Over the past thousand times, heroes have emerged in the world of cultivation, and now there are only ten people who can be listed on the "Immortal Lords" and Nangong Changying is one of them.

In the past, Mo Ran didn't agree. He once crushed the seventy-two cities of Rufeng with a little finger. He only felt that there were hundreds of waste pussies hidden in this fairy city. Before the knife was placed on his neck, he started to cry out in pain. Before the sword was chopped down, he began to beg for mercy.

As Ye Wangxi said before his death in his previous life, the glorious Confucian style of seventy cities, and it is better not a man.

In Mo Ran's eyes, the Rufeng Sect is a pile of loose sand. What kind of amazing person can Nangong Changying gather this pile of loose sand?

The blood was mottled, and the century-old foundation was instantly razed to the ground by later generations. Dead corpses were everywhere, and crows pecked at the dead. The emperor of the Immortal Stepping up the stairs, without any expression on his face, and he pushed open the door of the Xianxian Hall-

He wore a black cloak that stretched to the ground and walked through the corridor with portraits of elders hanging from the Confucian style leaders and portraits of elders, and finally stopped at the end of the Xianxian Hall.

The immortal king raised his face, put on his cloak, and under his hood, he couldn't see his whole face clearly. He could only see his pale chin, with a sharp and arrogant curve, raised it slightly, and looked at the statue taller than the real person in a judging posture.

It was a statue carved by the white jade spirit stone. It was a young immortal with wide robe and wide sleeves. He stood with a bow with a void and a bow. He was finely crafted and skillful. He inlaid his eyes with a crystal stone and applied his clothes and crowns. The bloody morning light shone from the flowered skylight behind the statue, making him look like a banished immortal soaked in the divine light of the nine heavens.

The half of the face under the Immortal Hood suddenly showed a smile, revealing her white teeth and sweet dimples.

He tidied up his clothes, bowed a long time, then raised his handsome face, and said with a smile: "I have long admired you, Nangong Xianchang."

The statue naturally couldn't speak, only the pair of black crystal stones swayed with luster, as if they were staring at the visitor.

The Immortal Lord was really bored. No one paid attention to him, and he could still play the show with pleasure for a long time: "My younger brother, Mo Weiyu, I am lucky to have a visit today. Nangong Xianchang is so proud."

He laughed and said happily alone for a long time, and the living person was nervous at the statue.

"I've seen your Xuanxuan..." He turned his fingers and sighed, "I can't figure out. Who knows which nephew you are? Who knows which nephew you have seen you? Who knows which nephew you have, and what kind of apprentices you have," he said.

Then he smiled brightly: "But now they have all become my sword ghosts, so if you have not been reincarnated, you may have seen them."

"It's a pity that I didn't see your Xuanxuan Xuanxuan Grandson. That guy ran away before the city was broken. I don't know whether it's dead or alive, and I'm somewhat regretful."

He was happy again, and Pili Yangdi had a close chat with the statue for a while, and then said, "By the way, I heard that Nangong Xianchang was also a great man in the past, and everyone was looking for him. Wherever he went, there were people who swear to die and follow him, and there were even those who entrusted the immortals to proclaim themselves emperor."

Mo Ran smiled and said, "Wouldn't that be as majestic as I am today? So when I came here, I said nonsense before. I just had a question - I wonder why Nangong Xianchang refused and did not ascend the throne?"

He paused and walked a few more steps forward. At this time, his eyes fell on the warning stele standing behind the sculpture of Nangong Changying. In fact, the stele was so big that he had seen it early in the morning, but he had been deliberately skipping it.

The stone tablet was carved with a sword when Nangong Changying was 96 years old. It was simple and unpretentious at the time, but later it was added with gold and pink color by his offspring. Now it seems to be shining brightly, every word is rich.

Mo Ran stared at it for a while and smiled and said, "Oh, I understand. 'Is it my Confucian style gentleman who cannot do it?' I am really good at being a fairy-good person."

He stood with his hands behind his back and continued, "But the immortal Chang has been white for a lifetime, and has been given a sincere teaching to future generations, and will not stop until death. But I am very curious, did the immortal Chang expect that one day the Religious Fengmen would become the situation today?"

He said this, pursed his lips, as if he was thinking of a suitable word to describe it. Then he thought of it, so he smiled and said, "A nest of big rats?"

After he said that, he laughed, his smile was refreshing and unrestrained, pure and evil, echoing in the empty and solemn Xianxian Hall for a long time, and his voice was like a splitting of silk, as if he was about to tear apart the paintings that swayed slightly in the wind, and tore the portraits of heroes of the Confucian style schools in history...

The laughter finally stopped in front of Nangong Changying's cold sculpture and ended abruptly.

Mo Ran stopped smiling, he curled his smile and a layer of ice slowly condensed on his face.

His dark eyes were staring at the sage of the previous dynasty who was opposite Wu Dai Dangfeng, and staring at the man who was like him who could command the world and trample all the immortals.

It seems that time and space meet here, and the first immortal kings of the two eras are confronting each other in the torrent of time.

Finally, Mo Ran whispered: "Nangong Changying, your Rufengmen is a pool of dirty water, I don't believe you will be clean."

He suddenly waved his sleeves and turned around, strode out of the Xianxian Hall, and suddenly a strong wind blew off the hood of his cloak, and finally revealed the crazy face of the Immortal Emperor.

He has the most handsome appearance in the world and is a well-deserved handsome man, but this face is full of fierce and vicious eyes, like a rotten vulture.

The black robe rolled down the long steps like thick clouds and rolled down the ink.

He is a ghost in the world and Shura in the world. He looked up and saw that there were dead bodies of the disciples of Confucian Feng, who were missing their arms and legs. The Immortal Lord did not accept surrendered troops. Except for the woman named Song, who could still keep them, the rest were killed.

At that moment, Mo Ran felt extremely cruel pleasure in his heart. He looked at the gorgeous morning glow in the sky, the rising sun pierced the clouds, and a dazzling golden light shone on his blood-colored face.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed his hands tightly in his sleeves, trembling slightly from ecstasy and excitement.

He was such a man with a life of suffocation. When he was young, he had been begging for food in Linyi. He had seen his mother starving to death. He didn't even have a mat to wrap his body. At that time, he asked a monk from the Confucian school to buy him a coffin, the thinnest and worst, but the man said a sarcastic sentence to him-

The monk said, "You should be given a coffin for anyone. If you hit three feet of your life, you can't get one foot."

He had no choice, so he wanted to bury his mother on the spot, but Linyi was strictly controlled, and the nearest mass grave was outside Dai City, and he could only reach it after climbing two hills.

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

Fourteen days. No one is willing to help him.

At first, he would kneel on the side of the road and beg for the gentleman, groom, and farmer to take him and his grandmother on a wooden cart.

But who would be willing to put a body that he had never known to him in his car?

Later, he stopped begging, but just gritted his teeth and dragged his mother, walking step by step.

The body became stiff and softened again, and began to rot. There was a foul smell and corpse liquid oozing out. Passersby all retreated to him three feet and covered his nose and rushed forward.

On the fourteenth day, he finally walked to the mass grave.

There was no longer a smell of living people on his body, and the stinking of corpse permeates his bones.

Without a pickaxe, he used his hand to dig a shallow pit in the mass grave - he really didn't have the strength to dig a deep pit. He dragged his unrecognizable lady to the pit, and then he sat beside him.

After a long time, he said stammeringly: "My mother, I should bury you."

He started scooping up the soil, then scooped it up and sprinkled it on his mother's chest. He collapsed and he started crying.

It's so strange that he thought the tears had already dried up.

"No, no, no, you can't see it if you buried it, and you can't see it if you buried it." He climbed into the pit again, slumped on the rotten corpse, and tears rolled down. When his mood calmed down, he went to scooped up the soil again, but the soil seemed to have some smell that could open up the human tear glands, and he was in a state of collapse again.

"Why are they so bad... they so bad..."

"Why don't you even have a mat..."

"My mom...My mom..."

He rubbed his face against her, he did not think that she was dirty, she smelled smelly, she was dead, she did not have a good skin on her body, she was bleeding pus and blood, and maggots crawled on her body.

He lay in her arms and cried bitterly, choking and sobbing heart-wrenchingly. Every sound was like it was dug out of his throat with blood stained with blood.

Finally, his whine echoed in the mass grave, the sound was distorted and hoarse, and unclear. Sometimes it was like a cry of a human, but more often it was like a cry of a young beast after losing his mother.

"My mother...My mother!!"

"Come on someone... Is there anyone... I'll bury me too... I'll bury me too..."

In a blink of an eye, twenty passed.

Mo Ran returned to Linyi, standing on the top of the mountain with green tiles and flying tiles in Rufengmen, standing in front of the sea of ​​blood.

The stinky young man in the past had become bright and bright fur and sharp fangs. He opened his eyes again, and a crazy and exciting light flashed in his pupils.

Today he is standing here, who dares to tell him that he is three feet tall, and you can't get one foot?

It's ridiculous! He wants ten feet, hundreds of feet, and thousands of feet!

He wanted them to kneel down, rub his knees against the ground, and put his knees on his knees on his knees.

Stepping through all the immortals and respecting the world!!!

He entered the Xianxian Hall and met Nangong Changying. He became more and more sure of his ambitions and ambitions. Yes, if you step on all the immortals and respect the world, you can hold everything in your palm and hold anything.

He will never be the child who cried and cried back then, and he will never let the person he love die in front of him, rot in front of him, and his skin will turn white bones, and his face will turn into mud.

Never again.

A hundred years later, he will also become a god like Nangong Changying, worshipped by others, admired by mountains, and white jade is used as a body, gold and pink characters.

No, he will be better than Nangong Changying. His peak of life and death will be far better than the Confucian style sect at the time. And he, the first king in the cultivation world, will be more impressed and praised than Nangong Changying's hypocrite who can't take it and can't let go.

Sin?

He didn't believe that Nangong Changying had no sin. How could a person who could have created a monster like the Confucian style sect be a noble gentleman who sacrificed his life for justice and had a righteous spirit?

Isn’t it just “resentment, resentment, deception, murder, adultery, robbery, robbery, are my Confucian style gentlemans not allowed to do”? Who can’t say beautiful words? Before Mo Weiyu died, you can find someone to come up with some wonderful and praiseful words for him, and you can find flatterers to write historical books for him, and the darkness of the past was wiped out. From then on, he was also the lord of the wise and wise ruler who “cared for the people and the people, and made great achievements in one fell swoop.”

It's really great.

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

"Greedy, resentment, killing, adultery, robbery, and robbery... It's me... the Confucian gentleman... seven... not to do it..."

A faint whisper was like thunder, exploding in my ears.

Mo Ran suddenly pulled out of the quagmire of memories, but there was still a mess of sparks in front of him. He looked up at the barrier, and Nangong Changying, who had been pierced through his chest by Nangong Si using an arrow piercing through the clouds.

The face exactly the same as the jade carving back then.

Someone was exclaiming: "Nangong Si was so injured. How could he pull the Chuanyun Bow?!"

"Has that bow been prepared long ago?!"

"Look, there is spiritual power attached to the bow... not Nangong Si's! Yes, yes..."

No one continues to say it.

But everyone knows it.

It's Nangong Changying's.

The only person who can control the Cloud-Punctured Divine Bow is Nangong Changying.

On the bow and arrow, there was the last spiritual stream left by Nangong Changying before his death.
To be continued...