Snow fell.
Blood also fell.
The snow was cold.
The blood was even colder.
Amidst the stark white snow, a young boy stood.
In his hand, he held a sword.
In front of him, a person lay fallen.
Yet, on the blade of his sword, there was no blood.
The blood was in the sky, on the snow, on his opponent's body, but just not on his sword.
That day, he learned that as long as your sword was fast enough and your swordsmanship skilled enough, it was possible to kill without staining your sword with blood.
Watching the man in front slowly cease breathing, the youth sighed softly.
That year, Lin Yuancheng was fourteen years old.
And the person lying in front of him was his master.
If there really existed a so-called one-in-a-million martial arts prodigy in this world, then Lin Yuancheng... was undoubtedly such a person.
He began learning martial arts at seven and held a sword for the first time at eight, and after turning thirteen, he remained unbeaten.
