I am a street rat that is scorned by the three worlds. The people of the Handblade tribe betrayed their loved ones to the point where everyone cried out for beatings. On the day of the execution, Emperor Yan was sitting on a high platform in the main hall. The sky was so bright that I couldn't see his former loving face. I saw my lover standing under Emperor Yan, bowing his head and offering advice again and again. Behind me, all my people knelt down and shouted at the top of their lungs, "Punish the saint to calm the cold." No one can see that the scars I received from being cut by the Heavenly Punishment have long been stained on my red clothes. The hall is full of gods and goddesses, all dressed in fluttering white clothes. They all stand on the high hall and look down at my despicability. The shackles spread all over my body. When I raised my head, I couldn't see anything else but the sun, which was dazzling and as cold as my heart.
Intention: Blizzard can't hide the cold heart is the clothes of the ancients