In March of the seventeenth year of Hongwu's reign, the moment Li Wenzhong drank the poisonous wine poured into his throat, what he saw was not death, but half of his life, kneeling before Danqi and saying "Long live".
When he opened his eyes again, he returned to the last spring of his life——
The sick bed was still there, with the fragrance of medicine lingering around. This time, he no longer acted as Zhu's sharpest knife.
I am no longer naive enough to think that "retiring" can save my life.
What he has to do is:
Let the world continue to regard him as the dying Duke Cao Guo,
Let Zhu Yuanzhang continue to regard him as a "good nephew" who can be taken care of at will,
Everyone in the civil and military dynasties thought that he was just a terminally ill loyal minister with no ambitions.
Then, in front of everyone's eyes——
The beacon smoke in the northern border, the sail shadow in the south ocean, and the chess game in the court,
Hold it inch by inch in the palm of your hand.
