There are only two people in the world who know my name.
One is my father, and the other is him, my lord.
Even my beautiful but humble mother doesn't know.
My mother was a feudal lord and a slave in the war. Dad said that my mother was so beautiful that everyone felt pity for her; she was also good at singing and dancing, making birds dance for her and flowers blooming for her.
But I understand that women who are beautiful and good at singing will probably not end well. What's more, she was just a slave, and was treated as a precious commodity, being sold and passed around by the nobles.
At that time, my father was also a prodigal son.
He only remembered that it was a spring day, and he was riding a tall horse and walking by Yaoting Lake. Followed by a dozen servants, he is a romantic and dandy, no one can compare with him.
She was so young and frivolous, and he saw her.
That glimpse is almost unforgettable—