In March in the south of the Yangtze River, it was misty and rainy. It was the seventh day that Shen Qingci was kneeling on the bluestone steps in front of the Prime Minister's Mansion. She was once a gentle lady raised in a water town in the south of the Yangtze River. Once she came to Beijing, she just wanted to fulfill a promise she made when she was young. That man was Prince Jing, who was in power at that time. He was the man she had kept close to her heart for ten years. She thought that as long as she was persistent enough and forbearing enough, she could warm his cold heart, just like studying hard with a candle in a cold night, just hoping to be named on the gold list. But in King Jing's eyes, there was always only his childhood sweetheart cousin, and she was just a dispensable pawn in his chess game.
She washed his hands and made soup for him, blocked hidden arrows for him, spent hundreds of years of savings of the Shen family for him, and helped him ascend to a high position. She lowered herself to the dust and worked hard day after day, just like an examinee studying hard in a cold window, trying her best, but not even qualified to enter the examination room. He gave her glory, but he never gave her any sincerity; he promised her status, but on the wedding night, he hugged another woman and said that she was just a decoration.
The mist and rain in Jiangnan are still there, but the smiling Shen Qingci has already worn away all the edges in the endless waiting and disappointment. When the truth is revealed layer by layer, when her dedication is taken for granted, when her sincerity is abandoned like worn shoes, she realizes that some obsessions are destined to end in vain from the beginning. Life is like a dream, fire turns to ashes. She has been waiting for her return for half her life, but it is still far away.
