The emerald green silk tapestry is chosen for thousands of years, and the willow color will be new when the orioles sing.
Great Song Dynasty, Northern Xinjiang, Lingyan Pass.
In early summer, the willow color is still light and there are no warblers.
Marshal Yang Zongbao of the Song Dynasty, who had returned from patrol, stood on the tower. He suddenly opened his mouth and asked the stunned lieutenant beside him, "How old are we now?"
"Marshal Yang, it's Jiayou's fifth year now."
It was the fifth year of Jiayou, the fifth year of Jiayou. On that day in Luzhou under the moonlight, it had been seventeen years since I had said goodbye to my old friend. Marshal Yang, Marshal Yang, I am not, I am not. Caressing the silver spear in his hand, he wants to hold the sword flower. I am not Yang Zongbao, not Yang Zongbao, how could I be Zongbao's brother? I am Yang Zongming, the son of the little-known Yang Qilang. If there had not been the tragedy in the Tianmen Formation that year, I would have always been Zhan Zhao, the royal cat of the Kaifeng Mansion, not the only hope of the Tianbo Yang Mansion. I hope that Zhan Zhao has always been Zhan Zhao and has never changed, because behind that change is blood and bones, but it is also a heavy responsibility.
Chongxiao Tower, Tianmen Formation, sealing the sword and picking up the spear, there is no way back, looking back the smoke disappears.
Intention: the choice between love and responsibility