The emperor guards the gate of the country, and the king dies in the country. This is not a great pride, but a great tragedy!
March 19, the seventeenth year of Chongzhen, Yinshi.
The wind from the Coal Mountain brings chill to the bones.
When Li Shimin opened his eyes, he saw a piece of white silk hanging in front of his eyes, knotted tightly.
There is still the feeling of friction of fabric on the side of my neck, as if I was about to drill into it.
He lowered his head and saw that he was wearing a bright yellow dragon robe. The cuffs were frayed and his exposed wrists were blue from the cold.
There was residual snow underfoot, which creaked when you stepped on it.
There was a cry from behind, with the air of being distracted: "Your Majesty! You must not do this!"
Li Shimin turned his head.
A man in eunuch clothes knelt down in the snow, his knees sinking into the ice, and his forehead was red from being knocked down.
"Your Majesty?"
He frowned slightly and raised his hand to press his swollen temples.
Countless unfamiliar memory fragments poured in - vermilion palace walls, mountains of memorials, civil and military disputes throughout the dynasty, and a name: Zhu Youjian.
This is the owner of this body.
An emperor who was about to hang himself.
"The city is broken?"
Li Shimin's voice deepened...
