"Buzz!"
When the great buddha chop sword from Fusang emerged.
At the remote ruins of Sacred Mountain Gui Zhe, the Ghost Buddha and the sword sang in unison, accompanied by transient aberrations.
The cold wind gusted, snow swirling everywhere.
In the small town below Qingyuan Mountain, Cao Erzhu had already returned to the blacksmith shop. As he was forging fine iron, he suddenly stopped and turned his head to look outside the window.
"Hua..."
Cao Erzhu hesitated to speak, instead asking: "Has he come?"
The door of the blacksmith shop was wide open, and his father sat hugging himself atop a large wine barrel at the entrance. Despite the cold weather, he simply draped a large cloak to stay warm.
Snowflakes couldn't touch him; when they got within three finger-widths, they seemed to be vaporized by an extremely high temperature, turning into flying smoke that merged into the cold wind.
"Sizzle sizzle..."
