In my life, I have been exposed to swords, swords and shadows, and bloody storms. The world calls me regent, calls me a thief, and respects me as the capital of Beijing. Today I sit alone in front of the window, watching the twilight stain the glazed tiles of the Forbidden City. I wonder if a hundred years from now, when people mention me, will they remember my contribution to "establishing the country and founding its foundation", or will they accuse me of "chaotic government and usurping power"?
