Sword Bone Sharp Edge

A hundred years ago, Ye Qing knelt in blood-stained snow to receive a rusted sword—a bastard's mockery from the Northern Liang King's household. While everyone sneered at the worthless blade, only he glimpsed the truth: beneath the rust lay not his reflection, but golden Shura eyes burning with ancient hunger. Now, in a frontier tavern, a storyteller spins the tale of "Ye Qing's Patricide" to a captive audience. From the shadows, a youth in crimson draws that same rusted blade: "The snow that day... was red." Upstairs, a nobleman shatters his wine cup in terror: "Impossible! I watched you die!…