Zhichun's description actually didn't contain much emotion, it wasn't fluent, and the expression was confusing, but strangely enough, Tristan Xuan took it into his heart.
Fascinated, rejected by the whole world, there is only one person in my eyes who cannot see me, and there is only a vague obsession in my heart. This residual soul is stuck in my throat. It is not considered dead, nor is it considered alive. Tell this feeling to people who don't understand it. If you tell me about it, others will probably sigh and find it difficult to resonate. For those who understand, a calm and desperate look is enough.
If the place had changed, and the helpless Heavenly Demon Sword Spirit had had such an opportunity, would he have done the same thing?
Tristan Xuan asked himself, knowing that his own human nature was vulnerable, so he was willing to tolerate the cowardice of others, so he asked gently: "When you were poisoned by the mirage island, you ran away once, do you remember? I don't think the bureau will." If you were so careless, someone must have arranged it deliberately. The gloomy memorial text will definitely not remain in your mind for no reason. Did someone take advantage of your confusion..."
"There's no need to elaborate on the reasons," Sebastian Sheng interrupted him ruthlessly at this time, and asked Zhichun, "You wrote a gloomy sacrificial text and dedicated your 100-handled weapon body to the summoned Gaoshan King, right?"
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