Since the city was destroyed and the country was destroyed, the ground under his feet was filled with the blood of his compatriots with every step he took. There was no more waves in the heart of the young man in red clothes. Wearing long blood-colored clothes and hiding a sword in a flute, he lives to face death and travels to the end of the world. He didn't even change his surname to Wang or his old name. He let the memories of the past be like swords stabbing his heart day and night. He, Murong Li, wanted to walk through the world alone, playing chess, ups and downs, burning the sky.
A heart of stone is ruthless.
If there was anyone in the world who could make him smile again, it would be the little emperor of Tianquan Kingdom, Zhi Ming. The royal power in the world, which is more precious than life in the eyes of others, is nothing more than an accident in his eyes, not as good as a lantern. The world laughed at him for living in the palace for a long time and not knowing the pain. The court officials tried to admonish him to pay attention to state affairs and keep the worries in mind.
Not stupid, just crazy.
The sound of horse hooves was like a thunderstorm, the dust was flying, and the blood was flowing. The soldiers' siege cries resounded throughout the land of China. The farewell by the city tower seemed extremely feeble. If I had known that today's farewell would be so hasty, I should have listened to you and told you a lifelong love story many years ago.
Conception: