"Sir, history books are written with fine brushwork, and a name is left in the history - what exactly do you want?"
"Please tell me about Shen Yan."
Shen Zhao hated his young self the most in his life.
I hated him for being naive, I hated that he was sincere, I hated that he died in the heavy snow when he was twenty-four years old, with his name and body intact.
Until he picked up a seriously injured young man in the ruins of Lantai.
The man's eyebrows were as old as ever, and half a piece of broken jade hung on his waist. As soon as he opened his mouth, he tore open his rotten scar:
"Master Shen, there is fire in your eyes, why are your hands so cold?"
Intention: The only one who can save me is myself