In the east of Yangzhou City, Tian Fugui Garden stands majestically, with glazed tiles flowing with molten gold, delicacies, and flowing cloud sleeves, just like a fantasy on earth.
Thousands of miles away, it has long been reduced to a scorched earth purgatory. The black smoke of the war swallowed up the setting sun, withered bones exposed for thousands of miles on the red ground, rotting corpses floating on the muddy riverbed, and tattered refugees squirming like ants.
The atmosphere filled with gunpowder smoke, blood and endless wails was like the filthiest dust, quietly seeping through the golden and jade walls and floating silently on the edge of the glass cup filled with fine wine.
The southern wind can no longer dispel the coldness of the north. Deep in the bright reflection, the shadow of death is quietly growing, waiting for the rusty and bloody new wind to completely blow away this mirage of dreams into ashes.
