After ten years as a secret guard, she never asked a single question.
Don't ask why he chose her, don't ask why he trusts her, don't ask why he always opens her door late at night and sits for a while without saying anything.
Because she remembered - ten years ago, on the day her mother's coffin was brought out of the palace, the eight-year-old him stood behind the crowd and cried silently. She remembered. I don't remember his tears, but I remember that he stood so straight when he was crying.
Later, the enemy troops besieged the city, and the emperor forced him to go and get married. He accepted the order and pushed open her door that night: "Follow me."
Ten miles out of the city, he told her: "What the queen wants is not the consort, but my head."
She drew her knife and nailed the tree: "Next time you make a decision for me, the place where the knife is inserted will not be the tree."
He smiled. The moonlight shines on her knife.
Then he said something that made her tighten her grip on the handle of the knife, making her knuckles turn white.
"That secret letter is related to your mother."
What she didn't know was that in the royal study, the emperor looked at his back and whispered: "Not my son."
Intention: "Even if we are in darkness, we must be each other's light."