In the first year of Ping Dynasty, Jizhou, on the outskirts of Zhuojun.
Cold.
The biting cold was not the dry cold in modern office buildings where the air conditioner was turned on too low. It was a damp and cold wind, like countless fine needles, burrowing through the gaps in the worn linen clothes and sticking to the skin and into the seams of the bones. E Ai Xi shuddered violently, her consciousness seemed to be pulled out of the deep sea, and there was sharp pain in the chaos - the back of her head felt like it had been hit by a blunt object, and there was throbbing pain.
She wanted to raise her hand to rub it, but found that her arm was as heavy as lead and was tied up with something? The rough hemp rope cut into the wrist, causing the skin to burn.
"Woke up?"
