Mixed with the sand of the Gobi, the moisture of the Yellow River, and the fishy smell of the sun-done blood of the dead at the border, it felt like a knife cutting on the face, painful but refreshing.
My name is Li Shimin. I am eleven years old this year. I am the second son of Li Yuan, Duke of Tang Dynasty. Apart from my father, I am the highest official in Longzhou City. This was said by the old man in the kitchen, Zhoutou. He had followed my father to fight the Turks in Huaiyuan Town for ten years. His left arm was cut off by a saber at shoulder level, leaving only half an empty sleeve. He always liked to squat by the stove, stealing wheat cakes for me, and telling me stories about the Silk Road.
