In late spring in Yangzhou, blood is soaked in rouge mist.
Lin Xia, a young man, carried a mysterious mutton-fat jade cicada in his arms and fled in panic during the killing in the dark night of Zuiyue Tower. Mother Jin, who had raised him for fifteen years, had a blood-stained peacock skirt, and before her death, she gave him a blood-stained secret letter and a last word - Yaowang Valley in Mobei hides the truth that overturned twenty years of bloodshed.
Nails penetrate the bones to chase the soul, and the sound of clogs and bells urges life.
On the way to escape, the jade cicada's blood streaks swam like a living thing, the pale arms in the depths of the dark river whispered ancient Ming religion verses for burning the body, and the golden lotus brand on the scorched corpse's ankle burned painful memories: Twenty years ago, the Ming religion fell, and the eight holy envoys left no trace on the snow. But now the pursuers are carrying Buddhist bells and Sanskrit sounds, and weaving Dongchang's secret reports and the corpses of the escort into a huge web.
When the cracks in the jade cicada turn into the totem of Langtou Mountain, deep in the poisonous miasma of Yaowang Valley, what awaits Lin Xia is not only the mystery of his old friend, but also the dormant holy fire of Ming Zun. The metaphor of pointing to the moon hides murderous intent. The white peony in the past fell into mud, and the power awakened in his blood is burning the chess game in the Jianghu and the court to ashes.
——The cicada's wings have eighteen splits, and they will be destroyed in one catastrophe.
