Sandalwood smoked in the furnace curled up, and the Zen-like atmosphere was contained in the invisible water mist late at night. The previous violent storm seemed to have made no sound. Seeing that the rain had subsided, the bookboy under the eaves walked out from the corridor to pick up the books he had dropped in a panic while taking shelter from the rain. The regular words and ink on the book were blurred by the rain, and the book was already a fragment, but it was vaguely identifiable - "Unofficial History of Daliang".
The mist is hazy after the rain, and there is an occasional breeze. The yellowed torn pages under the dust are blown by the wind and make a fluttering sound, melodious in the silent night, like the glacier falling into a dream, like the sound of horse hooves, like the years flowing through the path of fate, breaking through the narrow gap of reincarnation.
Suddenly, someone whispered in my ear.
Imperial Capital, Imperial Capital——
Everything in front of me is like a tall building collapsing. After choosing a stable corner, I write an invitation and use those characters who once lived in the ups and downs of time to sincerely invite you to dream.
Everything is a mirror image of nothingness. He has been standing on the bridge with an umbrella for thousands of years, waiting for you to describe him.
Concept: A story about a carefree young man who grows up to be a general and has a fate different from that of his young companions.