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Chapter 230 How Many Mountains and Rivers, How Many Swordsmen

In the city of Luoyang, winter and spring have come and gone in March.

An old man and a young man walking slowly in a not spacious alley, walking in front is an old Confucian scholar carrying a bookcase, pale face, not tall, a closer look even a little stooped.

At this moment, carrying a bookcase, walking in the middle of this ugly alley, the old Confucian is still rambling, first recited a few Confucian sages widely circulated some of the famous lines, and then said a few lines of his own in a certain book of poetry seems to be a few lines of exquisite small poems.

Read to read, and finally the old Confucian just sighed in frustration, raised his head to see, do not know where to look, but no matter where to look, think have not been able to cross these two sides of the high wall, can only be confined to the front of the eyes only.

Followed by this old Confucian behind the young man slender, a moonlight white long shirt, waist side hanging a wine gourd, the

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