A story about love and hate, life and death, the world, and the human heart, quiet on the surface but fierce in the bones, a long journey suitable for chewing the ambiguity and depth between the lips and teeth, just like this cold night, the palace lanterns are not extinguished, the wind blows the jade curtain and the golden hooks make a sound, and the purple and gold lily cauldron curls up with smoke and a wisp of agarwood.
And at the bottom of the incense ashes, there is a faint red spark, burning vigorously with the power of silence, waiting for a certain moment.
When the wind blows and the phoenix dances, who is in charge of the world?
This gorgeous era, this prosperous empire, these stunningly intelligent men and women, these deep-seated conspiracies and long-standing grievances, these life-or-death entanglements that are written in ink on the vast blueprint of history because of love and nostalgia, lovesickness and separation.
Now, turn on.
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Someone's old article:
Intention: