In the twelfth lunar month of winter, the wind is biting.
She was roughly dragged off the prison car, and the thin prison clothes could not withstand the bone-chilling chill.
The heavy palace door slowly closed behind her, making a muffled sound, cutting off her from everything in the past.
The eunuch's high-pitched voice echoed in the empty palace corridor.
"The guilty minister's daughter, Shen, meets the Holy One."
She was escorted into a brightly lit palace, which was as warm as spring and filled with incense.
On the high position, a man wearing a dragon robe was reviewing the memorial without raising his head.
She was forced to kneel on the cold floor without saying a word.
After a long time, the man put down his ink pen.
"Keep your head up."
That was an instruction without any warmth.
She raised her face obediently and met a pair of bottomless black eyes.
In those eyes, there was a flash of surprise and trance at first, and then they were quickly covered with disgust and frost.
He was looking at another person through her.
