It hurts...

    The night passed quietly.

    In the early morning, from the horizon between the clouds, a burst of light broke through and sprinkled the world.

    The blizzard that has remained unchanged for thousands of years is swaying in the broken Kunlun Peak.

    The white snow silent the world.

    The top of Tianqiong Peak.

    Han Xiu and Xia Zhirou 's tomb of the burial, Yun Ling is still the same as the day of the burial, She was wearing mourning clothes, with mourning bands tied to her forehead, and knelt in front of the two gravestones.

    Alone.

    From that day on, she had been sitting here, and the long hair was scattered behind her, her body shape did not move, letting the falling snow piled on her shoulders.

    Click, click ...