The sea in the south is boiling, silently swallowing islands and creatures; the cold wind in the north roars all year round, burying countless withered bones and broken halberds. However, in the hinterland of the Dayin Dynasty, where the sun never sets, the snow in the capital still falls casually.
It was a long and gorgeous funeral. In this body wrapped in layers of "ethics" and "imperial power", the Holy Emperor sat on a throne made of bones, watching coldly as the nine young dragons bit each other for the pearl on their heads, dripping with blood. Above the temple, the Dukes of Yangun used pens as knives to dismember the country and the mountains on paper; far away from the rivers and lakes, people were starving and dying in the fields, and the people were begging for the afterlife in the mud.
No one knows that the countdown clock to destruction has already sounded. Some people want to be emperor for eternity, while some people just want to steal another brick in this building that is about to collapse.
When the dragon opened its mouth to devour the world, it never expected that it was just an insignificant morsel in the torrent of time.
