When Song Jiu opened his eyes, his mind was empty except for his name. She pushed open the creaking wooden door and stepped into a deserted courtyard forgotten by time. The long street was silent, the fragrance of rouge and the sweet smell of cakes mixed in the wind, vendors were selling their goods, and there were many pedestrians, but every face was unfamiliar to her. Who is she? Where did it come from? Why is it left here alone? No one can answer.
Bai Zhao, the minister of Dali Temple, was walking quickly over an unsolved case, with an unbreakable coldness between his brows. The moment he crossed the street corner, a figure staggered into his sight - it was a woman, her steps were frivolous, and she was as shaky as an autumn leaf. He subconsciously stretched out his hand to stop her, his fingertips were about to touch his sleeve, but she fell softly in front of him.
Bai Zhao looked at the unfamiliar face in his arms that was pale but could not conceal its beauty, and sighed softly. No matter what, we can't abandon it. He ordered someone to take her back to his house to rest temporarily, treating it as an unexpected episode during the trip.
As everyone knows, this support and hug are holding the cause and effect that has been predetermined for a long time. It is the complaint of the wronged soul, the grace of God, and the quiet return of the only ray of life buried in the old case.
