悄寂站在雪舞台上,漫天的紫泱花纷扬地飘洒在水波殿上,手中的劈天剑旋转在他手心,剑影处一个迷茫的人影闪现,湿漉漉的月光打湿了人影的头发。悄寂回首一看,人影似乎认识可又模糊不清,记忆里却又不曾现过,恍惚间,他看清了,那人影是若惜。他赶紧收回剑,朝那人影走去,一只手抚摸着 Silent standing on the snow stage, the sky’s asters floating in the water waves on the temple, the hands of the sky sword rotating in his palm, sword shadow at a confused figure flash, the wet moonlight wet the shadow of the hair. Looking back quietly, the silhouette seems to be vague and unclear, but it has never been seen in memory. In the meantime, he sees it. The figure is a pity. He hurried back the sword and walked toward the figure, one hand stroking