The wind swept across the cliff, and the snowfall behind her blanketed half the distant scenery in desolate white.
Beneath the Sky Cloud, a sea of snowflakes churned in the wind, lifting her luxurious robes as the golden edges of her skirt rolled like waves.
Her beauty was like a painting.
Ancient memories entangled like wind with clouds, their traces unknown.
That year, in early winter, the Thirteen Swords of the Tianxi Sword Sect struggled to perfect their Sword Dao, all because the Mountain and River Sword had no heart to find a master.
Yet, in recent years, on the day the youngest prince of the Country of Qin was born, the Mountain and River Sword resonated without pause for three days, leading everyone to believe a new master for the sixth sword would soon emerge.
