In the thousands of years of comprehension, Yinghao has come forth in large numbers, and now only ten people can be listed on the "Xianjun Spectrum". Nangong Changying is one of them.

Once upon a time, the ink burned was not taken for granted. He used a little finger to crush the 72 cities of Confucianism. He only thought that there were hundreds of waste pustules in the city, and the knife had not been put on the neck. Shouting pain, the sword has not yet squatted and began to beg for mercy.

As the last generation of the child leaves the past, he said before the death, the Huang Dynasty Confucianism seventy cities, Ning no one is a man.

In the eyes of the ink, the Confucianist Gate is a loose sand, and the Nangong Changying, who is gathered in this scattered sand, can be a great figure?

The blood is mottled, and the centuries-old foundation was razed to the ground by the latecomers. The dead bodies were everywhere, and the crows licked the belly of the dead. When he stepped on the stage, he had no expression on his face and pushed the door of the Xianxian Hall.

He wore a black cloak on the ground and passed through the gallery with the heads of Confucianism and the portraits of the elders, and finally stopped at the end of the Xianxian Hall.

Stepping on the face, the cloak was added, under the hood, couldn't see his entire face, only to see his pale chin, the arc was fierce and arrogant, slightly raised, with a gesture of judgment, looked The statue that is taller than the real person.

It is a statue carved by the white jade stone. It is a young sage with a wide robes and wide sleeves. It is set up with a bow and a bow. The craftsman's artificial pen is sturdy, and it is ingenious. It is set with crystals inlaid with crystals. Applying the crown, the **** morning light fell from the skylight behind the statue, causing him to squat up like a scent of the nine-day god.

The half face under the hood of the fairy hat, suddenly revealed a smile, revealing the white teeth, sweet dimples.

He sorted out the dress and made a long glimpse, then lifted up the face of Qing Jun, and said with a smile: "Long time, Nangong fairy."

The statue naturally does not speak, only the black spar flows with luster, as if gazing at the coming.

Stepping on the fairy is also very boring, no one cares about him, he can still play for a long time: "The younger generations are drizzling, today is fortunate to meet, Nangong Xianchang is really good-spirited."

He laughed and laughed and talked for a long time, and the living person was nervous about the statue.

"I have seen your Xuan Xuan Xuan Xuan..." He licked his fingers and sighed. "I can't figure out. Who knows that you are the first generation of nephews. I have seen you who don't know the first generation." Hey, you don’t know the first generation of apprentices under your seat."

Then he smiled: "But now they have become my knife, so if you haven't reborn, you have already seen them."

"Unfortunately, I didn't see your Xuan Xuan Xuan Xuan grandson. The guy fled before the city broke. I don't know if it is dead or alive, how much regret."

He was happy again, Pi Liyang and the statue relatives talked for a long time, and then said: "Right, I heard that Nangong Xianchang was also a generation of people, and everyone went back. Wherever they went, there were people who swear allegiance to follow. There are even fans who are called emperors."

The ink burned and smiled: "Isn't that just as good as I am today? So I came here, the first thing I said was nonsense, I just had a question - I wonder why Nangong Xianchang did not refuse to go to the base in the past?"

He paused and walked a few more steps. At this time, his sight fell on the warning monument standing behind the sculpture of Nangong Changying. In fact, this monument is so big. He saw it early in the morning, but he has always been Over.

The stone tablet was the 96-year-old Nangong Changying. It was carved with a sword. It was primitive and unpretentious, but later it was added with gold powder and silver. Now it’s a brilliant glow.

The ink burned and stared for a while, and smiled and said: "Oh, I understand. 'Greedy, murder, murder, thief, is my Confucian gentleman seven can't do it?' Xian Chang is really good."

He held his hand and continued: "But the fairy is white, the world is clear, and he is taught to the later generations. He is very curious, but I am very curious. Did the fairy think that one day, the Confucianism will become Today's situation?"

He said here, licking his lips, seems to be thinking of a suitable wording, and then he thought of it, so he smiled and said: "A nest of squirrels?"

When he finished, he laughed, and his smile was so happy and pleasant. He was pure and evil. He echoed in the empty and solemn Xianxian Hall for a long time. His voice was like a crack, like tearing the piece of the shaft that was slightly swaying with the wind, shredding. Portraits of Confucianism Yingjie in the past...

The laughter finally berthed in front of the icy sculpture of Nangong Changying, and stopped abruptly.

The ink burned no longer smiled. He converges on the smile and slowly condenses a layer of ice on the surface.

His dark eyes stared at the front sages of the opposite side of the Wu belt, staring at the same person as him, who could also order the world and step on the celestial beings.

It seems that time and space meet here, and the first sages of the two eras are squatting in the torrent of years.

Finally, the ink burned softly: "Nangong Changying, your Confucianism is a pool of dirty water, I don't believe you will be clean."

He slammed his sleeves and turned around, striding out of the Xianxian Hall. Suddenly there was a gust of wind, blowing down the hood of the cloak, and finally revealing the crazy face of the Emperor.

He has the handsome and handsome appearance of the world, and is a well-deserved beauty man, but this face, but the fierce and sinister eyes of the world, like a rotten food.

The black robes are like thick clouds and ink, rolling down the long steps.

He is a ghost of the world, Shura of the red dust, he looked up, there are dead bodies of Confucian disciples everywhere, lack of arms and broken legs, stepping Xianjun does not accept the soldiers, except that the woman named Song can still be kept, the rest , rush to kill.

At that moment, the burning heart was filled with cruelty and enthusiasm. He looked at the radiant glow of the sky, the sun pierced the clouds, and a dazzling golden light was on his pale face.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed his hands in his sleeves, shuddering with ecstasy and excitement.

He used to be such a life-threatening person. When he was young, he used to eat food in Linyi. He had seen his mother starving to death. He didn't even have a straw-covered mat. At that time, he asked a monk of the Confucianism, could he give him a coffin, the thinnest and the worst, but the man said a word to him -

The monk said: "Which person should be worthy of a fight, hitting three feet, you can hardly ask for a shot."

He had no choice, so he wanted to bury his mother on the spot, but the control of Linyi was very strict. The nearest mass grave was outside the city, and it was reached by turning over two hills.

He dragged his mother's body, all the way to the disgusting, inferior, surprised, sympathetic eyes, but no one helped him, he walked for 14 days, a child dragged a woman's body, fourteen days .

Fourteen days. There is no one who is willing to help him.

At the beginning, he would kneel on the side of the road to beg, begging for a gentleman, a groom, a farmer, can take him and Aunt with a wooden cart.

But who would be willing to put a mortal body on his car?

Later, he did not plead, just biting his teeth, dragging his mother, walking step by step.

The body was stiff, softened, and began to rot. There was stench and corpse oozing out. The passers-by shunned him three times and covered his nose.

On the fourteenth day, he finally reached the mass grave.

There is no smell of living people in him, and the corpse smells into his marrow.

He didn't have a jealousy, he used his hand to plan a shallow hole under the mass grave. He really didn't have the strength to dig a deep pit. He dragged himself to the unrecognizable A Niang and dragged it into the pothole. Then he sat next to him.

After a long time, he said stiffly: "A mother, I should bury you."

He began to smash the earth, only took a handful, sprinkled on the mother's chest, he collapsed, he cried.

It’s strange, he thought that the tears had already drained.

"No, no, you can't see it when you bury it. If you bury it, you won't see it." He climbed into the pit again, crouching on the rancid body, tears rolling down. When the mood was a little slow, he went to the earth again, but the soil seemed to have some smell that could open the lacrimal gland, and he collapsed.

"How can it be so bad... It’s all like this..."

"Why didn't even have a mat..."

"A Niang... A Niang..."

He took his face to marry her. He didn't dislike her dirty. She stinks. She is a dead man. She doesn't have a good skin under her body. She has pus and blood, and she crawls on the mites.

He fell in her arms and burst into tears. Every voice of the pharynx and heartbreaking lungs seemed to be dug out of blood in the throat.

Finally, the mourning of the funeral post echoed his whining, the voice was distorted and hoarse, ambiguous, sometimes like a cry of people, but more often it was like a cry after the young beast lost his mother.

"A Niang... A Niang!!"

"Come to the individual...Is there anyone...I have buried me personally...and buried me..."

In a blink of an eye, twenty has passed.

The ink burned back to Linyi, standing on the hill of Qionglai, the wind of the Confucianism, and standing in front of the **** sea.

At that time, the scorpion of the body had become bright and fangs sharp, and he blinked his eyes again, and the brilliance and brilliance of the brilliance flashed in the scorpion.

Today, he is standing here, who dares to tell him that he is hitting three feet, is it hard to ask for a sigh?

absurd! He wants ten feet, a hundred feet, and wants to be perfect!

He wants them to ask everyone in this world to kneel down and kneel to the ground and present his millions of millions of feet to the top -

Step on all the celestial beings, respect the world! ! !

He has entered the Xianxian Hall and met Nangong Changying. He has more and more determined his own desires and ambitions. Yes, he has done all the best in the world, and he can hold everything in his palm. live.

He will never be the child who screamed and screamed in the past. He will never let his favorite person die in front of him. He will rot in front of him, and his skin will be white and bones.

No more.

A hundred years later, he will also become a **** like Nangong Changying, who is enshrined in the mountains, and the white jade is the word of the golden powder.

No, he will be better than Nangong Changying. His life and death will be far better than the original Confucianism, and he, the first king of the comprehension, will also be able to afford the hypocrite that Nangong Changying can’t afford. More teach people to admire, more teach people praise.

Sin?

He does not believe that Nangong Changying is not guilty. Can someone who can make a monster like Confucianism, how could it be a self-satisfaction and a good-natured gentleman?

Isn't it a "gracious grievance, murder and looting, is it that my Confucian gentleman can't do it?" Who wouldn’t say beautiful words? Before he died in the rain, he could find someone to come up with some wonderful things for him. It is a singular slogan that can be used to write a history book for him, and he has written off the past in the dark. The Lord of the Holy Spirit, "The heart is the eternal life of all people, and the ambition of one's own industry."

It’s really great.

There is no ending, it will be better than this.

"Greedy, murder, murder, smuggling... is me... Confucian gentleman... Seven...not for..."

A faint whisper is like a thunder, screaming.

The ink burned from the muddy memories, but he was still in a mess of stars. He looked up and looked at the enchantment. He was used by Nangong to wear the Nangong Changying, who wore the arrow of the cloud.

The same face as the jade carving of that year.

Some people are exclaiming: "Nangong Temple is hurt like that, how can you pull through the cloud bow?!"

"Is that bow already prepared?!"

"Oh, there is spiritual power attached to the bow...not the South Palace! Yes, yes..."

No one said it.

But everyone knows it.

It is Nangong Changying.

The person who can control the bow of the cloud can only be controlled by Nangong Changying.

On the bow and arrow, there is the last spiritual stream left by the death of Nangong Changying.

The fire spread rapidly in the chest of Nangong Changying, and the arrow of the cloud was tied in his atrium, and the fire spread to the whole body instantly.

But the body is painless. The body of Nangong Changying looks so tall in the flames, and the face looks so calm and calm, even calm.

The ink burned and heard that Xue Zhengyi was muttering: "He had expected it?... He... Has he expected such a day?"

Do not……

It won't be expected early, it's just a coincidence.

The ink burns and the pupil is twisted into two slits -

This is just a coincidence!

But how can he convince himself? Can break away from the control of the precious pieces, the long-broken meridians, and even buried in the mountains, the martial arts that have not been buried, and the arrows that are filled with spiritual power.

... If you don't arrange it carefully, how can you do this step?

He took a step back.

He used to think that they were the same. He thought that all the legendary heroes in the world had not given birth to a pair of hands that could cover the sky. They could wipe the stains of their lives and put on a clean shroud, leaving a piece of white. He thought that Nangong Changying and the Confucianism Gate he had seen were just like a watch, but they were just wearing a beast!

Is he wrong?

He looked at Nangong Changying, who was wrapped in a splendid fire. Hundreds of years ago, like him, the spirit was amazing, and there was a long-lasting power.

Is he wrong? ? !

Nothing can be overwhelmed by sin, and the history of writing can be crowned with imperfections, and the mouth of the long-term can never be blocked.

Nangong Changying is the best person, refuses to seek hegemony, and does not fly up - he thought that it was just the power of the peak of the people to paint and hide themselves.

Is he wrong?

Nothing can bury the truth, just like the snow that will be frozen in the winter will melt away. After the white sky fades out, the earth reveals a sloping face, and all the dirt in the wrinkles is nowhere to escape. The sun shines down, they are all Screaming in the white screaming.

He... is it wrong...

The ink burned his head slowly. He stared at Nangong Changying. Nangong Changying also raised his face. He still bears the black ribbon embroidered with the dragon's ornament. No one can see his eyes. I can’t see you either.

But I don't know if it is my own illusion. I think that Nangong Changying seems to be laughing. Under the black ribbon, there are laughter lines, the fire is not exhausted, the water can't be washed away, nothing can cover the shallow veins. The smile, he is standing in the sea of ​​fire, in the warm light, standing quietly.

If he can, he also wants to be selfish, leaving this remnant, often accompanied by Castle Peak, and later heroes.

The world is so beautiful, no one wants to go.

However, he also knows that sometimes he does not go, so he has already planned to cut the bow. It is not necessary to use it for the future.

The world is so beautiful, it is enough to have flowers, and it should not be infected with blood.

"Too's head..." Nangong held the bow of the cloud and squatted on the ground. The fire reflected his young face and also reflected the tear marks on his face. "The younger generation is not good..."

The fire of the clouds burned the precious sunspots in the body of Nangong Changying. He was about to be burned to ashes, and the whole body was getting lighter and weaker in the fire.

Nangong Changying, who was completely free, asked Nangong a sentence: "How many years have passed since the establishment of the Confucianism Gate?"

He is just a corpse, and the soul is gone.

There are not many memories and consciousness that can exist in the flesh, so you can only ask such simple things.

Nangong驷 did not dare to neglect, sobbing and answering: "The Confucianist door has been built for 421 years."

Nangong Changying licked the hoe, and now he even smiled at the lips.

He said: "Long time."

The voice was stunned, like the wind that passed through the mountains and forests.

"I thought that it would be over two hundred years." Nangong Changying's voice is gentle and generous, flowing through the leaves of the mountain. "There are lifespans in all things in the world, and the number of lives is up, non-manpower can be continued. What's more, aging has one after all." The day will be replaced by the young, and the day will be replaced by the new one. When it is used for a long time, it will become dirty and become old. Some people will discard it and overthrow it. This is a good thing. You don't have to blame yourself."

Nangong squatted and raised his head. He was too **** and looked like a white paper. His voice trembled: "Too much!"

"In fact, how long the Confucianism Gate has survived is not how many disciples are kept in the martial art for a few years." The shadow of Nangong Changying is almost invisible, and the voice is getting farther and farther. "And there are still people in this world who remember, Greed, blasphemy, murder and piracy, is my Confucian gentleman’s seven.

He said, the sleeves were scorned, and the mountains and trees were shaken in an instant, and the vines were all four, and the corpses that were about to get rid of the clamps were sunk into the depths of the earth.

"Remember it, the fire has been accepted."

After saying this, the body of Nangong Changying was in the fire, and it was broken and turned into a little bit of sputum, and the golden red starlight floated between the mountains.

The torso has disappeared, and the remaining sound has not been scattered.

In the enchantment, Nangong Temple had already been crying, and outside the enchantment, Ye Yexi had collapsed. She was paralyzed, and some people continued to kneel down. I was Changying, and Nangong was long.

After death, they are all heroes.

The author has something to say: It is not a common reference to hit a three-footer. It needs to be explained. I want to find the original source, but I can't find it. I have to say that this is a sentence that I don't know which ancestors, not my original, scratching my head.