When Shen Zhaoning took his last breath, there was still ash stuck in his throat. It's not the burning thing - it's the poison. She remembered the ginseng soup, which was warm and had the sweet smell of tangerine peel. After drinking it, her internal organs felt like they were being torn apart inch by inch by fine needles. She didn't shout or struggle, she just kept her eyes open and watched the flames lick the corners of her skirt, watched the eunuchs take three steps back, and watched the gold-threaded dragon-embroidered crown swaying in the smoke before disappearing.
