On the night when my father died, I was publicly exposed as the illegitimate son of a palace maid, causing an uproar in the whole court. I slowly unfolded the edict of succession with the ink still wet on it - the seal was genuine and the handwriting was flawless. Xie Zhao, the commander of the imperial army who once saved me from an assassin's sword, his eyes wavered for the first time. Shen Zhaoyi knelt down and cried. There was a blood curse hidden in the fragrance of Angelica dahurica. Zhao Huaijin smiled. He knew that the edict in my hand was fake, but he didn't know that the real edict was hidden in Zhou Yan's "Records" manuscript. This is not a struggle for imperial power, but the fate of three people who have been tampered with, and they want to tear apart the perjury of history with their own hands.
