Chapter 1,629: Recalling the majestic sky and the flowing flowers, I am reminded of the flying flowers in the sky
Chapter 1633: Reminiscent of the majestic sky and the flowing flowers, and now I am reminded of the flying flowers
The dark night swallowed up the last ray of clouds in the sky.
Opening his eyes in the night, the beast in the forest was about to start hunting, and heard ferocious roars in the distance.
The storyteller stood by, looking nervously at his brother who was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to him, and angrily said:
"You're hiding your sword!"
"It's okay, just stretch your muscles a little."
The eight masters closed their eyes, and their breaths disappeared, turning into a large stone that can be seen randomly in this mountain forest.
"What on earth did Quirehan tell you!"
The storyteller became anxious, "No matter how important they are, you are not more important than yourself. How can you do anything for them if you have hidden the sword for so many years?"
What answered him was the silence of the mountain forest and the undetectable footsteps of the forest beasts approaching quietly.
"Is Xu Xiaoshou more important, or are you more important?" The storyteller stopped kicking his brother and interrupted his current thoughts.
The latter still had no response.
"Will you hurt yourself?"
His tone softened, and he knelt down next to Bazunzhen, "If something happens to you, I can't explain it to Sister Yue."
Play the piano to the cow.
The storyteller's brows jumped again and again, and he could no longer bear it. Thirty years of resentment poured out on this night:
"Okay, okay, okay!"
"You are smart, but we are mortals and a burden!"
"If you don't say anything, you won't understand it even if you say it. If you understand it, you won't be able to do it. If you can't do it, it's better not to ask, right?"
"You are like this! Wen Ting is like this too! We, Taixu, are all useless, but you are the only ones who are good at practicing swords... I don't even bother to guard you!"
He stood up suddenly, threw away his skirt, and was about to jump off the cliff, leaving Bazun Shui to starve to death alone in this mountain forest.
No, there is no need to starve to death so slowly.
He will soon be eaten by wild beasts.
"well."
Bazun sighed softly, had no choice but to fall into a calm state of mind, opened his eyes and said: "Come back."
"Eh."
The storyteller rolled back, lying next to his brother, holding his cheeks, his eyes shining brightly, "Speak quickly!"
"Sealing the sword is not hiding the sword, and the two are not so absolute. It's just that the demons who practice swords are stunned and think that they must never draw the sword when hiding the sword... In the eighth palace, didn't I also draw a sword?"
"Uh-huh."
"I won't be hurt."
"Uh-huh."
"..."
"anything else?"
The storyteller saw that he stopped after saying a few words, and suddenly became anxious, "How can there be any comparison between the Eight Palaces and the ruins of the God-killing Officer? Now you have to travel through the stars and go to another dimension!"
Bazun shook his head lightly, without saying anything, picked up a stone and flicked it out between his index and middle fingers.
The storyteller followed quickly with his eyes.
"Crack."
The stone traced an arc that was not very elegant, and landed feebly about ten feet away. After rolling a few times, it stopped in front of the big stone.
"Understand?"
Ba Zun knew that he had explained it perfectly, so he immediately closed his eyes and entered concentration again.
What is what is what...
The storyteller's eyes widened, and three plumes of smoke came out of his head. He racked his brains and couldn't figure out what his brother wanted to express.
"What the hell are you pretending to be?"
"Can't you just tell me what you have to say!"
He made a vicious move and pulled open the eyelids of Ba Zunzun's eyes, almost gouging out the two eyeballs that were spinning around in confusion.
"Quenching." Lao Ba said helplessly, and then he stopped the storyteller's violence.
"What quenching?"
"Cao Yihan said that the last step in blacksmithing is not to lift the sword embryo in front of the enemy and fight directly, but also requires a process of quenching and condensation."
So the Ranming Ruins is the last basin of quenching water, and you have to go there to complete the "condensation"?
But water is everywhere, so why highlight the basin of Ming Ruins?
Oh, I know, this pot must have the best effect.
The storyteller had some intellect. After thinking deeply, he looked at the stone not far away and pointed out his final confusion: "What does this have to do with the stone?"
"Seal the sword until old age, and I will become a saint."
"I am here to temper the sword with my thoughts. After completing the last step of repairing the sword, I can put the sword back into the box and prepare it for use."
hair?
To whom?
The storyteller's expression tightened. He was very capable of capturing the key points of his brother's life and death. "You want to fight Hua...him?"
The Eight Masters knew: "There must be a battle."
The storyteller was silent. It was not that he disliked his brother, but he still believed that the time had not come yet.
Huachangdeng is always one step ahead.
Huachangdeng then took the lead step by step.
Huachang Dengdu Sword Conferred the Holy Emperor, and obtained the real power and resources of the most powerful person in the five holy emperor families. It can no longer be measured by a single "Sword Holy Emperor"...
When it comes to Huachang Deng, the storyteller is full of fear, full of powerlessness, and full of natural talents, resources, background, and perfect character - if the eight acquaintances are not named eight, but are surnamed by the family of the Five Holy Emperors.
At the same time, Rao Yaoyao heard that he was only three days behind Hua Changdeng in sword cultivation, so he spent thirty years trying to catch up.
As a result, not only did the gap not get smaller, one was in the sky and the other was on the ground.
On the other hand, the Eight Masters are familiar with each other.
The sword has been hidden for thirty years and left behind for thirty years. Thinking about it, it is beyond reach...
To be honest, outsiders may still remember the glorious appearance of the "Eighth Sword Immortal".
The storyteller has long forgotten how high-spirited his brother was back then, and in his mind over the years, only the trivial things from life are left.
For example, you need crutches to travel, you need support when flying, you may get cold due to strong winds, and you may occasionally see blood when you cough...
Say something unpleasant.
I have no filial son before I have been sick for a long time.
When friends who haven't seen each other for years meet again, everyone can show some concern when they see their brother's current situation.
Who can really take care of such a disabled person for more than thirty years because of his worship to the Emperor and Empress, and even be willing to give up his own bright future because of it...
All your slaves have deserted you.
And your me is still by your side.
The storyteller realizes that if his brother wakes up one day and calls him "adopted father", he will deserve it!
And this guy, whose highlight moments are almost completely blurred in his memory, said that he only needs this last step of quenching to be completed before he can shine again.
The storyteller's first reaction was not to be happy. What he thought of was what most people call "returning to the light."
"Do you know about revolving lanterns?"
"Have you dreamed about the past while sleeping recently?"
"When you see the moon, do you occasionally feel depressed and start to think about the beauty of the future, with Sister Yue, with Wen Ting, with others, and with everyone?" the storyteller seemed to ask casually.
Bazun didn't know where this man's thoughts were going, so he stretched out his hand and pointed at the stone.
The storyteller thought for sure: "By the way, you haven't said it yet, what does quenching have to do with this stone?"
"From here to there."
"What's the meaning?"
"So Easy."
"Uh..." The storyteller was speechless for a moment. He stared at the distance about ten feet away. Then he looked back at his brother and realized that he didn't want to say more and was prevaricating himself.
He was just about to get angry and beat this guy awake so that he would stop dreaming - how could it be so simple to go from Holy God Continent to Ranming Ruins?
Haven't moved yet.
The Eight Masters have closed their eyes.
This time, he was no longer silent.
Facing the cool night wind and the bleak mountain forest, he opened his lips and teeth, as if he had taken out all the strength he still had, and chanted loudly:
"Half life is lonely, the autumn cicada misses the summer."
"Recalling the majestic past, flowers flow from the sky."
The mountain forest was deathly silent, and the murmuring sounds drifted farther and farther with the night wind, but they couldn't go very far at all.
There is no sword chant.
There is no streamer.
Only the rustling of the branches was left to respond, dispelling the slight embarrassment that might have arisen from the sudden remarks if outsiders were present.
The storyteller pursed his trembling lips and his nose was slightly sore.
He heard his brother's reminiscences about the glorious past and his desire for the art of swordsmanship.
But……
The moon that belongs to the ancient sword cultivator has gone to other people's heads and is no longer focused on him alone.
The guy who made a move and made the world move, and a sword that brought all kinds of magic to follow, did not come back in style just because he chanted a few words at this moment.
Let's go.
We go down the mountain.
What other people do is none of my business, let's go home.
The storyteller wiped the corners of his eyes, stood up, and was just about to step forward and take his brother home, but he never thought that after a brief pause...
"boom!"
The entire mountain forest was suddenly shaken.
An unknown force descended from the sky, cutting off the leaves on the branches and the flowers on the edges of the leaves.
The beasts in the forest that were quietly touched by the noise were either smashed to the ground or buried with broken bones.
Just as the storyteller was about to take a step forward, he knelt down in front of his brother and knocked him on the head, causing his forehead and nose to bleed.
"???"
Unprepared, he was completely stunned.
After he managed to lift his head under the heavy pressure, his ears felt as if they were pricked with needles again, and he only heard a melodious sword cry that made people dizzy!
"The song in the box is moving, now I am in harmony with myself."
"Shadows are riding under the moon, and flowers are flying with a sword."
call out!
A thought rises in the wind and carries it along the branches and leaves.
In the blink of an eye, the light and shadow crossed the mountain stream and Qingming, turned into a little black under the moonlight, and then disappeared.
Bang.
Bazunzun seemed to have died. His body went limp and fell to the ground. The back of his head was bleeding from the gravel.
"ah!"
The storyteller screamed, and after realizing that the momentum was gone, he hurriedly stepped forward to help him up:
"Brother, brother, what happened to you! How could you die?"
"Why bother? Why bother to save face in front of others? Others will laugh at you, but they won't laugh at you..."
He paused as he spoke, stretched out his green jade finger, and probed his brother's breath.
Eh?
Still angry?
The storyteller's eyes lit up, he thought of "quenching fire with thoughts", and quickly turned his head and glanced behind him.
Under the moonlight in the mountains, the sound of swords no longer sounds, and the wind supports the flowers.
The unknown dark purple petals swayed and fell, breaking the light and making people lose their minds.
"Flying flowers with one sword..."
The storyteller finally heard the explanation, but he couldn't understand it.
He stared blankly into the distance and murmured:
"He still went..."
…
This night.
People who are sleeping soundly in the southern region will not notice that flowers are blooming, and the fragrance comes from their dreams.
The flowers were carried by the wind, rising from the southern region and lost in Nanming. Not long after, they landed again from the eastern region, wandering through the roads and fields, visiting the mountains and rivers, and sending incense to the sword tombs.
"Buzz!"
Sword burial mound and sword washing pool.
Qingju suddenly went crazy, trembling violently, like a thin dog that had been hungry for thirty years and smelled the hot, freshly baked black pork buns.
"Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!"
"Keng! Keng! Keng!"
It struggled desperately.
It cried desperately with tears.
It tried to break through the blockade of the Sword Washing Pool, break through the resentment of the hundred thousand broken swords in the Sword Tomb, and break through the rules of this place to come out again.
It failed.
Even though its green residence has the glory of flooding from the sky.
Today, it is just a broken sword that is rusty and covered with moss, and it has been abandoned for a long, long time.
"Woooooooo..."
It cried helplessly.
It’s a big dream, but when you wake up, it’s all empty.
This dream has occurred countless times in the past thirty years.
…
The top of the Tianshan Mountains, on the side of Jianma.
"What are you doing!"
"Did I steal your heirloom? Why are you chasing me like this? Are you sick?"
Wen Tingben was still controlling his consciousness to run wildly and retreat wildly.
Suddenly, his pupils trembled, he regained consciousness, and tilted his head in disbelief.
people?
Not an illusion!
In the past thirty years, no one has been able to climb to the top of the Tianshan Mountains except himself. There is actually an ethereal, otherworldly figure in the void.
He looked to be in his early twenties, with a pine-shaped crane body, sword-like eyebrows and starry eyes, his hands were clasped behind his waist, and he was so angry that he swallowed the whole world. His eight-foot-long body reached to the sky, and he was dressed in white robes like a banished immortal.
This person...
This person!!
Wen Ting's face turned pale and pale, changing again and again.
After rubbing his eyes, he still couldn't accept the appearance of the figure in front of him.
He suddenly felt like he was having a seizure. He bent down, swung his upper body left and right, straightened up again, and pecked his head left and right like a woodpecker. Finally, he covered his chest with his hands, pushed the air into his chest, and said in a choked voice:
"Ah ah ah~ my wife~"
It was so overwhelming that I couldn’t contain the shock in my heart even after singing randomly.
"Shut up."
The white-robed figure's expression darkened.
Wen Ting felt as if his chat box had suddenly been opened, and what was inside turned out to be a flood, which he couldn't even stop:
"Are you the Eight Masters?"
"Why are you so young?"
"Who taught you the facial-retention technique? Well, well, practice it secretly behind my back, right..."
"Aren't you useless? Where are your fingers? Show me!"
"Ah! Shigen, you are not a master of the Eight Masters... Hey! What kind of evildoer, pretending to be a ghost, a coquettish old man, showing his true form... Auntie~"
As soon as Wen Ting touched the sisal and flicked his sleeves, he pulled out a stream of light from behind and was about to kill it in the air.
"I don't have time to talk nonsense with you."
The Eight Masters remained motionless, turning their eyes to the distant sky:
"I was about to sense the fluctuations in the Sword Viewing Canon just now. I could have gone directly, but the boy suddenly lost contact..."
"You can help me cross the starry sky and just use your sword. If you stay a little closer, I can find him on my own."
Wen Ting crossed his arms and remained silent.
Wen Ting looked around without saying a word.
Wen Ting suddenly burst into laughter. He kept making "hahahahaha" sounds. Suddenly he spread his legs and spread his hands horizontally, making a sign with the word "big":
"you!"
The arms quickly moved upward again, drawing two semicircles, which finally converged at a point above the head:
"please!"
He retracted his feet, spread his hands diagonally and slashed down, throwing off the long sleeves on both sides:
"I!"
Roll up your sleeves, put your hands on your hips, and raise your chin:
"Yeah~"
After hearing these four words, Ba Zunxun's lips twitched slightly, his eyelids twitched wildly, and he turned around to leave.
But he couldn't bear it anymore, so he turned around and said:
"I've told you before that you can't stay at home for too long, let alone staying in the same place for thirty years, you will get sick."
Wen Ting laughed wildly: "Am I sick? Am I sick?"
"You know, Bazun, you've been kicked in the head by a donkey. When you ask for help, you first accuse me of being sick? Hahahaha, who is sick?"
"Huh? Tell me! Who is sick?" His expression became serious.
Bazun knew: "I am sick."
After saying that, he turned around and left.
"Stop!"
Wen Ting spread his legs, flicked his sleeves, and took out a piece of paper and a pen from nowhere:
"Write!"
"Write you to please me!"
"Signed by the Eight Masters..."
"No! Don't write your bad name in the signature, write 'Slave of the Moon Palace'!"
"Hurry up! No one else can help you with this matter. The old sluts are already chasing me. If I delay any longer, they will definitely die!"
Ba Zunzhen took a deep breath, using his finger pen and his thoughts as ink, he brushed his mark on the paper.
Wen Ting grabbed the paper and blew it.
With a hiss, the sword thought was blown away.
The silver lettering was in black, and he carefully hid the note.
"Jian Nian?" Wen Ting pointed at the translucent Eight Masters.
The eight masters shook their heads.
"Sword Elephant?"
Shake his head again.
"Tianjie Sword Elephant?"
Still shaking his head.
"Say it or not!" Wen Ting said as if if you don't tell me, I will start defaulting on the debt.
"Sword me."
With these two simple words, Wen Ting's eyes widened, as if he could see himself returning to his true nature after removing the whitewash from the avenue.
Right now, the Tianshan Mountains are beginning to change...
The snow is gone and the seasons return;
The lushness is gone, and the mountains are bald;
The sand and stones no longer exist, but the high tide rises;
The tide is gone,...
"Wake up!"
The eight masters flicked their fingers in the air, and Wen Ting staggered back two steps, waking up as if from a dream.
"I don't have time for you to realize your enlightenment, so send me there."
Damn it...
You deserve to die...
Jianwo, what is "Jianwo"...
Wen Ting lowered his eyebrows and furrowed his eyes, his eyes were about to burst, his throat was rolling like an evil beast, and he almost broke his back molars before he could restrain himself from showing his jealousy.
"Don't you want to take a look at it?" He lowered his head and looked in the direction of the sword washing pool.
"No need."
Oops, no~must~
Say two more words and you will die, right?
While his heart was twisting, Wen Ting turned around with what he thought was a flick of his sleeve by Feng Qingyundan, but the corners of his mouth and eyes twitched wildly and uncontrollably twice.
He quickly calmed down his expression, patted Kenma lightly, and said calmly: "Kenma, give him a ride."
"Hey..."
Jianma let out a sword cry that he had not heard in thirty years. It was extremely pleasant and did not match his cold temperament.
The sword light shot out, carrying me, the eight swords of familiarity, and swept into the starry sky.
Wen Tingmu was caught in the wind and snow.
"ah--"
After an unknown amount of time, an uncontrollable scream sounded from the top of Tianshan Mountain: