The quaint Tianjin Bridge, as if it has stood silently here since ancient times, the bluestone slabs on the bridge have been washed by the rain to shine.

Under the bridge, the turbid waves of the Luo River are surging, and the weeping willows on the bank are swaying in the wind and rain.

Liu Ben rode on a horse, and his mood was as shaky as a willow, undulating, and inexplicable grief and indignation.

The old father was persecuted by a traitor and died unjustly, and he traveled thousands of miles back to Beijing, but he was attacked one after another.

Looking at the surviving guards, after more than a dozen days and nights of fighting and running, they were all wounded and already exhausted.

Resentment, hatred, resentment, disappointment, hesitation......

All kinds of emotions came one after another, which made Liu Ben's heart mixed, he shook the water droplets on his head and tried to calm down......

Chapter 125 The blood on the bridge is not cold is in the hand, please wait a moment,

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