She once had a diary filled with "shoulds."
It should be dignified, it should be sacrificed, it should be for the country and the people, and it should be a perfect jade statue.
Until someone tore up the book and took her to see the peonies in the mud, to see the blood stains of the truth, and to see "how she wants to live."
"Your Highness," he returned from killing the enemy and handed over a brand new empty book with his blood-stained hand, "This time, I only write it for you."
