"Drinking without wine is pointless..."
After a while, Chen Yi softly said, sounding like it was to ease his fear, and as he spoke, he slowly walked on.
Wu Buxu did not turn his head, still sitting motionless as if he were an ancient sword standing upright, rusted but soaked in fresh blood.
He had been trapped for decades by the Sword Pool and had faced treacherous schemes from lowly minds trying to strike fatally from behind, but their outcome... all turned into fertilizer for the mountain peak's silver grass beneath his feet, whistling in the wind, with the surrounding white-tipped grass dancing like swords aimed at the old man as if thirsting for blood.
Chen Yi moved closer and closer to Wu Buxu, the latter's head slightly lowered, as if waiting for a sword to come his way.
Whoosh.
The wine gourd tilted downward, pouring all over Wu Buxu's head.
The white hair fluttering in the wind cascaded like a waterfall, leaving Wu Buxu sitting there dumbfounded.
