[Zhi Yu × Tuoba Sheng] Who can make the tyrant whose dragon robe is stained with blood hide a trace of softness that he dare not touch in his bones-shaped desire for power?
Until one windy night, I bumped into the frost-crushed bird in Pingkangfang - the young Zhiyu. His eyes were filled with cowardice that was brighter than the moonlight, like a butterfly that had forgotten to flap its wings.
He hid her in the shadow of Jinluan Palace. When the moon came late at night, she was afraid, so she held her shoulders, and the palms of her hands were so hot that she trembled; when she was tired, he let her lean on his knees, and his fingertips brushed her hair, like fragile porcelain.
On a cold snowy night, he put her feet in his arms and warmed them, saying, "I won't kill you." His gentleness was as gentle as that of an earth dragon. She asked about the bloody rumors, and he pinched her face: "What happens to others has nothing to do with you."
When the arrow came on a rainy night, he could have pressed her into his arms. Blood dripped on the dragon robe, but he smiled and wiped her tears: "Don't be afraid, I will protect you."
He slaughtered all the people for her, and the smell of blood filled the palace walls for three months. On the top of the Zichen Palace, he hugged her and looked at the lights, with silver threads on his temples wrapped in the moonlight: "In this world, you wouldn't leave."
She whispered: "I don't want to see you in the next life."
He smiled, sadness spreading over the palace wall: "In this life, you can only be mine."
