Crow fifty-seven years, winter.
Twelve-year-old Jia Suisui knelt in her mother's mourning hall, her back straight.
The clan elders were whispering behind her, discussing how to divide her property.
Then the eldest princess came in.
The woman who is the gentlest, most decent, and most like a living Buddha in the entire capital.
She held Jia Suisui's shoulders and said in a voice like the spring breeze in March, "My aunt will be here from now on."
No one saw the powder rubbed into the gaps in her armor.
No one knew that this kind-hearted aunt was the one who killed her mother.
This is the story of what happens when a woman takes power.
There is no palace fighting, no love, and no man to support you.
There is only a medicine stove in the wind and snow, and a group of women quietly doing important things.
There is no CP in the whole text. The heroine is weak and has a bad temper but a good heart.
Intention: Jia Suisui, who keeps the medicine stove to boil the story. Squatting in a medicine jar all my life to write the path of a girl. One sentence: "Once a woman is in power, she will have more opportunities for trial and error."