Storms come and go, and they are swept into the whirlpool. She lives here, knocking on the way home, identifying the way back, but little does she know that the time when the child will fall is already determined.
"This world needs rule of law, reform, and a way for all people to live." Qin Su stood in front of the steps, his black court clothes rustling in the night wind, his palm pressed on the sword at his waist, and his fingertips repeatedly rubbed against the cold scabbard. That sword once protected him through mountains of swords and seas of fire, but now it was like an invisible shackle, locking him from getting even half a step closer to her.
When Xia Heng turned around, frost flowers fell in her hair. She looked at the growing light in the sky and whispered: "The road in this world is long, and there is no place for me to turn around."
She gathered up her old clothes and suddenly asked with a smile: "Qin Su, can you write in the history book that you once loved someone?"
He raised his hand to brush off the snow on her shoulders, but stopped in mid-air. His voice was as dumb as if it had been cracked by frost: "The history of Qing Dynasty is without you, I will write it."
Concept: The collision of personal love and the current of the times
