Henan Qing, guarding the border for twelve years, guarding the geese and returning to the pass.
Do not approach women, do not drink alcohol, and do not accumulate personal wealth. The soldiers feared him like a mountain and respected him like a god.
No one knew that he had an old makeup mirror hidden in his tent, the frame polished as smooth as satin. No one knew that he would go to the highest point of the pass every new moon and look toward the capital all night long.
He was looking at the moon in the northwest, but what he was thinking about was the crescent moon in the south of the Yangtze River - it was curved, resembling someone's eyebrows.
His subordinates only regarded him as cold and hard as iron. He himself thought so until one day he received an unsigned letter.
There is only one word on the paper, soaked in the fragrance of cold plum blossoms.
He clutched the piece of paper, his fingertips turning slightly white.
Shen Moyu
There are three brothels, four gambling parlors, and music parlors in thirteen states under his name. He plucked the beads like plucking the strings of a harp, and the dignitaries in the capital spent thousands of dollars to beg him for a smile. He accepted the banknotes with a smile and turned around to add to another person's military pay.
No one can figure out his true identity. He is like a kite set free by himself, with the thread hidden where no one can find it.
There is only one thread - every year when it snows, he will personally brew a jar of osmanthus wine and put it into the deepest basement of the Evernight Building. The red paper posted on the wine jar all has the same name written on it.
He doesn't drink. He just waits.
Some people say that Boss Shen is cold-hearted, and no matter how warm the affection is, it turns to frost in front of him.
But who knows, frost is hot blood turning into ice.
Now the general has come to Beijing to report on his duties.
In the elegant pavilion on the top floor of the midnight building, Shen Moyu leaned on the table and carelessly fiddled with a small bronze mirror with his fingertips - a rough object outside the customs, the surface of the mirror was stained.
The sound of horse hooves outside the curtain came from far to near.
He lowered his eyes and gently tucked the bronze mirror into his sleeve.
Concept: An article inspired by a collision of inspirations