Cracks in Bronze

I often stand on the high platform of Xianyang Palace and look at the bronze vessels bleached by the moonlight. Those ritual vessels that were once used to hold millet grains eventually became cold codes engraved with laws and regulations. Just like there are three souls living in my body: one is the petty official of Chu State who was eaten by hamsters, one is the Legalist believer who kneels in front of Qin Shihuang, and the other is the loser who looks up to the sky and sighs before being cut in half. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.