The Pear Blossoms Fall to Ashes, Old Friends Come

The fierce wind in northern Xinjiang could not dissipate the bloody smell deep in the royal court. He was once her sweetheart, the young man who promised to return under the pear tree. Now he is the new king of the grassland who has laid waste to her country, and the "murderer" who has slaughtered all the members of Duke Dingguo's family. Grandma still remembers that day, when her father's head was hung high on the city tower, and the man used his hands stained with the blood of her closest relatives to strangle her wrist bones and kidnapped her into this golden cage. "I will marry you," he had said. She waited for the betrothal gift, but also waited for the tragedy of annihilation of her family. The grandma under the pear tree had already died on that snowy night. The only one alive now is a soulless puppet imprisoned by him. But he still trapped her persistently, kissed the shackles around her neck, and whispered in her ear: "Honey, smile at me again." She looked at the carved flowers on the dome. . . . . .