Thirty years later, I walked into another palace again. The sound of the steps followed my steps, like a sad and helpless swan song on the long imperial road.
I knew that when I walked into the palace in front, my life would end together with the Han Dynasty that lasted for more than four hundred years. And these decades of legendary history of competing heroes and dazzling golden swords will soon be like the lingering fragrance of apricot rain before our eyes, scattered into mud, and finally buried in the crevices of time.
In this world, whether I am the princess of Han Dynasty or the identity of King Wu's wife, it is no longer important to me.
Except that person.
For more than ten years, I have often dreamed of him standing opposite in purple clothes, as if he was so close yet so far out of reach.
In the dream, there are turbulent waves, looking across the water. Behind me, the drums of victory beat like raindrops, and the banner with the word "Wu" fluttered in the wind. But around him, there were hundreds of blazing warships. The warships were connected by iron ropes and were inseparable. The fire swept up the ship he was on like red waves. He stood motionless on the bow of the ship, staring at me infatuatedly. I will never forget that day, the tears of despair hidden behind the firelight in his eyes as clear as stars.
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