[Imaginary setting · Purely fictional]
It was rainy and cold during the Qingming Festival, and I knelt in a mass grave, the mud between my fingers mixed with blood.
Three years ago, there were more than 300 people in the Jingbei Palace, and Duan Bingjun personally named them.
He knelt straight in the court hall and said that my father had a disobedient heart.
Three years later, on a spring hunt, I bumped into him in front of the old grave - dressed in purple robes, he was already the guest of honor of the princess.
He looked at my coarse mourning clothes and frowned: "Su Lingyue, why haven't you stopped yet?"
I grabbed a handful of wet mud from the grave and smashed it into his sanctimonious face.
Duan Bingjun, this spring rain can wash away the mud, but it cannot wash away your sins.
Since you are sitting so high, I will drag you down to hell.
