In the sixth year of Duanping's reign, a young girl died outside the main courtyard of the capital. Her clothes were not covering her body, and the ground was stained with blood.
In a few days, it would be her haircut day, but this ceremony turned into a funeral.
No one knows her name.
Just call her, Pandi.
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"Jiang Qingyue, are you confused by starvation for three days? Me? The son of a great uncle, my aunt is a noble concubine beneath one person and above ten thousand people! What's my fault? It's their fault! It's them who insist on blocking my young master's way. They died and were born among the dead. I just "return things to their original owners" and let them go back to where they belong."
Jiang Qingyue's fingertips suddenly exerted force, and the broken porcelain pieces sank deeper into his flesh.
"I never thought you could admit that you are shameless, and I don't need those self-righteous officials to know, let alone that waste, because it's enough for me to know. After all, it's just me who wants your life.
Intention: In the world of life, if you are not taller than seven feet tall and your life span is not more than a hundred years, what difference does it make between an official and a dancing person? On the other hand, all kinds of words in this world can be used to cover up. Only dance music comes from the heart and can best reveal the true soul.
Ah yo yo, okay, okay