Let's not talk about aging for now.
Anyway, it's fragrant and slippery.
In the afternoon, after Jiang He finished moving bricks, Xu Qing was eager to learn swordplay. Palm Fist could strengthen the body, and the Three-foot-long Sword was meant to be for show – beep – to fulfill a wuxia dream.
Zhao guests whip up their horse's mane, Wu hooks shine in frosty snow, I slay a man every ten steps, leaving no trace a thousand miles long.
Even though you can't just chop people up at will now, it's harmless to fantasize about being in white robes, holding a sword atop a mountain peak, sighing with hands behind the back: The world. It has changed.
Then the sword chirps break out from all around, one sword's cold light shines over nineteen states.
