In the twelfth lunar month of the third year of Yuan Qi, the policy papers compiled by the Hanlin Academy were burned in public by the chief minister of the dynasty. Paper dust fell on her shoes. She bent down to brush it away and turned to leave.
The next day, she received an anonymous letter with only one line: "The late emperor did not die of illness."
Ten years ago, she saved a dying boy on the streets of Chang'an. Ten years later, the young man stood at the highest point of the court and burned every word she wrote into ashes.
There are people protecting her in the dark, and there are people who want to take her life. She opened the old files of the Imperial Hospital and found that the records had been destroyed in advance; she checked the palace records and found that someone entered the palace late at night on the night of the late emperor's death; the deeper she searched, the more she discovered that she was walking into a truth that everyone wanted to bury——
There is no shortage of conspiracies in this imperial city, but there is a shortage of people who dare to write about them.
Words are fragile. The paper will turn yellow and the ink will fade. But those who read it will remember it.
And every word she wrote was shaking the foundation of this imperial city.
