The wind suddenly stopped, and the clouds obscured the setting sun. Night seemed to fall early, the golden threads on the water's surface gradually dimming.
In a very short amount of time, the two banks of the Wenshui grew colder, and a sinister aura penetrated both the chains and the tightly-shut doors of the houses.
Luo Bu sat on the second floor of the restaurant. As he listened to the tune of the blind zither player, he slowly shut his eyes. His right hand fell on the hilt of his sword and softly caressed it.
Even he did not have any confidence to contend against the unfathomable strength of the Tang clan. In the past, the most he could do was send a warning, but now he wanted to try.
Because in the past, the sword he used was a bronze sword that he had had forged at the smith in the village at the foot of the mountain for two taels of silver, but now he was using a different sword.
