The sword is unsheathed.

The sword flashed.

Yang Qing's teeth clenched even tighter, she had fully felt the sharpness and chill of that sword, which could not only crush her body, but also her soul.

No matter who it is, as long as it dies under this sword, it will not feel much pain, let alone struggle, and maybe it will die without enduring a single struggle.

This kind of death is perhaps what most swordsmen in the rivers and lakes want.

Wudang swordsmanship is known as Mount Tai Beidou, and it is also the undefeated sword of the rivers and lakes, and there is no one.

Is the never-defeated swordsmanship never failing? And never die by someone else's sword?

Their swordsmanship may be too cold, too fast, and too accurate, no matter what kind of person they are, they will easily die under such a sword.

What should a dying person do?

Yang Qing was already breathing, desperately thinking about his lifeless body, and also desperately thinking about his own body, every muscle of his body, and even the emotions that every muscle gave birth to him, all to get the greatest sublimation and enjoyment.

He gets the greatest enjoyment, and he also gets the greatest satisfaction and happiness.

A smile began to appear on her lips.

She thought desperately about this emotion, and she didn't want to think about anything else.

Does she want to die with feelings for lifelessness, does this kind of emotion for lifelessness make herself not lonely, empty, and lonely and depressed? There will be no fear, no fear?

If heaven and earth can completely defeat and completely defeat the weapon of death, maybe there is a weapon in this.

That's emotion.

The only fear and pain that can make you die is perhaps this weapon.

She clenched her fists tightly, as if she had grasped the weapon that no one else could see.

It's not just a weapon, it's a pleasure, the only enjoyment.

This is not only a sweet, joyful enjoyment, but also a miserable, sad torture.

Her body has slowly relaxed, her soul and mind have been completely sublimated and satisfied, is all that remains is to meet death?

Facing death and becoming one with it.

The tears on his cheeks had rolled down, rolled to the ground, and suddenly shattered, shattered.

Dreams are shattered, dreams are broken.

I was shattered and frightened to death by a voice that was extremely painful, extremely powerless, extremely delicate, extremely kind, and extremely ecstatic.

There may not be many voices in the world that can make such painful sounds, maybe only one person.

Willow ecstasy.

Only a person who is always caring, pitying, and cherishing others can make such a painful voice.

It's not just a painful sound, it's also a mantra.

A mantra that gives birth to confidence and courage in the body and soul, a mantra that is unbelievable and incomprehensible.

This is by no means a parting spell, but a longing spell, but always longing for others not to part.

The voice of pain has faded away, and the longing has quietly stiffened and died.

What about people?

Yang Qing opened her eyes, suddenly turned around, and saw blood.

Drops of blood had fallen from under the cold, steady blade of the sword, and the cold sweat on the corners of his forehead had slipped like beans.

The calm, steady and hard hand had hung down softly, without a trace of strength, as if it had lost a trace of vitality, without a trace of vitality.

Liu ecstasy fell softly in the arms of lifeless, as if he had died, as if he had parted.

The corners of her mouth vaguely left a very delicate, extremely kind, and extremely ecstatic color, but her eyes showed heartbreaking pity and sympathy.

Is she still pitying and sympathizing with others? Are you still pitying and sympathizing with the desolation, pain and suffering of others?

And what about yourself? Why didn't she feel sorry for herself?

Isn't your desolation and suffering deep enough?

The heaving chest gradually subsided, and gradually lost the strength of the undulation.

People have gradually become motionless, pity and sympathy have gradually become thicker, and in the eyes of the living, the hearts have become thicker.

The lifeless stone statue stood upright, the stone statue trembled, and the stone statue was silent.

There was still no emotion in the empty eyes, no trace of pain, and no pity in them.

The tip of the sword had fully pierced into his shoulder, and his hand was hanging limply.

The calm, steady, hard hand didn't move, and the blood was dripping from the fingertips, drop by drop.

Tumbling to the ground, it suddenly shattered.

Dreams are broken, and hearts are broken.

The heart is broken, but it has given birth to strength, a power that comes out of emotion.

Yang Qing suddenly pounced on Chunyangzi and threw him to the ground.

She pounced on Chunyangzi, as if she was viciously rushing into the street, as if she wanted to not only kill Chunyangzi alive, but also drive him crazy.

Chunyoko is not crazy, but he is angry.

The sword was out of his hand, the man was already rolling on the ground, and he really couldn't imagine that a woman would have so much power.

Chun Yangzi gritted his teeth and kicked Yang Qing away.

Yang Qing had suddenly slammed into the cold, hard wall, and any soft fall was her last trace of strength, the last strength of emotion.

She fell limply, her body no longer showing any strength.

The rustling snow in front of us had gradually become light, light, and extremely hazy.

Her eyes fell on the snow and did not close.

The cold wind was blowing, and the snow on the tiles was falling more, rustling and rustling.

No one stepped on it, so it didn't disappear.

Man has risen and walked towards lifelessness, to the hilt of his sword.

The smile on his cheeks became stiff and quirky, without a hint of joy.

There was not a single sound in the room.

Dead.

Dead silence is like a dead man's tomb, a maddening, desperate tomb.

The snow on the tiles outside was still rustling as the cold wind was still blowing.

As long as the cold wind blows, the snow on the tiles will follow.

Have they felt the desolation, the suffering, and the torment of this place? Sighing? Mourning?

Or are you laughing at the stupidity and ignorance of the world?

The sword spike was already fluttering in the wind, and the blood on the blade of the sword was gradually dripping.

Standing like a lifeless stone statue, silent like a stone statue, bleeding like a stone statue.

The empty eyes stared and poked Chunyangzi, as if they wanted to poke him to death on the ground.

Junyoko sneered, crazy, satisfied, and proud.

He should indeed be proud, the undefeated god who shocked the rivers and lakes, one of the few gods, the god of guns. The spear god is about to die under his sword, and there is nothing in the world that makes people happy and proud of this kind of thing.

People are proud, and the smile is already swaying.

"The gun god is lifeless." Jun Yangzi stared triumphantly at the blade, the cold blade. Sen Han's sword light fluttered, and the warm blood had rolled down, "From now on, will I be able to make a name for myself, be proud of the rivers and lakes, and ...... the world?" ”

There was no speech, and the cold sweat on the forehead rolled more.

His body was shaking desperately all the time, as if he was going to fall down at any moment, to die, to lose his life, to lose everything.

But he still gritted his teeth, and there was still no trace of emotion on his calm, steady and hard cheeks, let alone a trace of pain.

The spike of the sword twisted slightly, and his hand was already gripping the hilt.

Junyoko's face suddenly stiffened and stiffened, and he wanted to draw his sword but couldn't, and the blade of the sword pierced into his body, as if it had pierced into a crack in the stone.

The tip of the sword has been clamped and clamped.

Junyoko gritted her teeth and exclaimed, "You ......." ”

Speechless, as if he was too lazy to speak.

The sword flashed, and the sword was suddenly out of its hand and flew away, settling into the cold, stiff wall.

Junyoko fell on her back, and the smile on her cheeks suddenly twisted and distorted.

His eyes were filled with indescribable disbelief, surprise, and resentment.

He didn't believe that the sword in his palm would be caught alive and killed, and he didn't believe that the sword would fly out of his palm and fly to death.

The blood on his fingers was dripping down, and the person was already panting violently, and the hand gradually had moved, had vitality, and strength.

But it's already shaking.

The hand seemed to be unstable, as if it was no longer calm, it was no longer stable, but it was still hard.

He didn't look at Chunyangzi, he didn't look at Xianyunzi, he almost didn't look at anything, just stared at Liu's ecstasy's back, stared at the body that was gradually cold and stiffened.

Then the hand trembled and leaned up, and when it leaned up, it did not take it away, as if it did not want to take it away.

Wusheng closed his eyes and did not move like a stone statue.

Why did he close his eyes? Do you realize that your life is fragile? The fragile will fall at any moment? Die?

Maybe he really didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to stare at the cold, ruthless, and indifferent heaven and earth, telling extremely painful, extremely sad, and extremely bleak stories.

Not far away, the sword light suddenly floated out, floating towards the lifeless body.

Another sword of Wudang, a cold, cold sword.

Xian Yunzi has already made a move, the sword light is fluttering, and the people are also fluttering.

His person was obviously not far away, and the sword light flashed, but he had already reached the edge of lifelessness.

This sword is not only very cold and cold, but also extremely fast and extremely accurate, and it requires not only superhuman perseverance but also superhuman endurance to practice such swordsmanship.

Xian Yunzi obviously has such perseverance and stamina.

Wusheng didn't open his eyes, as if he didn't bother to open them, and every muscle on his cheeks was shaking violently, as if he would collapse and collapse at any time.

But there is no collapse, there is no collapse, is there a force that helps him again, so that he will not collapse, and he will not collapse.

What power does he have in his body? So that he refused to fall?

The sword resting on his chest was already bleeding, rolling drop by drop.

The cold wind fluttered more sharply, and the snow on the tiles drifted more violently.

The sprinkling kept falling to the earth, the cold, ruthless, indifferent earth.

The sky is long, and the cold wind is bleak.

The white clouds on the horizon were long, writhing and changing violently, as if they could no longer stand the cold, merciless cold wind, the painful torture and desolation caused by bursts of stimulation and impact.

Maybe the white clouds are amorous, maybe they are not writhing for themselves, but for the cold, merciless earth, writhing with their own affection and pity.

The earth is cold and unforgiving, and the people on the earth are even colder and more merciless.