The spring flood in the third year of Jianzhao came particularly violently. Seventeen-year-old Lin Zhiyun clutched half of a piece of blood-soaked interlaced brocade and stepped on the broken waistband left behind by his father under the leaky thatched hut. On the seventh day when the dyehouse was flooded, she mixed indigo roots into the rammed earth wall and unexpectedly discovered a secret recipe that could fix the color - this faint blue became the first crack in her fate in troubled times.
From the waist to the floor, from Gebu to Bingwan, she weaved a way out in the strangulation net of the wealthy family. When the moonlight gauze reflecting the star map finally covered the high platform where the princes gathered for alliance, the contract stained with the blood and tears of Zhi Niang overcame the roar of the bronze tripod for the first time.
Intention: "The longitude and latitude are the way, and the machine is the boat."