The high buildings of the sky list were built with snow, and scattered footprints were added to the flat and fluffy snow.　　Xojou dragged his gun and looked over his shoulder at the man who had rubbed him the wrong way.　　He was already very tired, he only felt that something was pressing on his eyelids, straight to make his upper and lower eyelids close together, and in the blurred view, that single and somewhat serious voice line came into his ears, the words of ''14th Disciple of the Sword Pavilion'' likewise struck down like thunder, temporarily dispersing the pain and exhaustion that was radiating from his body.　　So many great things have happened in the world in these months.　　The matter of the Sword Pavilion accepting its fourteenth disciple was something he was well aware of. Because at first, the eighth disciple, Jianti, came out of the pavilion to defeat him, in order to release the Sword Pavilion's disciple acceptance order. Later on, Jianti left

Ning long sword on the cold aura swept the ground, illuminated all over the room light, his plain-clothed figure stood in the layers of light, as if in the ice and snow cave, between the light repeatedly refracted, fell on the white clothes, in the dark-colored hall stood, such as a dream like a phantasmagoria.　　Beside his feet, a few thin, whitish sword traces blossomed on the tiles that were impenetrable to the Realm of the Purple Court.　　Liu Xi Wan looked at him with a complicated expression.　　She looked downward, looking at the cloak on the ground, and then at the curves of her undulating body, although her tight clothing was easy to fight in, it was something that her senior sister had forced her to wear, seemingly to make her recognize her own gender, and so Liu Xiyuan also covered her body with a cloak on weekdays, wrapping it tightly around her body, and especially after she had seen Ning for a long time, she had felt that she had made a wise move.

Ning has long since left.　　Liu Xi Wan stood in place, forehead hair messy, a bit of sweetness in the center of the eyebrow through the peach blossom-like halo, with the scarlet cheeks, even like falling into the wind.　　Liu Xi Wan quietly reached out her hand, wanting to rub down behind her, but only once she touched it, she retracted it like an electric shock, her cheeks reddened a little more, her body tensed up, her teeth pressed against her lips and rubbed hard, several times wanting to bite out blood. She took two steps back, reaching out to hold on to the wall, not knowing what to think, her slender legs trembled, difficult to stand firm.　　Ning Changjiu, the villain himself, was even caught by him.　　The spiritual power quickly dissipated the pain, but the phantom pain was like an arrow that kept skimming against the lake of the heart, the feather of the arrow vibrating and separating a shadow of shame.　　After a long time, she turned back aroun

In winter, the snow is unrelenting.　　Spring is still far away, miles of mountains are covered with snow, and in the cold winter season, all the rocks that should be jagged are poured into snow-white jade.　　In the Bugle Tower, Ning long sat alone in white, and then enjoyed such a view every day.　　The Middle Kingdom was vast and vast, even the eighty-one countries closest to the Heavenly List took seven days to reach by imperial sword. A little girl who had played chess with himself in the Hai Guo Banquet that day was said to be from there.　　He didn't intend to sit in the building for too long; in a month's time, he would return to the Ancient Spirit Sect and go with Simian to check and fill in the gaps for the Underworld Monarch's authority.　　And for most of these snowy days, he was attending to Ryu Junzhuo's sword.　　This was the sword of the second disciple of the Sword Pavilion, a sword that ranked in the top five in the entire Middle Earth

The golden light in the lake faded as the Golden Crow broke the surface of the water.　　The silt rose from the bottom of the lake in great quantities, and the fishy odor permeated the cold wind like a knife.　　Ning long time seems to come from the abyss between, his clothes on the water stains steam dry, if there is a white mist is still lingering between the sleeves, his black hair scattered, golden pupils reflecting the shadow of the White Crane True Lord.　　The old man in the floating body of the white feather frowned and stared at him indifferently.　　He had no fear in his heart. This young man's realm catty he has already figured out, the rest is just the other side of the dying struggle.　　But the moment these golden eyes stared at him, a crane cry resounded steeply above the lake of his heart.　　The cranes cried out in sorrow and blood, with a deep fear, just like a mortal son who saw the king on high.　　The White Crane True Lord's he