Song Nanfu turned his head and looked at the other side next to him, which had appeared several times in his dreams. The heart that had ultimately survived slowly returned to its original position.
Ye Fengsheng, how can you come?
"I'll discuss it later."
Prevent Song Nanfu from drinking his cup.
The white palm passed the ball upward, the black dagger clashed with the Mang Qian, and a loud noise like the calm lake water caused waves, whirring. It shone in all directions, and the room around the hanging decorations shook and turned to dust.
The sparks generated in the air were not numerous and brilliant; they turned to dust before hitting the ground.
Ye Fengsheng's body gently rested, feeling uneasy against Gu Zhiyu's heart, quickly moving the Iron Pine Sword at him, but I thought it was a step too late, as his hand connected. Because that was Ye Fengsheng's fist, which had a murderous power.
