The rain in late spring always carries a lingering dampness. On the third day when Su Yunluo knelt in the mourning hall, the banana leaves outside the eaves were already wrinkled. Sandalwood mixed with the smell of blood swirled between the beams. She looked at the memorial tablet of her father Su Jingyuan on the memorial table, and unconsciously twisted the plain mourning cloth with her fingertips. Three days ago, the Zhenbei general who guarded Yanmen Pass taught her how to identify military symbols in the military tent. In the blink of an eye, he became a ghost in front of the late emperor's mausoleum.
"Miss, it's time to go." The old butler Fu Bo's voice was filled with tears, and he was holding a piece of tiger talisman soaked in blood in his hand. "Before the imperial army ransacked the house, the general asked me to give this to you. He told me to go to Zhongnan Mountain to find the head of Qingxuan of the Duanchen Pavilion."
