Xi Luo knelt on the snow-covered stone road, looked at the golden iron door that was tightly closed, and smiled softly.
I couldn't remember how many times I had been punished. I could only vaguely recall six years ago when I was picked up by His Highness from the road along the street and put into this gorgeous and noble palace. It seemed that it was also such a cold weather.
I searched blankly for my mother among the pedestrians. For three days, my legs and feet became weak, and I fell down weakly. I screamed at the top of my lungs, but there was still no response. My mother said she was going to buy ice cream, but she never came back.
Xiluo opened his eyes slightly, and when he was most desperate, he saw a black hem of clothes, and his hand was stepped on that foot, as if he heard the "squeaking" sound of his knuckles, and his fingers hurt from the friction of the hard road.
Struggling to raise his head, Xiluo was frightened when he saw the man standing tall and proud like an immortal. The man turned his head contemptuously and told the entourage behind him to take him back. So Xi Luo, who was fifteen years old, was led to this palace. In the blink of an eye, six years passed.