History is nothing but the dark night sky, and the shining stars in the night sky allow me, a stargazer, to speculate on its legend. What I want to focus on is just the life of a man in that distant era of smoke and grass. At that time, time has been so long that it has worn away the fingerprints of history. What is the point of blindly pursuing the so-called historical facts?
In my heart, Ying Zheng is the man who raises his lips slightly when he smiles. Behind his bright smile is an undercurrent of murderous intent. He hides the cruelest actions behind the most elegant smile. He has a pair of slender and delicate hands, and his eyes are like phosphorous fire in the dark night, like some kind of noble beast that is dangerous and elegant.