My mother said that I was born to sit on a high platform.
What she didn't say was that under the high platform, there were either tens of thousands of people prostrate, or there was an abyss of ten thousand feet.
Shen Zhaoning read "Warring States Policy" at the age of three, and could distinguish the factions in the court at the age of seven. When butterflies fluttered in the spring when he was ten years old, what was embroidered on the fan was not flowers and birds, but the black and white dot matrix of "He Tu" and "Luo Shu".
In the seventeenth year of the prime minister's palace, the jade grains and golden shield were fed, and what he fed was not the daughter of the boudoir, but a knife.
That night, my father used tea to draw a bloody palace sentence on the table: "Your Majesty needs a knife to kill all his relatives."
She has no right to say no.
On the day she entered the palace, the old nun of Huguo Temple wrote a lottery for her: "The red cage locks the bird, and the bird pecks at the Tianmen." She asked where the Tianmen was, and the nun said: "In the heart of the benefactor."
The new emperor Xiao Jingcheng was suspicious and ruthless, but on the night of He's Day, he received the secret box from her - the ironclad proof that the young minister of Dali Temple had collaborated with the enemy, and that he was the only son of his wet nurse. He grabbed her chin with such force that he almost broke the bones.
She said: "I am your majesty's sword. The sword does not need to be taught, it just needs to be sharp enough."
He thought she was a pawn planted by his father.
She thought he was a monarch who needed a sharp blade.
But they are all wrong
