One grain of millet, half a world of blood.
When he used the modern pen to pierce the lies of the prosperous age, the ink marks were not yet dry, and the "Untitled" actually became the shackles of thousands of generations——
The cold light of the flint and stone of the people and animals in the Xia Ruins, the hungry and frozen bones outside the Weiyang Palace, the coral trees with blood splattered on the stone Chong mats, the porridge sheds of Bianliang mixed with sand and the disaster relief food...
Every time I open my eyes, it is a purgatory that has not been recorded in history books;
Every time you are "reborn", it is the end of your life.
From the talisman, water, witchcraft blessing to the righteousness and god boxing, from the official warehouse, the rat, to the relief rice mixed with sand, the so-called reincarnation is nothing more than grinding the white bones to make the base of the new dynasty.
——This curse that has spanned five thousand years is not meant to change one's life, but to witness:
Huang. Huang. Qing. History. Ink. Never. Recorded. A. Real. Real. Living. Dust..
