"Gu... Gu is not dead yet?" Cao Cao suddenly opened his eyes. The severe pain of head wind still remains in my memory. It was the Gengzi Day of the first month of the 25th year of Jian'an, and the winter in Luoyang was extremely cold. He was lying on the bed in the palace, with Cao Pi kneeling beside the bed, and Jia Xu and Sima Yi standing by his side. "The world has not yet stabilized, and it has not yet followed the ancient times..." He used his last breath to finish the decree, and then there was boundless darkness. But now, he opened his eyes again. What caught the eye was not the familiar curtains of Luoyang Palace, but the unfamiliar Shu brocade curtains. There is no soot smell in Luoyang in the air, only the unique moist smell of Chengdu. He looked down at his hands. It's not the calloused hands that have held the Yitian Sword for a lifetime. These hands are fairer, slender, and have distinct knuckles. This is Liu Bei's hand!
