“妈的，”龙傲天抹了把脸上的汗水，粗声粗气骂了一句，身上的破衣裳差点被风吹掉。山涧里光秃秃的，别说木头，连片叶子都少见，风刮过，呜呜作响，像个鬼魅在哭。

他手里的半截枯藤比他还高，是早上在旁边树林里捡的，勉强能当个练功的器械。今天练着练着，突然觉得这破玩意儿碍事，抡着抡着就对着旁边一块石头砸了过去。

“砰”的一声闷响。

龙傲天愣了愣，眼睛眯了眯，伸头看了看石头。石头上，一个清晰的窟窿，大概能塞进拳头。

他嘴角慢慢咧开一丝弧度，虽然这笑容有点傻，但确实有点高兴。“嘿，还能这么用？”他捡起半截枯藤，又比划了几下，越使越顺手，最后干脆扔了，对着天空就是几拳。

拳头带风， assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions on assumptions