In the 17th year of Yong'an in Daliang, it was the 29th day of the twelfth lunar month.
Gu Yanzhi, the king of Zhennan, died on his way back to Beijing.
It's not a spectacular death, no thousands of troops, no bloodshed on the battlefield. It's just a wind chill. From the northern border to the capital, more than 3,000 miles, he burned for seven days and nights. Three military doctors accompanied him, and the medicine he drank could fill a cart, but the fever would not go away.
Finally that night, he suddenly woke up.
There was a heavy wind and snow outside the military tent, and the charcoal fire inside the tent was about to go out. Gu Yanzhi leaned on the pillow, looking at the gray sky outside through the gap in the curtain, and suddenly said something incomprehensible -
