Seven days later, Liu Ruobai, the young owner of Tianjian Villa, went to the top of Mount Tai to go to the top of Mount Tai A year ago, the news of the life-and-death battle spread all over the world, and the rivers and lakes were shaken.

This battle is bound to be earth-shattering, crying ghosts and gods, but it can be met but not sought.

It is not difficult to imagine that there will be many people who are not afraid of the cold and the wind and snow this winter.

At the foot of Mount Tai, in an inn, Liu Ruobai was eating side dishes, eating steamed buns, drinking porridge, eating very slowly and very carefully.

No one dared to look at him blatantly, just secretly from the corner of his eye.

His heart was like a mirror, but he didn't care.

I don't know how long it took, and the food was all in my stomach. He laid down a piece of silver and left the inn.

The cold wind is howling and unscrupulous.

As if unaware, he walked forward against the wind, dressed in white like snow, hunting in the wind.

There is still snow on the mountain.

He walked on the snow as if he were walking on the ground.

Finally, he came to the top of Mount Tai, looked around, and felt that his heart suddenly opened up.

is not afraid of clouds to cover his eyes, only because he is at the top.

Suddenly, he seemed to remember something, and his eyes unconsciously showed a faint sadness. He sighed lightly and said slowly, "Brother Yan, where have you been?"

In the undersea palace, Yan Shan was sitting in the hexagonal pavilion, looking at the three plates of pastries and a pot of wine, looking dazed.

Now, what else can he do?

Inadvertently, the fingertips touched the scabbard.

Broken scabbard, rusty hilt.

A glint flashed in his eyes, and the next moment, the rusty sword slowly unsheathed.

With his long sword in hand, he walked to the clearing, stabbed out with a sword, and three sword flowers bloomed immediately.

At this time, he was stunned. Killing swords only exist because of killing, simple and direct, how can there be three sword flowers? Could it be that this is a change in the artistic conception? Or is it an illusion?

He closed his eyes and stabbed with his sword again.

He has practiced this set of sword killing swordsmanship countless times, and he has also killed countless people, and every move and style is engraved in his heart. Even if he loses his internal strength, the sword move is still like flowing water, without a trace. However, he vaguely felt that something was missing from the sword move.

At the beginning of practicing this set of sword killing swordsmanship, the lack of murderous aura was obvious.

At this time, the feeling is wonderful, as if it can only be discovered when you reach a certain state.

He stood with a sword, watching the flowers bloom and fall in front of the court, looking at the beauty of the underwater world, nature has its own laws, and what about swordsmanship?

Killing sword swordsmanship stems from the accumulation of battlefield experience, the epiphany between life and death, and finally, a song "Man Jianghong" was born.

Suddenly, as if he had thought of something, he carefully took out the white cloth with a faint blood stain from his bosom and placed it on the stone table and unfolded it.

Angry hair rushed to the crown, leaning on the railing, Xiaoxiao rain rest. Raise your eyes, look up to the sky and roar, and be fierce. Thirty fame, dust and earth, eight thousand miles of clouds and moons. Don't wait, the young man's head is white, empty and sad.

Jing Kang is ashamed, and it is still snowing. When the courtiers hate, when will they perish. Driving a long car is broken, and Helan Mountain is lacking. Zhuang is hungry for Hulu meat, laughing and thirsty for Xiongnu blood. To start from the beginning, clean up the old mountains and rivers, and face the sky.

is still the song "Man Jianghong", the handwriting is vigorous and powerful, and the momentum is majestic.

It turned out to be words.

He took pen, ink, paper, and inkstone from the study, put it on the stone table, and put a large water tank in front of the stone table.

According to legend, the calligrapher Zhang Zhi of the Eastern Han Dynasty came to the pond to learn calligraphy, and the pond was completely black.

He also wanted to follow the example of the ancients and use the large water tank as a pool.

Grinding ink, laying paper.

He was sitting in a precarious position, dipping his pen in ink, concentrating, and the book was the poem "Man Jianghong".

He didn't look at the white cloth with a faint blood stain, just because he knew in his heart that whether it was calligraphy or swordsmanship, the key was in the god rather than the form.

He held the pen very steadily, wrote very slowly, and after writing it once, I don't know how much time had passed.

However, this is just the beginning. A journey of a thousand miles takes only half a step, and there is only one scoop in the vast ocean.

Smiled bitterly, sighed slightly, and continued.

Time passed through my fingers.

Before I knew it, the paper under my feet was more than a foot thick.

He washed the inkstone in the water tank, ate a plate of pastries, and drank a pot of wine.

By this time, he was exhausted and just wanted to get a good night's sleep.

He went into the house, lay down on the bed, very comfortable, and as soon as he lay down he fell asleep, and slept very sweetly.

When he woke up, he returned to the stone table, sat upright, dipped his pen in ink, and concentrated, and the book was still the poem "Man Jianghong".

......

In this way, the cycle repeatedly, not forgetting the original intention, tirelessly.

Finally, when the tank ran out of water, he changed the tank of clean water and continued.

......

The second time, when the tank ran out of water, he changed another tank of water and continued.

......

The third time, when the tank was dark, he still changed the tank of clear water, and then continued.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he vaguely remembered that it took longer to practice calligraphy than it took to make pastries and sake combined, but so what?

Compared with his father-in-law, he is not inferior in the art of war and strategy; he is expected to be better than the blue in the art of swordsmanship; but what about calligraphy?

At this point, here, all he can do is hold on.

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