Chu Ci held the palace door and walked out. She was not wearing a big cloak, and her face was like gold paper. The palace attendants had already heard the movement in the palace, and for a while no one dared to step forward to help her. She raised her eyes to look at the bloody setting sun beside the palace wall in the distance, and raised the corner of her mouth. Palace attendants were carrying trays and hurried past from the square in front of the palace in groups. Their figures were stretched and slender, lingering and sad. She lifted up the train of her skirt, and the seven layers of white gauze suddenly gave off the fragility of an ordinary woman in the still chilly wind of the early spring evening. Chu Ci walked down the steps step by step, and next to her was the Yunlong stone sculpture. The dragon's head was so ferocious that it actually made her shiver. The evening breeze carried the fragrance of pear blossoms from nowhere. She looked away and looked straight ahead, with soft brows. "Build pear blossoms and a pile of snow," she murmured softly. She had already stepped down the steps, raised one corner of her mouth, but tears fell from her eyes, "Who will rely on the railings next year." The palace door suddenly opened behind her, and everyone in the palace bowed and knelt on the ground, shouting long live.