The Path Toward Heaven

Zhao Layue carried the body of Yin San towards the outside of the town, and stepped on the green grass, very briskly.

The bright light from the sky cast an extremely long shadow of her petite body on the ground, and then gradually faded into a brighter light.

The most important thing in the whole continent is happening, but she did not look back, but just looked at the change in the shade of the shadow in front of her.

No one noticed her, and naturally no one saw her look finally changed.

Her lips were slightly raised, and she was laughing.

There was applause among the peaks.

There seemed to be cheers in town.

As the world became brighter and brighter, the cheers became louder and louder, and her smile grew more and more, until the shallow dimples on her cheeks were exposed, which was a little cute.

She was really happy, but also a little sorry.

If it could be in the same era as a genius like Shishuzu, that would be great.

Whether it's learning, or something else.

The cheers among the peaks suddenly disappeared.

No surprises.

The quietness at this time represents good wishes.

Like the light that illuminates the world.

Of course, after all, there will still be some sorrow.

Uncle Zujing Yang soared.

Zhao Layue finally turned and looked to the sky.

Looking at the rift that was disappearing, and the sword light that was almost invisible, somehow, his brows were slightly raised.

She looked at the corpse in her hand, her smile gradually condensed, a little puzzled and uncertain.

...

...

There is a lot of wetness in the clouds, and Xijian often accompanies it.

Not far from Yunji Town, there is a stream of water, which flows with mist, around high cliffs and low hills, and travels for dozens of miles to re-enter the wall of another mountain.

I don't know how far the stream enters the mountain wall. The waterway becomes wider and the light becomes brighter. There is actually a stone room with precious jade that is rare in the world.

The stone room is very simple. There is only one stone bed connected to the mountain wall. There are two rotten futons in front of the bed.

A teenager carried his hands on his back and looked sideways at the stone bed, occasionally the wind rose and lifted the white clothes.

There was a person lying on the stone bed, covered with blood, with wounds everywhere, narrow or wide, deep or shallow, and there was no way to tell what kind of weapon was injured, and the clothes were worn out. The woven fabric, the belt is still very complete, there is a very faint sigh of air, and it is actually made by Hao Jiao Jin. It is tied with a waist card, but it seems to be carved from ordinary black wood.

This person has no breath and has long since died. The strange thing is that there is always a layer of mist on his face, very deep, and he can't see his face clearly.

The teenager stood in front of the stone bed, watching the man silent, not knowing what he was thinking.

I don't know how long it took, he finally spoke.

"Really annoying."

His voice was very clean, but a bit astringent, his speech was very slow, and he seemed to rarely speak.

The light fell in his eyes.

His eyes are like a sea, seemingly calm and clear, but extremely deep, hiding countless storms and waves.

There is confusion, there is anger, there is regret, some fatigue, and some vicissitudes that are completely incompatible with age.

After a moment, all emotions in his eyes disappeared, leaving only a calm.

It's like the clouds and fog disappeared between the nine peaks, and it's like the light pulp that fell from the sky finally turned into nothingness.

"Some envy you, you can take a good rest, but I have to be busy for many years."

The boy in white said to the dead on the stone bed.

The deceased's belt moved slightly, and the wooden sign suddenly disappeared.

A cold light left the stone bed and flew around his body, shining the brilliance of the stone room, and stopped before his eyes after a moment.

It was a flying sword, about two feet long, two fingers thick and thin, and the blade was smooth like a mirror. There was nothing strange about it, but it gave a very unusual feeling.

The young man in white raised his right hand, and Feijian fell on his own. With a snapping sound, he rolled around his wrist and gradually dimmed, just like an ordinary bracelet.

Turning around and walking to the stream, the boy in white suddenly remembered what the man said to himself.

-People cannot step into the same river twice.

Is this really the case?

Thinking of this problem, he walked into the stream.

...

...

The stream runs through the mountain's abdomen for some unknown distance, and it pierces on the other side of the mountain, forming a small waterfall over ten feet high, which is very beautiful.

The boy in white fell down the cliff from the cliff, ready to walk on the water, but his feet had stepped on the water and fell into the lake.

It wasn't until he reached the depths of the lake, his feet touching the bottom of the lake, that he probably understood what was happening, and he was a little stunned.

But he didn't seem to know what kind of expression should be used to describe this emotion, so he looked a little dumbfounded.

The slightly cold lake water had no effect on him. He looked around with his eyes open and saw a stone at the bottom of the lake.

He picked up the stone from the bottom of the lake and walked forward along the terrain, getting closer and closer to the water, until it came out of the lake and came to the shore.

There was a muffled sound, the ground shook, and the water on the shore was slightly wavy. That was the stone he put down in his arms. I can imagine how heavy the stone was.

He was soaked all over, feeling a little uncomfortable. He was about to dry his body with a sword and fire, but found nothing.

The dripping hair and wet clothes close to his body reminded him that there should be a fire at this time. Then he thought that he had never had a fire.

He tilted his head, recalling the books he had read many years ago, and repeated in a dry voice: "Need hay and branches of varying thickness."

Confirming that the water in his left ear had all flowed out, he tilted his head to the right and continued to search through those long-lasting memories, saying: "If there is no flint, you need crystals, or drill wood."

There was a forest on the shore. He walked into the forest, reached out and stroked it, and the fallen wood rustled down, and soon piled up into a hill.

He picked the smoothest piece of wood from inside, padding a few strands of silk under the bark, his heart slightly moved, and the silver bracelet between his wrists became the little sword again, hovering over it.

The sharp sword-blade was turned against the wood chip through the floss, and it spun up at an unimaginable speed. Soon there was Mars, then green smoke, and then there was flames.

The clothes were resting on the branches and steam came out.

Looking at the intensity of the steam and the speed of the rise, the teenager easily calculated that it would take three quarters for the clothes to dry completely.

What he used to do during this time was something he didn't need to think about.

All time has only one purpose for him.

He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes and began to meditate, which seemed particularly natural.

But at the next moment he opened his eyes and wondered blankly, what is the entry formula?