Three thousand years ago, the red clothes were as gorgeous as the clouds, soaked in blood and turned into endless sorrow and regret. The pain of the soul being pulled away was not worth the pain in the heart.
Three thousand years later
In front of the Shili Gallery, she held a paintbrush in her hand and caressed the breeze. She had long forgotten the obsession and hatred in the world, and there was no love or hatred.
"I am the newly promoted god, Bai Zihua. Are you Your Highness the Young Emperor?"
She paused with her hand, and then turned back for a long time, and then she stroked her pen lightly.
Will the memory lost in the corner be recovered? When we meet again, will the cold God still recognize his past obsession?