The morning sun rises slowly from the sea level, and the sea surface in the early morning is sparkling, and the hard-working fishing village men have already set up fishing boats, prepared dry food, and went out to sea to fish early.

Cooking smoke rises from an ordinary fisherman's courtyard. A gentle woman at the stove carefully scooped porridge into a bowl of sea, and the firewood reflected her eyes like a fairy dancing.

"Chuan'er, come out to drink porridge, don't be too late, annoy Mr. The woman added some shrimp skin to the bowl and cried softly into the back room. The blue curtain was lifted slightly, and a young man walked out, with a delicate face and bright and agile eyes, like a stream of autumn water.

As soon as the young man sat down, he drank a large mouthful of porridge, and when the woman saw it, she hurriedly opened her mouth: "You child, what are you in a hurry, don't burn it." The young man grinned: "The porridge cooked by my mother is so delicious." The woman snorted, turned and went back to the back room, and when she came out again, she carried a bag in her hand.

"Chuan'er, you are going to take the exam in the town with your husband, and you have to stay for a while, and there are some changes of clothes in this bag. After the woman finished speaking, she took out a small cloth bag with broken flowers into her arms, "This is some money, go out and eat it, don't save it." The young man put down the sea bowl, wiped his mouth, put on his baggage, took the small cloth bag of flowers and carefully placed it in his arms, and smiled: "Mother, I know, you and your father should take care of themselves at home." Then he left the fisherman's courtyard.

Not long after leaving, the young man seemed to have a feeling in his heart, and suddenly looked back, at the bamboo fence, a figure was standing, the young man's eyes were slightly moist, and he waved his hand vigorously.

Under the huge locust tree at the head of the village, an old man in a green shirt stood with his hands in his hands, and the pale white locust flowers occasionally fell quietly on his shoulders.

"Student Mu Chuan, I have seen Mr. In a short time, the boy had reached the place where the teacher and the student met. Every time they met, Mu Chuan always felt that there was something inexplicable about the old man in front of him.

Ten years ago, he was found on the beach by villagers, covered in blood and unconscious. When he came to his senses, he said that he was riding in a boat when he encountered a strong wave, the boat was wrecked, and he was pushed back to shore by the waves. Since then, the small fishing village has had one more private school and one more teacher surnamed Mo.

Mr. Mo turned around and looked at his proud protégé. The child of the fishing village, Mu Chuan is not the smartest, but only he has the most peace in his heart, like a water lily in the pond, fresh and elegant. Mr. Mo took the white petals on his shoulders and handed them to Mu Chuan. "Mu Chuan, looking at this flower, what can you say?"

Mu Chuan stretched out his hand to take it, groaned slightly, and after a while, the light in his eyes flashed, and he saluted: "The color of the flowers will change this year, and who will be there next year." Please advise, sir. After hearing this, Mr. Mo's body trembled imperceptibly, his lips trembled slightly, and his cloudy old eyes shone at once, but they slowly extinguished, like a pool of stagnant water. "Yes, who is ......," Mr. Mo whispered.

Mu Chuan couldn't hear it clearly, and asked, "Sir, what did you say?" Mr. Mo glanced at the petals in his hand, didn't say anything more, turned around and walked towards the outside of the village, "Let's go, we have to hurry up more today." Mu Chuan scratched his head, and couldn't help but feel a little strange in his heart, on weekdays, Mr. Mo would make a comment, but why was he silent today.

The trees slowly disappeared the figures of the two people, and at the entrance of the village, the falling moon locust flowers flipped out beautiful paths in the air, lying softly on the ground.

At the end of the mountain road leading to the town, two figures appeared.

The sun was getting higher, and the figure in front of Mu Chuan suddenly stopped, and Mr. Mo's muddy old eyes looked at the mountain road and said, "This road can't be completed for the time being." Coming out of the village, Mr. Mo spoke for the first time.

The gravel on the side of the road was a little jumping, and seven or eight black dots appeared on the detour ahead, and the crisp sound of iron hooves stepping on the gravel followed.

"Phew~"

The front legs of the tall scaly horse are raised high, and the scales of the horse's body reflect the sunlight. The man on the horse had dark skin, bulging muscles, and a ghost-headed knife pinned to his waist, and the leader man, with a scar extending from his left eye to his right ear, added a touch of cruelty to him.

Scarface squinted at the two of them, his tongue licking his lips, but he didn't speak.

Mr. Mo looked at the leader and arched his hand. He took out a small cloth bag from his bosom and handed it over.

Scarface was checked, but he didn't stuff it into his arms, and his two triangular eyes swept Mu Chuan coldly, and Mu Chuan's heart was cold. "Little cub, what about yours?" Mu Chuan bowed his head and said nothing.

Scarface smiled playfully, and slowly knocked the ghost head knife with his right hand, Mr. Mo pulled the young man next to him, and sighed and said, "Take it out!"

"I was confused just now, and you have a lot. Mu Chuan trembled and took out a small cloth bag, it was his parents' hard-earned money! Scarface grabbed the small cloth bag with body temperature and stuffed it into his arms, and with a whip, everyone left.

Mu Chuan looked at their backs, his knuckles clenched white.

"If I am an official, I will cure this villain" Mu Chuan let out a sullen breath, his delicate face was full of perseverance, his character is like this, if people don't offend him, if they do, they will be punished. Mr. Mo Gujing Wubo, and said lightly: "Let's go, find a place to stay, it's getting dark." ”

Somewhere in an unknown valley, there is a faint red light in the sky above the valley, and from time to time there is a noisy sound of drinking orders. In the darkness, a regular sound of horses' hooves approached.

"Who?" shouted from a watchtower. "It's me, Scar Four. Several silhouettes appeared in the darkness, and when the lights shone on, it was the few people Mu Chuan had met. Scar looked at the sky and scolded: "Damn, the moon on the fifteenth is blocked by clouds." ”

In the depths of the stockade, in the Zhongyi Hall, there is a desk, and a middle-aged man dressed as a scribe is splashing ink. Scar Four walked in and said respectfully, "Second Master, Si'er is back." ”

"Well, how's the matter going?" asked the middle-aged scribe softly. With a slight mention of his wrist, a sharp word "kill" jumped on the paper.

Scarfour glanced at the rice paper and replied cautiously: "Second master, I've found out, Wangjiazhuang is a fat sheep, but it's a bit difficult to bite, so no one else has been eyeing it." ”

The middle-aged scribe hung up his pen and said lightly: "I'll do it myself tomorrow and go to receive the reward." Scarfour grinned and stepped out.

The middle-aged scribe picked up the teacup and gently plucked the tea.

At some point, the noise of the outer courtyard disappeared, and only the sound of cup lids and tea bowls seemed to be left in heaven and earth. The middle-aged scribe's hand stiffened, slowly put down the teacup, looked at the dark night outside the door, and said loudly: "Friend, please show up." ”

"I didn't expect that there were cultivators in this den of thieves. A figure stepped out of the darkness, slightly surprised in tone. The middle-aged scribe arched his hand: "Friend, do we have a grudge?" secretly exuded his divine sense, and after detecting the breath of the arrival, the middle-aged scribe was slightly relieved in his heart, and secretly said that he could not do it.

The man shook his head: "No." But he added, "It's just that I want to kill you." ”

The middle-aged scribe smiled bitterly: "Do you understand that ghosts can't do it?" However, the wry smile disappeared in a flash, and then his face was full of cruelty, "Since this is the case, then I don't need to understand!" Before the words fell, his right hand had drawn a soft sword from his waist, and the sword body was radiant, like a cold pool.

"It's just a dying struggle. The man still didn't move. The middle-aged scribe shouted violently: "Hmph! yes or no, eat my move first!" Then his right hand bloomed with dazzling golden light, and his whole body of yuan power frantically injected into the soft sword in his hand. "The golden snake is out of the hole!" the middle-aged scribe's wrist trembled slightly, and the soft sword shone with golden light, stabbing at the man at a tricky angle.

The man scolded: "The light of the fireflies also dares to compete with the bright moon!" Then the palm of his hand flipped and emitted a faint blue light, "Condensation!" With the wave of his palm, a three-foot-long ice blade took shape.

The soft sword in the hands of the middle-aged scribe has not yet touched the ice blade, and has already produced layers of frost flowers, "click", and the soft sword breaks inch by inch and falls to the ground, like a golden butterfly flying up and down. Seeing this, the middle-aged scribe's eyes were split, and he shouted: "What?" The middle-aged scribe would not have thought that his style of "golden snake out of the hole" would not be a problem in splitting gold and broken stones on weekdays, but under the random blow of the comer, it would be fragile.

The middle-aged scribe looked at the broken sword in his hand in shock, as if he had thought of something, the shock in his eyes quickly faded, turned into a thick fear, turned his head and shouted in horror: "Senior, the villain has no eyes, and he still wants to..." With a wave of his palm, a blue light flashed, and then a great head flew high, and the ice blade was unabated, and the wall was shattered with a loud bang.

The blood in the middle-aged scribe's chest was like a spring, and it turned into ice before it hit the ground. Gorgeous red, like ice flowers. The eyes of the ice-covered skull widened, and he couldn't believe that his blood could be sprayed so beautifully.

After the man finished everything, he looked up at the sky, the dark clouds in the sky had quietly removed, the clear light poured out, and under the moonlit night, a cyan figure gradually blurred.

The village is still brightly lit, but the noisy wine order has disappeared, and a layer of hoarfrost slowly climbs on the leaves of the sycamore trees in the courtyard of the village, and the temperature quietly turns cold.