Lu Chenzhou took out a piece of white paper and wrote:
Di Rong gained money, food, technology, and craftsmen - his strength was greatly increased - and he invaded the south on a larger scale.
China lost money, food, people's hearts, and technology—its national power declined—and even more humiliated itself to seek peace.
The cycle repeats until it collapses.
The brush paused on the last word, and the ink smeared into a large black spot, like coagulated blood.
He pushed away the paper and opened the secret compartment on his desk. There were no military documents inside, only two things: a silver ornament that was so distorted by the fire that it could barely be seen to be a hairpin, and a small, blackened rattle whose head had long been broken.
The candle crackled.
He seemed to hear the sound of the wind on that snowy night again, and saw the horse's hooves crushing the slush, and the fire rising into the sky. He knelt in the ruins, holding the silver hairpin in his hand. The hairpin was so hot that it blistered on his palm, but he felt no pain.
He should have understood then.
Guard the border? Defending the country? Even though he, Lu Chenzhou, was extremely capable, he could not stop the soft knife being handed from behind. Today it is Wang Jianjun, tomorrow it is Mr. Li Ge, who will it be the day after tomorrow? They would argue about "taking care of the overall situation" in the Jinluan Palace, and then watch the country being eaten away inch by inch.
It's like watching that village burn to the ground
