Voice of the Righteous
That year, there were seven great sword sects on the rivers and lakes
A total of 9981 people
Besiege me at the foot of Mount Hua
They shouted in anger to kill Zhentian
See death as if you were going to come back to me
Leave it to death
I see them as grass
With a sword of three feet seven inches in his hand
Slice out the blood flowers
Under a clear sky like a wash
Dazzling
One by one from dawn to noon
The corpses increased in a variety of ways
Blood stained my snow-white robe red
Finally I shouted
Stop it
The remaining nine
Put the respective blades
Stop in the air
Glare at me
I look at their disheveled clothes
All wounded
And I was unscathed
I said you lost
I don't want to kill again
Let's go
I swept my eyes over one by one
A facial expression that doesn't move
Finally stop at the black scarf
A woman
Eye-to-eye collision
She lowered her voice and said wryly
We came to kill you and didn't
Intend to go back alive
I ask you who you really are
Why hate me so much
I was surprised after she ripped off the scarf
How could it be you
Even you are against me
She answered calmly
It's me
That's all I can do
Listen to that
My inner tenacity
All crash
I let go weakly
Sword in hand
I murmured
I lost
It's true
Ten years later I'm still here
Repeat this sentence
For this reason I went into hiding
The Seven Great Sword Sects have re-emerged
Often with the voice of the righteous
They are fighting each other
That or something like that
But it has nothing to do with me
I'm only on my idyllic trails
Wrote the poems of the Allah School of Poetry
Think back to a woman's love
And to produce the sublime
Deeply bored
