suddenly cried bitterly.

She remembered.

There is no cause and effect in the world, but at this moment, a new cause and effect is born from existence to nothingness, from nothing to nothing.

Lingnan Road, Cangwu Ruins.

Ten miles of sinkholes, wrapped in silver.

In the tomb, which was buried by snow and time, countless silver-white rays of light appeared in the darkness like swimming dragons, and they continued to gather and intertwine, outlining a figure.

Zhao Wujiang's figure gradually appeared, first illusory, and then slowly condensed, for a long time, he slowly opened his eyes, his eyes were black and white, flashing with starlight, like stars falling into it.

He got up slowly, smiled freely, and realized everything.

The next moment, his figure turned into thousands of points of light and disappeared into the tomb.

Lingnan Road.

The man looked at Miao Miao kindly and asked:

"Your master, what's your name?"

Miao Miao sobbed, she hugged the faceless idol tightly, and couldn't answer.

"Zhao Wujiang."

A voice that came across the years resounded in the small village between the vast world and the earth.

The black light on Miao Miao's body wandered away, intertwined into a dress like ink, dispelling the cold of heaven and earth, and in front of her, Zhao Wujiang's figure condensed, gently wiping away her tears.

"Master..." Miao Miao cried, throwing herself into the warm embrace she had not seen for a long time.

The man was stunned, and the figure next to him made him sit on the snow in a panic, and he looked at the warm young man on the side and the girl who suddenly howled and threw herself into the young man's arms, and a sense of familiarity lingered in his mind.

He looked in shock at the statue that had fallen from the girl's arms, and the faceless idol now had a face, exactly like the man in front of him.

"God." He muttered softly, and when he raised his eyes, the figure in front of him disappeared, leaving only the wind and snow.

"Blessed and blessed."

Zhao Wujiang's whispers resounded in the villages, like a god in the dust to give grace, the wind and snow between heaven and earth became stronger, and the snow fell down on the world.

He hugged Xiao Miaomiao and disappeared into the wind and snow.

Mountains and rivers are thousands of miles, the years are like songs, the world is long, and Ling Bo is in the eyes.

......

Chang'an, Secretary Province.

A long, yellowed roll is spread out.

In the blank space, someone lifted the pen, the pen was thunderous, and the years on the paper:

"Remember, six years of Yonghui, one or two things..."

"Bang dang."

The inkstone was knocked over, and the ink was spilled on the ground, and there were gurgling red blood stains along the case.

The figure crouching in a pool of blood on the case was Zhao Wujiang, who had black hair and half frost white.

His aura was sluggish, and this was the last curse from Dan, a curse from the gods, beyond force majeure.

The days are short, and a hundred years are easy to grow old.

The sky is vast, and the catastrophe is long.

It has been more than seven years since the end of the Xianqing period in the southeast.

With the promulgation of the new policy of Xianqing and the concerted efforts of the people of the court, the Tang Dynasty has become more and more prosperous, and therefore, it has ushered in a new era name - Changping.

It is not the era names of Linde, Zongzhang, Hongdao and other years recorded in the ancient history of the heaven and earth of Lanxing, but the Changping that coexists with the people, the prosperity of the Quartet, and the peace of the world.

In the second year of Changping in the Tang Dynasty, the fourteenth day of the lunar month, heavy snow.

Chang'an, Chang'an County, Chang'an Fang, Zhao Mansion.

Snowflakes fell from the vast sky, and they were grabbed by a large hand, and the cold spread in their hands.

The owner of the big hand was a man, dressed in a big coat, like a rich man, his eyes were like stars, his eyebrows were like flying swords, and he was only three fingers wide from his half-white sideburns.

At the moment, he was smiling and holding the woman in his arms

Child.

The girl was about three or four years old, wearing a small hat, cute, with big eyes and small hands, trying to break his big hand holding the snowflake.

"Daddy is playing a trick on you." He smiled kindly, stretched out his five fingers and opened his palm:

"Oh, it's gone."

The girl's eyes widened, and her face was full of curiosity, how did Daddy's miraculous trick change? She reached for the man's palm, warm and cold, and she retracted her little hand.

The man grinned, touched the brim of the girl's hat, pinched a snowflake, and shook it in front of the girl:

"Oooo

The girl shouted for joy and was about to touch the snowflakes in the man's hand, when an angry cry came from the house:

"Zhao Wujiang, if you freeze Qiqi to death, see how I clean you up tonight!"

The man who looks like a rich man is none other than Zhao Wujiang.

For seven years, the curse of the gods had been corroding him, his cultivation was deteriorating, and his life was slowly dissolving.

But he didn't seem to care, and lived happily.

The girl in his arms is the heir of him and Wang Yanning, and her nickname is Qiqi.

Zhao Wujiang hugged his daughter Qiqi and walked into the house, he smiled and at the same time seemed to be hung with a woman's grudge:

"I said Wang Yanning, you used to call me Zhao Lang every night, how long has it been, and you called me by my name?

Alas, men are fickle, women are fickle.

Shall we ignore your mother, Qiqi?"

He smiled and kissed his daughter Qiqi's little face, Qiqi's little hand covered his mouth, pushed hard, and let out a giggling innocent laugh, echoing in the mansion under the heavy snow.

"Daddy, your precious son is back."

"Clang." With a bang, the door was pushed open, and a tiger-headed boy rushed in.

He was about six or seven years old, and he was still a child.

The eyebrows are quite similar to Zhao Wujiang, at the moment he is wearing the blue and black official uniform of Dali Temple, the waist, cuffs, and hem of the official uniform have traces of re-tailoring, and there is a small wooden knife pinned to the waist of his left hand.

Zhao Wujiang grabbed his son with one hand and picked him up.

Zhao Xiaoyin, the son of Zhao Wujiang and Wu Meiniang, was born in Xianqing and is now seven years old.

Yin, has the meaning of heirs, and Zhao Xiaoyin, this is a nickname, the big name retains the word Yin, and at the same time, the middle word has the meaning of helping the world.

But Zhao Wujiang thinks that Xiao Yin has not grown up and does not have the ability to help the world, so he has been calling him by his nickname.

"Master, your baby Miao Miao is back."

A young girl rushed in outside the door, with a high ponytail, quite sassy and heroic, her little face was beautiful and refined, she was wearing a black robe like ink, and she was carrying a heavy sword more than one person high behind her, she cheered and rushed to Zhao Wujiang, stepping through the snow, it was a deep footprint.

Miao Miao has divinity, she has grown slowly by Zhao Wujiang's side, and now she is slim and slim.

Miao Miao hugged her master tightly, as deep and sincere as she was young.

"How is it at Dali Temple today?" Qiqi in Zhao Wujiang's arms had already been hugged by Miao Miao, and he rubbed Miao Miao's head.

"Brother Zhao, your baby Huaiying is here again."

The door was slammed shut again, wearing a blue and black robe, carrying a cloak Di Renjie rubbed his hands and rushed towards Zhao Wujiang.

Zhao Wujiang glanced at Di Renjie, who was rushing over, knowing that this kid was here to eat and drink again, so he kicked over, and said angrily:

"Get out!"

"Huh." Di Renjie turned his waist and avoided this kick, and smiled with an elegant posture.

Zhao Wujiang lightly spat out a word: "Snow."

As soon as the words fell, Di Renjie's feet slipped, and he turned around for three and a half weeks, and fell into the snow with a snap.

He rolled up, shook off the snow on his body, felt the black mace on his waist, rubbed his body and pushed forward, and the long mace buzzed:

"Despicable and shameless warlock, eat me."

...