You've never seen such a righteous villain [Transmigration Book]

Lu Qianchuan was stunned for a moment.

The big white steamed bun rolled a few times, stopped a few feet in front of him, and stood in the middle of the street without embarrassment, turning into a big black steamed bun covered with dust.

Following the big black steamed bun, a grey-haired old man rolled out in the same way, his body pressed against the big black steamed bun, stopped the rolling force, and curled up into a shrimp in pain.

A thunderous curse exploded in my ears: "You old bastard!"

Lu Qianchuan was so shocked by the roar that he regained his sanity, straightened his body tilted to one side, and glanced inside the door in the direction of the sound.

There were two burly men with muscular muscles standing inside the door. Different from the mediocre-faced men with no special skills who came to look for trouble just now, these two men were surrounded by black air, and they seemed to have some skills.

It's just a little bit.

In front of highly cultivated monks, they can tell at a glance whether their ability is deep or shallow, whether the black energy around them is a corner of the mountain or the whole ability.

These two are undoubtedly the latter.

They were looking at the old man rolling on the ground with unlucky faces, with undisguised disgust and disgust in their eyes.

One spat outside the door and scolded: "Why don't you die when you are so old, hurry up and tidy up to make room for the young people."

The other did not speak, strode forward, and with a "bang", closed the door forcefully.

Lu Qianchuan's sight was immediately blocked by the dusty wooden door.

He stared blankly at the door panel for a while, then turned his head to look at the old man curled up on the ground, unable to stand upright in pain.

In this world, the weak are preyed on by the strong, the old and weak cannot beat the young and strong, and the low-cultivation can't beat the high-cultivation, so the old and the low-cultivation will naturally be reduced to the bottom that everyone can bully .

Saying this may create an illusion that the old and frail are particularly pitiful, but this is not the case-which old person has not come from a young age?

When they were young, they were also bullies. Only when they oppressed and killed many people can they live to old age in safety. When they are old, they will be oppressed by the young people at this time.

The cycle of cause and effect, the way of heaven is clear, and a thought of good and evil will have its own rewards.

Lu Qianchuan was so uncomfortable that there were stars in front of his eyes. He shook his head, shaking off the Venus flying around in front of his eyes, and managed to see the old man's face clearly.

It was nothing more than a very ordinary old man with gray and thinning hair, wrinkled face, and an irreversible sense of aging and powerlessness all over his body.

Such an old man, who had so much blood on his hands, was able to survive until now in this world full of killing and blood.

Lu Qianchuan couldn't tell whether it was more sad or guilt, and a thought full of shame came to his mind: Is this the world I wrote?

It was he who personally created the warm and tolerant family of Wan Ling Sect at all times, and he also created this hell that caused many people to suffer and struggle.

He put "Lu Qianchuan" in the greenhouse of Wanling Sect, but threw "Mo Chenyuan" into such a hell occupied by indifference and darkness time and time again.

A sense of responsibility came from nowhere, and Lu Qianchuan took a big breath, stood up from the steps, walked to the old man who was still lying on the ground, and helped him up from behind.

The old man's appearance was very miserable, but he couldn't show much compassion. Even for such a helping hand, he deliberately chose a position behind him that was not easy to attack.

In the face of an executioner whose hands are covered in blood until he dies, no amount of defense can be overstated.

But in the final analysis, the world is a furnace, and all living beings are tortured in the furnace, and the one who built this big furnace with his own hands and threw these people into the furnace was not he?

Lu Qianchuan sighed softly, for a moment he couldn't feel whether he was shaking or the old man he was supporting was shaking. He used some strength to stabilize his body, and said in a low voice, "Are you okay?"

As soon as the words came out, he realized that his voice was really hoarse and deep, as if a saw knife was installed in his throat, cutting his voice to pieces.

The old man slowed down for a while, and finally sat up straight. He turned his head to look at Lu Qianchuan with difficulty, showing a mouthful of incomplete yellow teeth. Just as he was about to speak, his cloudy eyes froze.

He froze for a moment, then slowly said: "I'm fine, thank you little brother."

Lu Qianchuan was half-kneeling to help him up just now, but now he couldn't kneel, so he simply sat down on the ground and waved his hands: "You are welcome."

He sat casually, but he didn't take back all the spiritual power in his body, and he was always on guard against the old man's sudden attack.

However, the old man looked at him carefully for a long time, and suddenly said: "Little brother doesn't look like a person in this world."

Lu Qianchuan narrowed his eyes and did not answer.

This place is very deceitful, if he admits it, he will inevitably be tricked by the old fritters who have been around for a long time, but directly denying it is not like the style of this place, it is best to keep silent.

Sure enough, seeing that he didn't answer for a long time, the old man was not completely sure, his eyes wandered away from him for a while, and he looked back calmly.

"I'm getting old, I can't beat you young people." The old man smiled self-deprecatingly, and reached out to pick up the steamed buns on the ground, "Young people like you are indeed rare."

Lu Qianchuan bent the corner of his mouth slightly, saw the old man who was holding a steamed bun and opened his mouth to bite in a blurred field of vision, sighed lightly, pressed his thin arm, and explained: "The steamed bun is dirty."

The old man froze for a moment: "It's okay."

Lu Qianchuan shook his head, took the steamed bun in his hand, peeled off the outer layer of white dough by feeling, and handed it back to the old man.

The old man stared blankly at the steamed bun in his hand, then looked up at Lu Qianchuan, his chapped lips moved slightly, and said a word silently.

Lu Qianchuan was dumbfounded. His eyesight was not good, and now his vision was blurred by the pain. He couldn't tell what the old man was talking about, so he could only use a raised "um" as a question with a blank face.

The old man suddenly moved closer to him, so that Lu Qianchuan could look directly into those cloudy and yellow eyes.

I don't know if it was his illusion, but those eyes looked obscure and blurry, but the light in them was unusual, and they could even be called high-spirited.

In his dazed moment, the old man's withered and callused hand quickly pressed against his forehead, trembling from the cold temperature, and quickly retracted his hand.

Lu Qianchuan was taken aback and cheered up a little.

It was only a moment of relaxation of vigilance, and the old man's hand was already pressed against his forehead—fortunately, it was just a touch of his forehead. If it were other means of attack, he asked himself, could he have avoided it in that instant?

The answer seems to be no.

Lu Qianchuan quietly gathered a small cluster of spirits in his hands, his eyes, which were as pale as glass, were gradually filled with guard, and he looked expressionlessly at the old man who touched him for a moment and then withdrew.

The old man hadn't eaten the steamed buns yet, so he stood up suddenly and pulled Lu Qianchuan's arm: "You come with me first."

Lu Qianchuan had been prepared for a long time, and the spiritual flow in his hand attacked him immediately, and the target point of the spiritual flow was his left chest heart.

The old man's eyes flashed, and his figure leaned to one side very quickly, impartially, Ling Liu brushed his arm and hit the wall behind him, while he stood in front of Lu Qianchuan with his face unchanged, Feng Qingyun It's as if nothing happened.

This body style doesn't look like an old man who will be bullied by two big guys who don't stand up to the stage.

Lu Qianchuan's pupils shrank suddenly, and the bitter water called "regret" poured into his heart, and his mind was filled with four big words - farmer and snake.

The poor farmer knew that there was danger, but he was unmoved by his strength. Unexpectedly, this snake was more difficult to deal with than he imagined, but after a while, he felt that the old man in front of him was a little unfathomable.

He twitched hard in his heart, probably because he had never seen such a stupid farmer before, and he naturally disliked himself.

The old man tightly held onto his wrist, so strong that Lu Qianchuan almost cursed out. Without thinking, he shot directly, with simple and sharp moves, hoping to break free from the old man's shackles in the shortest possible time.

However, he was fast, the old man was even faster, it was as if he was intentionally bullying him because his spiritual power was not functioning well, and all his moves were aimed at places that were difficult for him to deal with in his current physical state.

Lu Qianchuan gritted his teeth, and a ray of magic power suddenly seeped out of his body, forming a circle of black energy around his body.

The old man hissed, suppressing his counterattack even more forcefully, and said at the same time: "I won't hurt you, come with me!"

Lu Qianchuan was dragged and dragged to the door of a store by him. His stomach was getting more and more overwhelming, and he directly supported the pillar in front of the store, trying to vomit the weakness and exhaustion of the past few days.

But no matter how hard he tried, he could only retch uncomfortably next to the pillar.

He hadn't eaten for several days, and the only thing he ate was a few mouthfuls of broken noodles from that restaurant—not even three mouthfuls. Before he had time to eat more, he was interrupted by the man who came up to make trouble.

How can there be extra things for him to vomit.

Lu Qianchuan vomited a few mouthfuls of acid water, pressed the pillar hard, rubbed against the wall by inertia, and slowly sat down along the wall.

He swears that if someone touches him again, he will explode himself immediately, and no one will have to suffer anymore after playing the game.

The old man threw him at the door and walked into the store by himself. He didn't come out for a long time, and he didn't know what he was doing.

Lu Qianchuan buried his head in his knees, his eyes were pitch black, his consciousness was about to fade away, and only a pair of ears were useful in his whole body, helping the owner to capture the unusual movements in the store.

It seemed that someone had made a big fuss and smashed many things. During the noise, a clear and gentle male voice yelled loudly: "I smashed it, I told you shopkeepers to come out!"

After a burst of commotion and noise, there was an evil and deep male voice that cut through the surrounding noise, and asked eccentrically: "The disciples of Xuecheng are really getting more and more capable, and they still want to overwhelm me?"

That clear and gentle voice was not polite at all: "Give me a ready-made garment, a thicker one, and pay on credit first."

The low and evil voice was full of disdain: "Credit in Raksha Hell? Let alone you, your master and wife may not have such a big face."

Then there was another bang, bang bang bang, Lu Qianchuan's head was buzzing, and his ears were humming inappropriately, no matter how loud the noise was, it seemed to him that it was far away in the sky.

In a daze, it seemed that something rolled under his feet. He hesitated for a while, unable to control his curiosity, he raised his heavy head from his knees.

A steamed bun was reflected in the not-so-clear vision.

Lu Qianchuan was stunned for a while, and it took him a while to realize where the steamed buns came from.

The old man seemed to want to help him, but for some reason, such an unknown dispute was triggered, and the steamed bun miraculously rolled back in front of him.

He rubbed his forehead, endured the pain in his body, and raised his hand to pick up the steamed bun. While thinking about returning the steamed bun to the old man when he came out, he carefully peeled off the dusty skin again in order to stay awake.

In fact, he couldn't see clearly anymore. The skin was peeled by feeling, and he turned his hands in circles. Before he had peeled half of the skin, the light beside him suddenly dimmed.

It seemed that someone had crouched beside him.

The next moment, a pair of extremely powerful arms wrapped around his waist involuntarily, the steamed bun in his hand was snatched away, and a head he was very familiar with was placed on his shoulder.

The feathery touch came from his neck, and the voice that he had been looking for day and night was choked up for some reason, calling softly: "Senior Brother, Senior Brother."

Someone pressed an extremely light kiss on the forehead, as if afraid of hurting him too much, the voice choked up and said, "A kiss, doesn't it hurt so much?"