The clear sword light disperses inch by inch.
Li Wu, wearing a blue robe, looks pale.
Though his robe is upright and his aura keeps falling lower and lower, within the time it takes for a single sword strike, he unexpectedly descends three times in succession, and finally almost falls below the Heavenly Sect.
In front of him, an old man who has oppressed Jianghu for several eras, finally casting out the world and Jianghu from his domain, lowers his eyes. His sleeve bursts inch by inch, and a sword mark nearly spreads from his arm to his shoulder. The fresh blood just begins to gush out but is immediately suppressed, yet it still trickles down, staining the snow crimson.
Blood dripping profusely.
The first injury in a hundred years.
