The Road to Empress Power: Chronicles of Emperor Zhaowu

She is the most convenient knife in the Zhenguo government. He was sent to the East Palace at the age of twelve, wore a phoenix crown at the age of sixteen, and was deposed to the cold palace at the age of twenty-two. Everyone thought she was finished—lost her favor, lost her power, and was thrown into the drafty shabby house in Yong Lane to die. But they didn't know that what she was waiting for was the wind. The night in the cold palace was very long, so long that she personally put her sister on the dragon bed as bait; so long that she watched her sister being murdered and died of miscarriage, her hand hanging in the air and never falling - if she did, she would become soft-hearted, and if she was soft-hearted, she would lose. She cut off the last piece of flesh on her body called "family affection" and became invulnerable from then on. Grandfather said that the daughter of the Shen family did not need a heart. The emperor said that her calculations were so accurate that it sent chills down the spine. The regent said I only want to be the knife in your hand. She put everything everyone said into her sleeves and crushed it, turning it into steps under her feet. The snow in the north, the rain in the south, the palace walls in the capital - she walked through the blood step by step, with everyone she had sacrificed behind her. The death of my sister brought about the downfall of Concubine Chen, the death of Concubine Chen brought about the destruction of the Liu family, and the destruction of the Liu family brought about the dragon chair. Then she sat on it. The name of the country was changed to Zhao, and all the civil and military officials of the court knelt on the ground. The one kneeling at the head was the man who killed the emperor for her. She looked down at them and suddenly remembered what her grandfather said many years ago: "Only two things in this world are real - the cards in your hand and the chessboard in front of you." She opened her palms and looked at the criss-crossing palm lines, then slowly clenched her fists. The world is hers, but there is no one left who she can speak to. My sister is buried in the sweet-scented osmanthus in Jiangnan