They finally walked out.

He had apparently accepted the invitation to accept the duel.

Duel is desperate, desperate is the end of life, either your own or the other party's.

Everything seemed quiet, unbearable and unbearably quiet.

The chopsticks are scattered on the edge of the chopsticks cage, random and random, like hair on the ground, scattered randomly and casually on the face, there is no wind in the room, the hair has been gently swaying, wisps rolling, the chopsticks on the head have been curled and entangled, the blood is no longer flowing, turning into a dry road.

Bloodway.

It is also the road in the rivers and lakes, the rivers and lakes where black and white are difficult to distinguish, good and evil are impermanent, and there is no distinction between grievances and grievances, and it is also the road of no return for many rootless prodigal sons in the rivers and lakes.

The soft and slender blood paths, from the root of chopsticks to the red blood paths on the ground.

The blood was dry, but it was brighter, cold, merciless, and bright, and the bright was maddening, routing, and disgusting.

The cold wind is fluttering, and the fallen leaves are bleak.

Winter is getting thicker, thick as cold water.

The lazy and powerless color in the tired eyes gradually disappeared, and became indescribably bright, bright as a cold star.

"You're ready to make a move."

"I'm not in a hurry."

"Are you looking for something?"

"Yes."

"My sword?"

"Yes."

Tired Flower sneered and stretched out her hand, which was empty and there was no sword.

Isn't it funny that a swordsman doesn't have a sword?

Tired Flower was already laughing, smiling a little bitterly, a little helpless, he didn't want to mention the lazy and sour past, so he gradually stopped laughing and stared at him coldly.

He was still laughing, very passionately and fiercely.

Wait until the smile on his face fades before speaking.

"You seem happy?"

"Yes, how can a swordsman without a sword not be funny."

"Then I'll tell you something that's not funny."

"Tell me about it."

"Twenty years ago, there was no need for swords, swords were invisible, and everything was a sword."

Tired Flower gently grasped the belt of his trousers, and the belt suddenly turned into a sword, a sword that was cold and shiny, and murderous.

The sword is full of energy, and the sword light is fluttering.

Heaven and earth suddenly became extremely quiet, and the silence was unbearable and incomprehensible.

There was no wind, and even the ruthless and indifferent cold wind seemed to have been killed alive, and suddenly it was invisible.

Suddenly the solitary clouds twisted, twitched, and disappeared.

The sky is lonely, and the leaves are desolate.

When the dead leaves fall to the ground, they are powerless to roll and flutter.

There is no wind, but it is even colder, and the lonely and empty winter seems to have been frozen to death, frozen to death.

The chill on Tired Flower's face was even stronger, and she looked at him quietly.

The smile on his face was stiff and strange, and cold sweat rolled down his forehead.

"Yes, you don't have to use a sword."

"You can make a move."

"Out is not out, out is out, out is out, in the heart, turn into empty moves."

Tired flowers don't understand, and they don't speak.

"Emptiness is nothingness, emptiness is also existence, there is nothing out of nothing, there is nothing in illusion, there is nothing in reality, there is nothing, there is nothing, there is nothing, that is, it is an empty move, a move of heaven."

Tired Hua was silent, the muscles on his face were already beating and twitching, and the green tendons on the arm holding the sword were twitching and trembling.

This person really knows how to make moves, knows how to work hard, knows how to ask for other people's lives, and knows when to ask for other people's lives.

They were silent.

If you don't speak, you can't make a sound, and if you don't have a voice, you will be silent.

Dead silence is the loneliness of death, the emptiness of death, the dead silence that only exists in the tomb.

Silence is not a person's life is about to pass away, is about to disappear.

The cold wind has been strangled, but the killing machine is heavier, and the killing intent is already fluttering, fluttering to send off a person who is about to die? Or celebrate a living person.

Just when the killing intent and killing intent fluttered the strongest and most intensely, the sword had already floated.

The sword floated.

The sword light is shining, the sword aura is strong, and the sword intent is swinging.

The man fell, and the blood flew.

The cold wind rose suddenly, and the blood mist was as ethereal as a dream, as hazy as a mist, and it was indescribably miserable and sad.

The sword light disappeared suddenly, the sword aura disappeared, and the sword intent died suddenly.

The belt fluttered wildly, and everything became normal.

Bursts of dead leaves fell, swayed a few times indiscriminately and violently, and then drifted into the distance, I don't know where the distance was.

Isn't the life of people in the rivers and lakes like floating leaves, living haphazardly and casually, neither knowing where they lie tonight, nor whether they can appreciate the charming and delicate dawn of the early morning tomorrow.

The tired flower's face slowly became extremely tired and weak, and the eyes slowly became extremely tired and bored.

The body became indescribably delicate and thin.

He stared at the motionless body, and suddenly there was an indescribable disgust and boredom in his heart, a disgust and boredom that went deep into the bone marrow and into the soul.

Although the eyes are open, they are not completely open, nor are they completely closed.

So everything he sees is extremely hazy, extremely vague, hazy, vague like a mysterious, weird dream.

Tired flowers may be awake and asleep in the same way, as if they have become one with the dream.

A very tired, extremely lazy dream.

What about her dreams?

She woke up from her sleep, awakened alive.

Yang Qing's forehead was already dripping with cold sweat, the fire in the house was booming, the warmth was thick, there was no cold wind, and the winter and cold were completely isolated outside.

But her body was already cold, from the outside to the inside, from the heart to the soul.

His pale face looked extremely ugly and sad, and his eyes showed indescribable horror and fear.

She stood up suddenly and looked quietly out the door, stunned and eager to get the result.

Then try to control yourself and slowly walk out the door.

......。

The cold wind outside the door was like a knife, cold-blooded, fierce and vicious.

Everything is extremely depressed, extremely dilapidated, and extremely depressed.

The young master's age is not too old, not much better than the people who enter the earth, he has a lot of hobbies, there are many problems, there are many beauties in the sedan chair, there will be no fewer people carrying the sedan chair, and there will be no fewer guards with knives before and after.

The guards beside him are simply more practical and effective than the super officials of the imperial court who patrol the people, punish the heavens, and wander the hearts and morals of the people.

The young master's consistent style is what others have, I want more, I want better, I want to be more visible.

The leader is a super Persian giant slave, the muscles on his face are simply thicker than the earth, and the copper bell-like eyes are simply bigger than fists.

As he walked, he roared and struck the gong.

"The young master travels, the literature runs through the four seas, the virtue is in all directions, the majesty is domineering, the heroes are side-eyed, the people admire, the heavens are clear, and the world is blessed."

This giant Persian slave could never say more than three sentences, and this one was one of them, and the best one to say.

When he struck the gong, he roared again; Roar once and strike the gong.

This is also a way to make a living, and if he strikes the gong and shouts again, it is fifty taels of silver.

It took him three years to learn this sentence, and he has been alive under this sentence for thirty years.

His roar may not be the loudest, but it is definitely professional and orthodox.

He was roaring in the west of the city, and the eardrums of the gatekeepers in the east of the city might burst.

The words "roaring" not only occupied his life, but also occupied his soul, and he could not live without it.

His family business is larger than that of the vast majority of wealthy people in the city, and he has more children than most of the wealthy people, and when he is not beating the gong, he is usually in bed, and his wives are carefully selected from Fuso Izumo Castle,......。

Being able to do this line of work is not casual, not only to go through loneliness, loneliness, but also to endure tiredness, powerlessness, the most unbearable is to hold a super gong weighing about 200 pounds, holding a hammer weighing 100 pounds.

This work is not something that everyone can do if they want to do it, and not everyone can earn the money in it if they want to.

This requires not only natural advantages, but also perseverance and determination, and the hard work of the devil who does not eat, drink and die, so that it can achieve positive results.

Before they came, the wide and long streets were empty, without a trace of human touch, and seemed extremely lonely and empty.

No one dares to stand in the way, and no one can stand in the way, so this Persian giant slave walks with his eyes closed, he normally walks with his eyes closed, and he doesn't have to open his eyes anymore.

He walked with his eyes closed, and he was even more skilled than sleeping with his eyes closed.

So he suddenly fell into the pit.

A boxy super pit, he can't climb out if he falls into it.

There was anger, surprise, and disbelief in his eyes, and he didn't believe that such a thing could happen, and in fact no one would believe that such a thing would happen.

There was a snow-white man standing at the edge of the pit.

Snow-white clothes, snow-white skin, snow-white shovels.

The man did not raise his head, but seriously shoveled the dirt into the body of the Persian slave, and the shovel was not very fast.

The sedan chair has stopped, everyone has stopped, the young master has not yet stretched out his head, his wisdom tank has gone up, and when the young master has finished seventeen or eight slaps, his angry temper has gradually subsided, and he said slowly, softly, gently.

"The Persian slave has fallen into the pit."

"What's not pitted, it's all a rice bucket, a rice bucket within a rice bucket."

The thinker nodded and smiled, nodded and smiled like a sheep, indescribably docile and gentle.

He nodded, smiled, and stepped back, then turned around, and as he turned, the smile on his face suddenly disappeared without a trace.

His face suddenly became indescribably fierce and vicious, as fierce as he could be, as vicious as he could be, as vicious as he was, as vicious and vicious as cold-blooded, merciless beasts and beasts.

"Eight Great Swords."

He spoke very softly and slowly, but suddenly there were eight men and eight knives standing in front of him.

The knife was unsheathed, and the cold light was shining, and it was imminent.

Their eyes are colder than the light of the knife, and more pressing than the knife.

The thinker didn't speak, his eyes were already staring at the snow-white man like an awl.

Then the eight knives had already pounced frantically, and they pounced as if they were a long-lonely, empty super old bachelor pounced on the delicate, well-behaved girl, with indescribable excitement and enthusiasm.

The knife flashed, and the people were already plopping and falling into the pit, and the swords even fell into the dumplings with knives, and they were covered by the mud when they fell in.

Their voices and lives were muffled, beneath the dirt, and their excitement and enthusiasm were drowned out alive.

A gust of cold wind drifted by, and Xiao Xiao's withered leaves hit the ground.

The fallen leaves have returned to their roots, and their lives seem to be .......