Frost flowers are falling on the palace wall, and black armor is stepping on the snow. She walked with a gilt hairpin, and the cracks of the peace talisman on her wrist were filled with ten years of cinnabar; he tied his hair with red threads wrapped around the blood scabs of the battlefield, and the wolf-eyed jade pendant was engraved with "The snow will never quench the flames." When the rouge words on the title page of "The Art of War" hit the arrow wound under the armor, whose thoughts are hidden in the blood-stained red line? Ten years of watching, is it a fragrant pill secretly stuffed under the moon, or a tiger talisman for confrontation in the court? On the broken place of the peace talisman, could you ever see the sentence he traced with the blood of his fingertips - There will be a bright future in this life?
Intention: Using the frost and snow on the palace wall and the blood scabs on the battlefield as paper, the book is a ten-year watch tangled with red threads - when the machinations and wars have passed through the years, only the love carved into the bones and blood with flesh and blood as ink, like the snow that does not extinguish, shines brightly in the frost of fate.