Shun stared at the lower world, shook his head helplessly, and sighed deeply.
Ancestor Hongjun quietly came behind Shun and asked softly: "Shun, what's wrong? Why are you so sad? Is it because he has double pupils, is it because he is similar to you, that you can't bear to let him go? I didn't expect you to have so many concerns in the mundane world after practicing for so long."
Shun said with reluctance and regret: "Although he is a mortal, I created him. I am afraid that it will be difficult to find such a domineering mortal in the world in a thousand years."
Ancestor Hongjun said: "This is God's will, he must die."
Shun said: "I know that heaven and earth The ancestor will appear when the world is about to fall and the three realms are facing chaos, but I didn't expect that all the troubles came from him. "
Ancestor Hongjun said: "Everything in the world has its own destiny. Xiang Yu has killed too many people, and the resentment in the underworld is getting heavier. This is his fate."
Shun looked at the solemn ancestor Hongjun and said: "Ancestor, why are you like a big enemy?"
Ancestor Hongjun was silent for a while, and said to Shun: "Recently, every time I think of Xiang Yu, I always feel uneasy. I really don't know why a mere mortal makes me so uneasy and indescribably afraid."
Gaixia, the setting sun is like blood.
The sun is making its last struggle, but the heavy dusk can no longer be stopped. It glances at the gradually weak light bit by bit, trying to return everything on the earth to loneliness.
At night, there is confusion, desire, and relief... and here, the air is filled with half the joy of the upcoming victory and half the helplessness of being destined to fail.
The pale yellow light scattered among the grass, and on the withered grass, there were drops of blood from time to time, drying up, reflecting the strange magnificence.
"In the deep autumn of September, frost flies all over the fields, the sky is high and the water is dry, and the cold geese are sad.
The most miserable thing is to guard the border and wander day and night, wearing armor and holding sharp weapons and standing alone on the sand hill.
...
Since Chu is gone, where will you go? Time waits for no one, as fast as lightning.
Sing, sing, three hundred words, every word and sentence has a deep meaning."
The sound of Jin Zhan's fracture gradually disappeared, but the sound of Chu songs with a sad charm came from all directions. The singing seemed to be near and far, sometimes loud and sometimes soft, beating the hearts of the Chu soldiers like a magic sound. Has the Chu land been completely occupied by the Han army? Has this military camp, which is in danger of death, become the last foreign land? The soldiers of Chu gathered around the campfire dejectedly, and the red flames could not make their pale faces red. The camp was dead silent, everyone's heart seemed to be simmering in a frying pan, everyone was begging in their hearts, trying to tear their vocal cords to turn all their grief and anger into a final plea, "Stop singing, stop singing. Please, please..." An old soldier picked up the knife and brought it in front of him, his eyes were gentle, just like when he was young and looking at his beloved woman. There were several notches on the knife, and it could no longer be used. The man next to him took off his armor, put it on the ground, and looked up at the sky with his head resting on it. He said, "Old Wu, throw it away." The old soldier holding the knife, whom he called Old Wu, murmured, "Throw it away? How can I throw it away? It's my old friend. It has been with me since Jiangdong. If I hadn't broken my spear in the charge today, I would not have been willing to use it." "So what if I'm willing to give it up, so what if I'm reluctant to give it up, if we don't break through, we will all die here." Old Wu suddenly leaned towards the man lying on his back with interest and said, "Old Wang, do you know? What I envy most now is this knife in my hand.