In the autumn of the twelfth year of Jianxing's reign, the night in Wuzhangyuan was cold and heavy.
The campfire flickered in the wind, but the general star did not fall after all. That night, the "change in the sky" that originally indicated that the fate of destiny was about to be extinguished, turned into an opportunity to turn things around. When the seven-star lantern in the prime minister's tent turned on again, the backbone of the entire Ji Han army seemed to be straightened again by an invisible force.
Since then it has been unstoppable. The cavalry came out of Qishan and conquered Chang'an. The news of victory burned like beacons across Bashan and Shushui. Standing on the incomplete battlements of Chang'an, the young emperor Liu Chan faced the wind blowing in his face and overlooked the northern territory that belonged to him for the first time. The wind was mixed with gunpowder smoke, loess, and the distant tide of the Wei River, but deep in his soul, there was a more distant noise roaring.
That's another "his" memory. An echo from a thousand years later that knows everything: knows the autumn wind that should have existed in the Wuzhang Plain, knows the inevitable overturn at the end of the Shu Road, knows the end of all these fresh faces in the history books.
Now, in front of me is the figure of the Prime Minister standing in the wind - his green shirt has been soaked white by the wind and sand in the north, and his temples are getting darker and darker with frost. Only his eyes are still as bright as the ever-burning lamps in the old palace of Weiyang Palace. The tip of Jiang Wei's spear was still dripping with the blood of yesterday's fight. Wei Yan was standing with his sword under the tower in the distance. The roar of Guan Xing and Zhang Bao could be heard faintly along with the neighing of the war horses... Everyone believed that the Han Dynasty would rise and the world would be settled.
