The soldiers of the Zhao army all over the sky fell to the Qin army's long arms like mowing grass. The loess was soaked into mud with blood, and people were piled on top of it. The sounds of crying, begging for mercy, cracking bones, and waving arms all mixed together and became the most terrifying background of his childhood.
Dad was buried at the bottom, and not even his body was found.
A Niang held her little brother who had just turned one month old, and his chest was crushed by the rout of soldiers. The last bit of warmth was cold in his little hands.
Only my grandfather, who fought for half his life, pressed him into the gap of the mass grave and covered it with corpses, was able to save his life.
Before the old man died, his skinny fingers clenched tightly on his shoulders, he coughed up blood, and said word by word:
"Don't hate Qin... Don't be a soldier... Live..."
Those were the gentlest and cruelest words Su Yi had ever heard in his life.
He survived.
Like weeds, they sprouted among the bones.
But this world is no longer the Zhao country in his memory.
The country is ruined, the family is ruined, the family is dependent on others, and all dignity is lost.
His whole life was trapped by the times, he sought stability but could not find it, he could not keep his loyalty and righteousness, he struggled for half his life and was ups and downs for the other half, and finally returned to the flames when the Qin Dynasty fell.
