Winter, the sixteenth year of Chongzhen.
In the Nuan Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace in the Forbidden City, the silver frost charcoal in the charcoal basin crackled slightly, but it could not dispel the biting chill in the palace.
When Zhu Youjian opened his eyes suddenly, there was still a suffocating feeling in his chest from the cold wind of a modern urban winter night filling his throat, but the tip of his nose first smelled a rich, old smell mixed with musty and ambergris - it definitely did not belong to any office building, rental house, or the 21st century he was familiar with.
In front of him is a throne carved with dragons and gold, and under his feet is a thick and cold bluestone. The eunuch standing next to him with his head bowed is dressed in simple clothes, with dark patterns embroidered on his sleeves, and his face is as frightened as if he has seen a ghost.
"Your Majesty, your Majesty... You are finally awake!"
A trembling "Emperor" sounded like a heavy hammer hitting the chaotic consciousness.
Zhu Youjian, no, the soul occupying this body at the moment is named Chen Mo.
