An invitation to the “Reflux” space suddenly appeared. Ling Zhao confirmed it while munching on grilled skewers. After all, the option to refuse had always been a mere decoration.
As a veteran with a 100% clearance rate, her daily dungeon adventures were anything but ordinary:
At the Deer Terrace Pavilion of the Yin and Shang dynasties, she advised King Zhou to raise the slaves’ wages. In the underground palace of the Qin Mausoleum, she complained that the bronze lamps used too much oil. Amid the arrow storm at Xuanwu Gate, she handed Li Shimin a tissue.
Her teammates thought she was crazy, but historical figures saw her in a new light: the Shang king granted her an unprecedented audience, the First Emperor let her come and go freely, and even Fang Xuanling marveled, “The gentleman’s bearing is just as the ancient texts describe.”
No one knew why this woman, who always cracked deadpan jokes on the brink of death, knew the details of a thousand years ago so well, or how she could stroll so calmly through the currents of history.
An ensemble adventure with no romance. While everyone else struggled to survive in the “Reflux” space, Ling Zhao only cared whether the next dungeon served food. After all, the tree bark she chewed during the Jingkang Incident had really gotten stuck in her teeth.
Those suspicions that “there’s more to her than meets the eye”? Don’t worry, they’re all correct.
