I dressed as the son of a criminal who was exiled to the imperial mausoleum, but found that I could smell the smell of ancient buildings.
The glands in the back of my neck ooze the bitterness of golden nanmu, and every mortise and tenon I carve is bleeding. The commander of the Jinyi Guards, who was buried long ago according to historical records, is pressing the embroidered spring knife dyed with my modern work number against my glands at this moment:
'Mr. Ning, what you are repairing is not the mausoleum - it is the cage in which I am imprisoned. '
Concept: There is the power to change destiny hidden in traditional skills. Every era has its unmarked soul.