The stars fell into the Nine Cauldrons, thousands of years of war burned out the dragon veins of the Eighty-one Dynasties, and in the chaotic world cursed by heaven, gluttons swallowed the moon, Yin soldiers devoured souls, and the emperor's soul wept blood. Above the Golden Palace, the dignitaries are laughing at the chess game; below the sacrifice platform, the young man is tearing into pieces the shackles of heaven that have been in existence for three thousand years. He is an orphan from the previous dynasty whose name has been erased from the history books. He rides heavily on black armor and rides through mountains and rivers, measures the sky with his spine, and uses beacon fire as a pen to write down the arrogant code of "people are the most precious" - either he ascends the bloody throne, or he burns the emperor's bones as candles to illuminate the thorny path for all people to share the same sky. When the dragon's veins roared in his palm, the thunder from the sky cracked the sky thirty thousand miles away: the god-killer holds the sword, this is the last chapter of the old world, the first year of Datong!
