Heavy snow covered the entire capital, and three feet of ice hung between the red walls and green tiles. Only the red candle deep in Fengyi Palace shone dimly until dawn. Feng Qingge was lying on the cold jade couch, her fingertips were blue, and her lips were bloodless. The short knife penetrated her chest for a full three inches, and the blood had soaked into the gold brocade quilt, spreading a large area of dark red under her body.
She opened her eyes, and the carved beams and painted buildings were reflected in her eyes, and the sound of crackling charcoal fire could be heard in her ears, as well as the chuckle of her biological sister Feng Qingyao, which was like a string of silver bells.
