If history is a pile of old paper that needs to be repaired, then is the truth just the little flaws hidden between the lines?
I originally wanted to be the most silent book repairer in this huge library called the Forbidden City, spending my whole life pretending to be deaf and mute in exchange for a little peace.
However, when my fingertips touched a murder case twenty years ago and a bit of "dirt" that should not have appeared in the stone well, I was drawn into the deepest whirlpool.
This is a game with the world as a chessboard, human lives are the pawns, and power is the thread.
I don't want to play chess, I just want to be the discarded piece that won't be picked up.
But they don't know that if you want to see the entire chess game clearly, the best position is just outside the chess board.
