Silly White Sweet Villain Transformation Plan[Transmigration Book]

On the seventh day of the lunar new year, the barrier outside Tinghanju was quietly untied.

At this time, 300 years have passed since the Battle of Fengyuan. Back then, the God of War in Beihai beheaded the evil head of the world in Liuhuoyuan with a single sword, and set up an enchantment by himself. The trend has suppressed evil spirits for a hundred years.

The crimson magma boiled hotly, like a blazing flower juice, churning into mist in the abyss, filling the eye sockets.

The scorched earth collapsed beside the cliff, and the snow-haired God of War took off his soft armor, only wearing a white robe with wide sleeves, and sat quietly on the edge of the cliff, letting the flower juice splash on his skirt.The thin dark gold thread was embroidered with rolling cloud patterns, which were clustered between the elbows, revealing a wrist wearing a cold iron. His brows were sharp and sharp, and the end of his eyes were raised when he was not smiling, making him look serious and unreasonable.

At the turn of the moon in the middle of the night, Qian Youwu hurried over, and before reaching the edge of the cliff, he bowed respectfully and said, "See God of War."

The man was covered with frost and snow, his face was as cold as jade, the flames of Liuhuoyuan reflected on the side of his face, leaving a bright luster, he just waved his hands casually, his eyes were still fixed on the Yuanhuo.

"Recently, we have deduced the secrets of the sky, and the unfinished business has made great progress. I think you are going very well." As the commander, Qian Youwu was appreciated by Beihai. He has followed this God of War for nearly a hundred years. the person in front of you.

The red flames on the edge of the cliff are clamoring, like fire butterflies flying on the same eaves, landing between the eyebrows, offering a little kiss for the long night.The man stroked his heart with his right hand, his long eyelashes drooped, and he showed a shallow smile: "It went well."

In an instant, the flowers were not as bright as before, Qian Youwu held his breath, and felt the violent drumbeats in his chest, as if poured into a bowl of magma, boiling hot.

One glance is enough.

He had spent his whole life and abandoned everything, just to stand by this person's side.

"Qian Youwu." The man suppressed his smile at some point, and glanced over with awe-inspiring eyes. The right way is coldness from jade, and frost blade hides the front. "Say what should be said, and don't think about what you shouldn't have."

He got it.

Qian Youwu trembled all over, his eyes fell on the right hand holding the pen, the right hand of the order maker is their life, Liu Lihao's strokes and inks must be guided by someone's life.This hand once wrote countless criticisms, but because of violating the oath, he was unable to leave his name in Changye Xinggang. The blood in his whole body was frozen, as if he had fallen into a cold abyss and ice cellar, and his heart was completely burned into ashes.

Fortunately, those past no one knows.

He stabilized his mind and said respectfully: "Three hundred years have changed. The people who set off the battle of Fengyuan back then jointly established the Sifang Heavenly Realm. Every time they explored in the North Sea, they also stared at Liuhuoyuan."

The cold iron between his wrists covered 300 years of endless regrets. The man stood up from the abyss, as if he had chewed up the boundless pain, gritted his teeth, and chopped every word into a bloodless blade: "I owe you so much! It's time to settle accounts with them."

The long sword, which had been silent for 300 years, was born again, and like a cold flower, it slowly set off the most vigorous battle in history-the battle of killing gods.Beihai, the God of War who was born in nature, with an absolutely powerful attitude of killing, split the heavens in all directions with a single sword, and filled the huge Hanchuan Stream with the bones of millions of soldiers.

Blood poured down from the clouds, staining the sky red. This spectacle lasted for a full hundred days, until he killed all the gods and Buddhas in the sky.

After the fierce battle, holding his last breath, he dug out a red bone lamp from his heart.

He is the god given to the world by heaven and earth. He does not enter the world of mortals and is heartless and ruthless. After the battle of sealing the abyss, he used bones as candles and blood as oil to create this soul-suppressing lamp, which was hidden in his heart. After waiting by the abyss for 300 years, he finally collected a handful of gods and souls that were shattered like floating stars.

When Qian Youwu rushed over, he happened to see the god holding the soul lamp and piously kissing it. Thousands of floating stars fell into the mountains and rivers, adding a little warmth to that cold snow-like face.

The dark Mie Shen Jie Lei roared in the clouds, Qian Youwu retreated hastily, he did not expect that this person would do this kind of thing, and he would be punished with blood, which is unacceptable by the law of heaven.

The God of War put down the Soul Concentrating Lamp, his eyelashes fluttered in the wind, and with a contented smile, he resolutely jumped into the Abyss of Flowing Fire.

The white clothes kissed the blood and split in the air. The huge divine wings set off a cyan streamer, and rushed towards the boiling and clamoring abyss of fire. The dark tribulation thunder followed closely, splitting on the flowing abyss, splashing a hundred-foot-high red streamer.

The voice from the abyss was full of boiling heat, and as always, it had a powerful and breathtaking power: "Suppress the abyss of flowing fire with my flesh and blood, Qian Youwu, remember what you promised me."

Qian Youwu fell to the ground, holding the Soul Concentrating Lamp, weeping bitterly.

On that day, the god of war fell, the wind and clouds turbulent, and the sky and the earth changed color.

The North Sea suddenly rose violently, the monsters and beasts mourned together, the sea flooded fourteen towns, and the mulberry field changed, and the number of casualties was insufficient.

The battle of killing gods has since come to an end.

Mt. Cang crossing the study.

Standing in front of the desk, the little boy with plump hair pointed to the scroll on the table and asked, "It's always been this [God goes to the world of mortals]. Master, does this painting have any special significance? Why do you draw it every year?"

Mr. Shushu is unique in the world with a glass hair. He founded the Ducang Study in Mt. Yushan. He likes to paint in his spare time. The most painted is this "God Goes to the Red Dust", and there are several hanging on the wall of the study.

A man dressed in blood was drawn on the white silk paper. He held up a lamp with both hands, his brows and eyes were lightly closed, and he was kissing the shattered light devoutly.

"To commemorate an old man." Liu Lihao made the last stroke, and Mr. Shu Shu's eyes were dim, and he said shyly, "The only god in the world has gone to his world of mortals."

Mr. Qu Shu, who is pure and thin, has a deep and infatuated melancholy on his face. He writes again, and writes two lines of small characters while singing: "If you don't enter the world of mortals, you are the god of war. Once you enter the world of mortals, you will be an idiot."

"What an old man, what a God of War, what an idiot." Contemptuous and playful laughter filled the entire study, and the clouds joined together, and a very thick and beautiful figure suddenly appeared, "Qian Youwu, you and I haven't seen each other for more than 300 years, right?" .”

Mr. Shu Shu was startled, he hadn't heard the name Qian Youwu for a long time.

The visitor was wearing a crow green cloak, his peach blossom eyes were full of shattered light, his brows were deep and colorful, like a jar of strong wine that had been hidden for hundreds of years, it would make people intoxicated at a glance.

It was a face so familiar that it couldn't be more familiar, and the blood often overflowed from the seven orifices, which woke him up when he was dreaming in the middle of the night.

Qian Youwu never thought that he would see this face again.

The picture scroll on the table fell into the hands of the man. He glanced at the person in the picture, and seemed to be stunned for a moment, his eyes were stained with some inexplicable emotions, which turned into obvious anger in just a moment, and the painting soaked in the fragrance of ink Torn into countless pieces: "How dare a despicable villain who is not benevolent, righteous and unfaithful, dare to get involved in painting. Qian Youwu, is a hand stained with blood worthy of a glass pen?"

"Feng Zhiyuan, aren't you already dead? No, you are not him, who are you?" With a touch of Liuli, the ink marks hang like wind blades, Mr. Shushu's pen is a masterpiece in the world, killing people with a pen is no less .

"Me? Of course it's an evil spirit who came to claim my life."

A few spots of ink lingered in front of Feng Zhiyuan's body, and the wind blade turned into flowing patterns and swam in mid-air. With a wave of his hand, those spots of ink were printed on the window, depicting sporadic dirt.

The little boy with plump hair widened his eyes: "Feng, Feng Zhiyuan?"

Isn't Feng Zhiyuan the great devil who died in the battle of Feng Yuan hundreds of years ago?

"Little thing, do you know me?" Feng Zhiyuan looked at him in a daze, and bent his lips in a good mood, "Are you also thinking, why am I alive again?"

But in an instant, the boy's neck was pinched by a hand with sharp joints, Feng Zhiyuan tightened his fingertips, smiled and gave Qian Youwu a look: "Have you ever killed anyone?"

With cold sweat all over his back, Qian Youwu clenched his hands, pretending to be calm and said: "What's wrong with a child?"

"What a naive boy, He Gu. When Mr. Shushu wrote the 'devil of the world', did he ever think that I was innocent too." Feng Zhiyuan's smile disappeared, and murderous intent appeared in his eyes, "Qian Youwu, don't you Kill Boren, Boren died because of you."

Qian Youwu stepped back, holding Liu Lihao's hand tighter: "You are not Boren."

"Of course I'm not Boren. If I die, it's all over. So, Qian Youwu, I'm here to take your life."

The blue shadow flashed past, like a winding green snake, biting Qian Youwu's entire arm until it was dripping with blood, the glass fell to the ground, and the ink on the tip of the pen was blurred.

"Ah...my hand..." Qian Youwu's face was twisted, and cold sweat dripped from his forehead.

Feng Zhiyuan looked at Qian Youwu with cold eyes, his hands that were in charge of painting rolled down to his feet, the blood spurting out splashed on the face of the boy next to him, but did not leave any trace on him.

"You can't kill me, I—" Before Qian Youwu finished speaking, his head was chopped off with a whip, and blood flowed all over his neck, and he couldn't believe what happened with his eyes open until he died.

In the battle of Fengyuan, all the critics commented. Fengzhiyuan in Wugou City is the fate of the evil head of the world. In the future, the mountains and rivers will be stained with blood, so it must be eliminated as soon as possible.

All of a sudden, all the heroes came together and besieged Feng Zhiyuan in the hell on earth—Liuhuoyuan. As Feng Zhiyuan's close friend, the God of War of the North Sea righteously killed his relatives, and killed him in Liuhuoyuan with a single sword.

He crawled out of the fiery abyss of hell, and came to claim the life of his killers, but in the process of killing each of them, he learned of the shocking conspiracy hidden in the abyss.

Now, the last person who ordered to know the inside story was killed, and since then, there has been no proof of death.

Feng Zhiyuan destroyed half of Du Cang's study with a whip, adding another excuse for the sinister speculation.

If the world pollutes me, I will bear it.

He held the glass hair, looked at the little boy in front of him with a half-smile, and asked warmly, "How do you want to die?"

The little boy's lip was bitten with white marks, and he shook his body to meet Feng Zhiyuan's gaze: "My name is Yan Xi, I don't want to die, I want to live."

Feng Zhiyuan tossed the glass to Yan Xi, and leaned on the table to look at the paintings hanging on the wall. The bloody clothes with wide sleeves revealed a piece of cold iron on his wrist, which was his best friend.

"Help me write a story, and I'll let you go."