Come down. Weightlessness. A mixture of rust, sweat, horse dung and blood was poured into the nose.
Open your eyes. Low wooden shed. Snow light leaked through the cracks in the boards. Four men in uniform were snoring. A rusty spear leaned against the wall.
I touched my waist - the "Song and Yuan Tongbao" I bought at the flea market was still there. Cold and frayed around the edges.
It is now the third day of the first lunar month in the year 960 AD. Chenqiaoyi. I know that in two hours, everyone will be checking in front of the palace. Zhao Kuangyin will wear a yellow robe and establish the Song Dynasty.
What I don't know is why I am here.
