The fire was swaying, and the loneliness in the carriage was even stronger.

Yang Qing stared at the wine jar, there was still wine in it, and there were no ripples, so she blew it.

The ripples rippled, and her heart seemed to be satisfied at this moment.

Maybe she doesn't like to be quiet, too quiet can easily make people lonely and empty.

She lifted the thick curtain and stared out.

The icy cold wind outside is fluttering, the white clouds are long, the dawn between the heavens and the earth is gradually dawning, and the earth is gradually becoming vibrant.

Yang Qing couldn't help but shudder, lowered the curtain, and threw herself into Wusheng's arms, "This carriage ......." ”

Wusheng stroked her back, "Don't be afraid, it's okay." ”

Yang Qing gritted her teeth and was speechless.

It's okay, the carriage has flown into the sky, and it's all right.

She was scared enough to sit in the lonely boat of the welcoming pine, but now she knows that there is something more terrible than him.

"He ...... the military advisor."

Wusheng was already sighing, "The carriage in the parting spell is not an ordinary horse, nor is it an ordinary car, so it is very stable, you don't have to be afraid." ”

Yang Qing nodded, but the look of fear on the corner of her mouth floated.

Can you not be afraid of this? How can you not be afraid? What happens if you suddenly fall down?

No sigh, long sigh.

Yang Qing stared at the lifeless body, the stone-like body motionless.

"You're not afraid?"

"I don't know what it means to be afraid."

"Will he pull me to heaven? Aren't we done then? ”

Silent without life.

"You better tell him to run honestly on the road."

Silent without life.

"I'm really scared to death."

As she spoke, she sat down limply, as if she had lost her power.

Wusheng poured her a bowl of wine, hoping that her body would calm down and stabilize herself, but her mouth twitched gradually, as if she couldn't stand it anymore.

She took a sip of her drink, struggling to control herself, staring at the lifeless.

Motionless like a living stone statue, silent like a stone statue.

"Are you a ghost?"

Silent without life.

"Why aren't you afraid at all?"

"I don't know what it means to be afraid, why should I be afraid?"

Yang Qing lowered her head and stared at the wine jar, there was not a trace of ripples in the wine jar, it was extremely stable and calm.

Her face gradually drifted into distress, helpless, uncomfortable distress.

So she drank bowl after bowl, bowl after bowl, cold wine flowed into her stomach, and her body and soul were burned violently.

It wasn't until her stomach gradually twisted and deformed, her face gradually turned red, and her eyes gradually brightened, that her body gradually calmed down and stabilized, and the corners of her mouth gradually stopped twitching.

"Heavenly spirit, earth spirit, can't you hurry up and stop going down? ......。 ”

No one spoke, no one looked at her.

The lifeless stone statue stood upright, silent like a stone statue, and its empty eyes stared and poked ahead like spearheads.

"Heavenly spirit, earth spirit, can't you hurry up and stop going down? ......。 ”

The swaying fire seemed to be even more depressed and powerless, as if she couldn't stand her ghost screams anymore, and if you saw the enlightened mage solving disasters and solving problems for others, driving away evil spirits and avoiding evil, it was easy to think of her current appearance.

She did not sit still, nor did she drink any more, but she took her glass and tapped it against the jar, and kept knocking.

"Heavenly spirit, earth spirit, can't you hurry up and stop going down? Heavenly spirit, earth spirit, can't you stop going down quickly? ......。 ”

She seems to have regarded herself as an enlightened monk, reciting Amitabha Buddha who purifies all sentient beings and is compassionate.

No one stopped her, and Wusheng didn't seem too lazy to stop her.

The icy cold wind gusted by, and occasionally a few residual leaves fell from the bare trees, almost withered.

The remnants of the leaves fluttered and fell to the ground.

And he took a broom and cleaned it up, and it was clean, and there was no dust or leaves.

Absolutely nothing.

If there is, he will be unlucky, unlucky to die, if he dies, it is better, because he can't die, so he has to keep sweeping the floor.

The leaves on the ground were fluttering, and he walked over and cleaned them up.

There were no leaves on the ground, no dust, and they stared at the branches quietly, waiting for the branches to shake and the cold wind to pass by.

The icy cold wind fluttered, and the residual leaves fluttered, so he walked over and cleaned up the .......

There were walls on all sides, and there were no doors or rooms on the cold, indifferent walls, only walls.

There are no frescoes on the clean walls, nothing.

Dozens of tall trees stood tall inside.

There are only trees in it and nothing else.

The shabby robe looked extremely old and unbearable, and the wrinkles of the eyes were indescribably stiff and rigid, without a trace of flexibility.

The early morning sun was not so strong, and it was very low, pulling his shadow slender and thin, the slender and thin of the malnourished.

There were no residual leaves, no dust, and he held his broom and stared at the sky.

The sky is full of white clouds, and the cold wind is gusting.

The giant bell hanging over the trunk of the tree "buzzed", as if the gods and Buddhas were whispering the Sutra of Bliss.

On the old, quaint super giant clock, three big characters can be vaguely seen.

The three big characters of extreme vicissitudes and withering, the vicissitudes and withering seem to be the seal of bliss left by the gods and Buddhas of the heavens.

Burial Hall.

He was bald and dressed in a robe.

Could it be that he is a monk? Is it a Buddha?

He touched his head, he rarely touched his head, and when he touched his head, usually only three things happened.

One is bird droppings falling on the head, one is being woken up by urine in sleep, and the last is thunder.

Now there is none of the three.

He touched his head and stared at the cold, clean walls.

The wall was suddenly smashed, and a carriage flew in, and flew towards him.

So he got up, took up his broom, and swept it.

Then the carriage flew out, along with the worn, broken bricks.

He stood inside the wall, staring silently at the carriage.

The carriage fell heavily not far away, shattered.

The horses neighed, the dust was fluttering, and the remnants of the leaves were bleak.

A look of surprise and surprise drifted across his face.

The dust has gradually dispersed, and the residual leaves are still fluttering.

Two people appeared inside. A man, a woman.

Men hugging women.

This is a very beautiful woman, but unfortunately her face is filled with panic and fear, and her body has gradually twitched and become unstable.

The man, on the contrary, stood tall like a stone statue, straighter than the gun in his hand.

There was no trace of emotion, no trace of panic, no trace of fear, no trace of fear in the empty eyes.

Whoever is stared at by these eyes will not be very comfortable, stared at by these eyes, as if they are being poked by a gun.

This man has another problem with his eyes, a very strange problem.

When one eye pokes the face, the other eye pokes the chest; When one eye pokes at the chest, the other eye pokes at the crotch of the pants.