Zhu Qiangmou: the Skirt Is Swaying, the Country Is Swaying

Winter, the twenty-seventh year of Yong'an. Bloody night. There are three hundred and seventy-one members of the Shen family, with iron chains piercing their bones and blood staining the snow. Outside the prison of the Criminal Department, the cold wind was like a knife, the lanterns were shaking, and the light and shadow flickered. Shen Qingcheng stood at the junction of blood and snow, wearing a plain white prison uniform that was stained dark red by blood. She doesn't run away. Don't ask. Don't cry. The entire execution ground was filled with prisoners wailing, guards scolding, and families wailing. Only she was like a jade statue standing in a pool of blood, so cold that she had no warmth. Her eyes were red. Not crying red. It's the blood pupil. It's the kind of red that boils with hatred and blood oozes from the tear ducts. She walked into the prison of the Ministry of Punishment in one step. The footsteps echoed in the corridor, eerie and bone-chilling, but suppressed all noise. She said to the prison officer: "Send me to the Regent's Palace. Kneel down and thank Linyuan. Use my head to knock on the door of his heart. " Her leverage is not evidence. Not a relic. Not a secret. Only herself. There is only one Shen Qingcheng who can take revenge, survive, and turn hell into a smooth road...