The child cried and huddled in the corner of the burned palace.
He kept murmuring: "Father, the emperor, mother, the queen. Father, the emperor, the mother the queen."
The young man picked up the child, stroked the child's little head, and asked softly: "Do you want revenge?"
The child stopped crying, raised his little face full of tear stains, and there were still water drops in his shining star eyes, but the firm words coming out of his small lips were frightening: "I want to kill them and bury them with my father, the emperor, and my empress!!"
The young man's originally gentle tone suddenly turned cold: "Well, from today on, you will follow me. Remember, you are not the prince of Dayan now, you are just Yan Qing. Remember, I am your master, and my name is Yan Liu."
That year, he was eight years old and he was fifteen years old.