At this moment, the moon was white, the wind clear, and the spring evening cool.
This place was none other than the weighty heart of the Imperial Palace, the golden tower.
In the instant that a clear and bright voice resounded, the clashing of weapons and loud shouts erupted from the Imperial Army outside.
However, after the fierce Sword Intent erupted, two figures, one before the other, entered as if no one was there—they had already broken through the door.
The figure of Lu Xiaofeng lightly touched down first.
Following him was a figure in white as cold as snow.
This figure under the sorrowfully dim moonlight seemed even whiter than the fog of a moonlit night, whiter than the moon itself.
But the sword he held was even more captivating.
The sword was still sheathed.
The Sword Qi was not emanating from this sword.
Because the person holding the sword was sharper and more formidable than the sword itself.
Ximen Chuixue!
