On a snowy night in the cold palace, thirteen-year-old Zhang Jing'an huddled in the corner of the dilapidated palace. The sweetness of the half piece of osmanthus cake tossed by Prince Jinghong and the coldness of Chi Yan's silent hand of the sword ate into the young man's organs at the same time.
Ten years later, when the tyrant stabbed someone, blood splattered on the boxwood barrel. The emperor always picked up the token after turning around.
Concept: pain