Hanxu

The remaining warmth of the residual jade is still in the palm of my hand, and the wind of Wuzhangyuan has swept away the last trace of the wishing fragrance. Lin Heng remembered the fluorescent light in the library, which threw him into the body of young Jia Xu. He weaves a web in the shadow of Cao Ying, making the Chibi fire even more intense. But the arrogance of the red-faced man burned Maicheng, and Wolong's oil lamp was finally extinguished before the Northern Expedition. Those plans called "poisonous schemes" turned out to be the cracks he spent the rest of his life filling. The broken slips reflected old Jia Xu's white hair, and a sigh floated in the autumn wind: "I changed the strategy, but I can't change the outcome." He became a footnote in history, an accomplice of regret.