The Purple Python Blood Vine

When the miasmatic rain and wild smoke passed through Meng Gen's mansion, the sky-seeing trees in the mountain forest were bent into bowed servants. Jiang Guotai was curled up in the hole of the Bodhi tree. The golden python robe was so full of moisture that it wrapped him like an old snake shedding its skin. For the first time in forty years, he saw clearly his withered bamboo-like fingers - it turned out that the imperial prison ink pad had already seeped into the bone seams. The moment the trigger was pulled, twenty cherry blossoms bloomed suddenly in the 100-meter bullseye, like the unsent heartbeat in the equipment room that year, the sweet kiss hidden under the banyan tree on the border, and the oath smelling of rust on the armored vehicle. In the end, they all condensed into the crack of bullet penetrating time and even the knuckles were cinnabar red. Treasure hunt, revenge, happy life