At the last moment when darkness engulfed his vision, Zhao Kuo saw a figure wearing black armor looking from a distance behind the Qin army's forest of spears and halberds, under the black-bottomed "white" banner.
A mile away, a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
The moment their eyes met, Zhao Kuo understood the look——
Not hatred, not contempt.
It's calm. Indifferent.
Just like a craftsman inspecting a pottery figurine that is about to be completed to see whether its body is well-proportioned and whether its glaze color is pure, he then gently puts it into the kiln, waiting for the final quenching.
It turns out that in the eyes of the other party, my life is just a carefully crafted sacrifice in this grand ceremony.
