In every lie you hate, there is my sincerity that I dare not express.
For ten years, he hid the broken silver bell and the blood-stained veil, and dealt with the powerful in the abyss invisible to Wen Heng. Every time she planned a killing, he would carve an additional hidden wound: when the poisonous wine entered his throat, he thought it was the wine she gave him, when an arrow pierced his shoulder, Quan thought it was her hairpin. Even when she lured him into the enemy's camp, he was willing to be the blood-stained lantern that illuminated her path.
Until the beacon fire at the border engulfed the remains of her body, and Pei Xueqiao died without knowing it, the last letter soaked in the wind and sand of Mobei was finally delivered to her hands. Wen Heng trembled as she read through ten years of silent love - the yellowed drawings hid her silhouettes on every birthday, the faded sword tassels were entangled with the hair he cut when he was cutting out the poison, and the box of family dance scores that she thought had been burned long ago, each page was filled with annotations transcribed by the young general while coughing blood.
Intention: No