On the night when the natural disaster suddenly struck, Prince Zha personally threw me, a half-dead sick man, into a mass grave filled with rotting corpses - he was sure that I would not survive three days.
But he didn't expect that the moment my fingertips touched the corpse, I actually activated the salvation system with my backhand. From an abandoned child on the verge of death, I became the only light in the apocalypse.
What happened later was even more interesting: Prince Jing's Mansion, where he once had all the power, had long been reduced to rubble by the flames of war; and in the city I built with my own hands, the grain stores were piled higher than the mountains, and the warehouses were so full that they overflowed.
In the heavy snow, wrapped in a tattered coat with exposed cotton wool, he knelt outside my city gate for three days and three nights. His voice was as hoarse as a broken gong, just begging to see me.
I pinched the freshly warmed broth with my fingertips. The fog blurred the ends of my eyes, but I sneered at the corners of my lips: "Prince Jing? Oh, is he the one who cried and shouted last winter that he wanted to give me all your wealth in exchange for half of my multi-grain steamed buns?"
