In the fifteenth year of Jiaqing's reign, I entered the palace to serve Concubine Zhuang. I discovered that my father's death was not a literary prison, but someone deliberately framed him. Why is it you, "Chen Ting"? "I'm sorry, what do I have to do?" You just said a simple sentence and didn't even give me an explanation. Why are you no longer the boy who helped me make pear wine? I would like to go back to the past, to the night when I made wine with you, if I could never be separated from you.