The originally kind face of the old man, the white-bearded, became afraid to look directly. No one in the hall dared to look at each other because the blood and energy that looked at thousands of people like grass was the only one in the world.

"Yes..." The old man's tone suddenly slowed down. He pulled out the knife from Yang Jian's waist. The Daxia standard saber seemed to be clamoring in his hands, as if it was an honor to be held in the old man.

The old man was also a little dazed when he held the knife in his hand. As the sword sounded, there seemed to be a scene of dust and smoke rolling around in front of him.

"I knew that the world was difficult in my early years, and I looked north of the Central Plains like a mountain..."

The old man slowly recited the poem, and his aura suddenly rose, like a mountain of Tai rising in front of him.

"The boat snows at night, Guazhou crossing, and the iron horse is in autumn wind.

The Great Wall on the frontier promises that it is empty, but the fading temples in the mirror are already spotted.

After a master's name, who can be worthy of the same age for thousands of years?"

After reciting a poem, the spirit of the old man is beyond the past and present.

He closed his eyes and said in a deep voice: "The only thing my son did well was that he made me decide not to settle the score later. This was his trip for millions of innocent people in the north - and our horse-drawn bodies

A great man.

They need an explanation.
Chapter completed!