Moon!
Moonlit night!
The cold moon hangs alone, like a gleaming silver knife flying through thin clouds, its cold radiance like water washing over the boundless wilderness.
The sound of wind blowing across the wilderness is like a knife gently scraping a cardboard, like a woman abandoned ruthlessly sobbing, and more like a poem, writing the poetry of heaven and earth, whose essence is that Heaven and Earth are heartless, and human world is lonely.
Alas..... How many can truly understand it?
At this moment, Jiang Dali sits thirty yards apart from Xiao Sanxiao on the wilderness, silently polishing the Great Strength Fire Qilin Saber.
A knife is a tool of brutality, it does not need polishing, every great battle is itself a polish, only a knife cleansed with blood becomes fiercer.
But Jiang Dali is not polishing the knife, but his spirit.
Polishing the knife is questioning the heart.
