I will always remember the night thirteen years ago when my father played against the Persian national chess master.
After a big battle, the Empress Dowager Shi Shiran gave my father a glass of poisoned wine. My father picked up the glass, looked at me and smiled, very sadly. When he raised his neck, I saw my mother covering my eyes with her hands in fear, but I still saw it. Through my mother's fingers, I saw that my father's eyes were full of resentment, and purple-black blood continued to overflow from his quivering lips.
Contrary to everyone's expectations, I didn't cry as much as everyone expected. I broke away from my mother, calmly stepped forward, and touched my father's unblinking eyes.
I am Ling Ziru, the daughter of a generation of chess master Ling Huaitang.
That year, I was seven years old.
I lost my father when I was young, where should I go?
Conception: