The poisonous wine that Prince Xiao Heng personally handed to his lips was the last tenderness he could give. Su Wan drank all of it, with a faint smile still on his lips, and said softly, if there is an afterlife, don't hold the position of emperor again. He didn't know that this glass of wine was called Guiji, nor did he know that the man who held him in his arms, shaking and crying, in the stormy sky in the past, had made a promise with him to go home.
It was just this appointment that he failed to keep.
The cold wind of Yingzui Pass rolled down the snow all over the sky. The third prince Xiao Yi cut off the dying body and took him to the misty and hot miasma of southern Xinjiang. Twelve golden needles lock the soul consciousness, and the poisonous mist burns all the past. Opening his eyes again, there is no Su Wang from the past in the world, only A Yuan is left - an empty body that has been cleared of all the past and cannot even harbor doubts.
Xiao Yi originally thought that he was just trapping a bird that had lost its freedom, but unexpectedly, he gradually fell into despair and was moved sincerely. When the sword of the East Palace came through the air, the weak body of the copy rushed forward to block the attack for him regardless of his own safety. Blood stained the clothes. He held Xiao Yi's sleeve tightly and said weakly: "Sir, don't be afraid." Xiao Yi held the life-sustaining elixir in his hand, and his fingertips trembled violently uncontrollably.
And in the distant East Palace, Xiao Heng waited hard for a portrait of Begonia every day, enduring the wind and frost every year, making him feel lonely and cold.
Intent: Caught between power and obsession, what is cruel is not only death or forgetfulness, but also love and hate, where there is no choice.