When Meng Qingyi called him, he couldn't believe it.

It's not because he can't shoot at the woman, it's because the woman in front of him saved his life.

Although it was vague, the memory still extended, in that gloomy room.

The woman's hand was very gentle, like a mother who hugged him into her arms on a snowy night.

The wound was still oozing blood, and the hands gently pinched the gauze and carefully wiped it again and again.

He hadn't heard of the conversation between Meng Qingyi and Xue Qi, but he just looked at the woman's face with the last of his consciousness, his long sideburns shook slightly with the hand he was caressing, and there were already a few beads of sweat left on his forehead, but he still pursed his small lips that had been coated with crimson peach-colored rouge, looking attentive.

It was such a woman who stood in front of him.

There was a distance of eighteen or nineteen paces in the middle, carrying a sword, standing against the wind.

At this time, the south wind was blowing, and it was really powerful to him.

But somehow, he couldn't take a step forward, let alone pull out that cold and desperate ghost thorn.

Ignoring the rest of the people's stunned and panicked, he only paid attention to the woman's eyes.

There was a hint of surprise in his eyes.

People are so interesting, no matter how strange they are, if they have to give a helping hand, they will inevitably have a strange feeling, whether the other party is good or bad, they can't help but care.

But such a relationship is only a momentary remnant in the woman's eyes.

After all, the two of them are their own masters, and they are enemies in the same field.

If you are an opponent, you should be ruthless.

So his hand was also pressed into the seven characters embedded in the wooden box behind him.

"The water pavilion is by virtue of spring and mishaps. ”

In this smokeless and rainless northern autumn, his utter ghost thorns have lost their vitality.

Woman moves.

If you don't move, you will be like a nine-day Xuannu stepping on the white lotus and jumping in the boundless autumn dust.

In the eyes of outsiders, the sword dance is a circle that encompasses the world, although there is no flaw, it has never killed and killed.

Deeply immersed in it, I only thought that the sword dance was so beautiful and thrilling.

It seems that time is still, as if there is only this wonderful dance left in the world.

That kind of beauty is like a fate that must be encountered, and that kind of beauty makes people spare their lives.

Countless hazy phantoms are hidden in ripples that ripple again and again.

There is affection in the sword dance.

Unless you are a deep and ruthless person, you can get rid of the confusion in it.

He looks ruthless and sad, but it's not for love that he trapped himself so that he can't move an inch!

"It's better to die under that sword. ”

But there was a voice that did not stop ringing in his ears.

The voice was so loud that he forgot everything, and the sky and the earth were blank.

When the blank space was finally erased by the cold gray of reality, he saw the fish-woven sword, stabbing towards his chest.

Instinctively, he wanted to dodge, but in this narrow time, he could no longer dodge.

All he felt was pain.

The new wound brings out the old pain.

In the past few days, although he has tried his best to cultivate, the scar on his chest is too deep after all, and it really pierces a lot of texture, even if it is scabbed, it cannot heal in a short time.

Blood, all over the ground.

The stream is in the muddy soil that has long been hardened by the autumn cold.

Because of the slope of the ground, some blood even converged with Wei Rufeng.

As if it was because of the stimulation of blood, the woman's eyes were also terrified, and the sword in her hand seemed to be unable to hold it.

Although the long sword was not as sharp as the scythe of that day, it cut a larger bloody wound and tore open the previous wound.

So he was powerless, so he had to fall.