Plum Blossom Makeup and the Eleventh-Dimensional Copper Coin

A silent snowy night, deep within the palace walls.

The old eunuch's withered hands held a priceless porcelain vase adorned with crackled glaze. The cold seeped into his bones. His fingertips were nearly frozen, yet they still trembled as he wrote something on the vase's surface.

Great misfortune.

As the two characters took shape, they seemed to crush the last flicker of life in the wintry night. The old eunuch looked up. Snowflakes fell softly onto his weathered face, melting into shapes like tears. The vase glimmered eerily in the candlelight as cracks spread across it like a spiderweb.

Suddenly, he saw an impossible scene reflected in the vase: the palace ten years in the future, engulfed in flames, banners torn to shreds, crimson silk washing across the land like blood, and the dynasty collapsing amid cries of anguish.

The snow beyond these palace walls cannot warm a human heart, the old eunuch murmured, his voice as faint as a ghost's.

The wind and snow grew ever fiercer, extinguishing the candle in his hand.

The snow beyond these palace walls cannot warm a human heart.

The echo lingered in the darkness, like a whisper from another time and space.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.