Give This Damn Dynasty a Little Shock

In the mist of the Yong Dynasty, Chen Jing sharpened the ivory-handled razor passed down by Lao Zhou. The bitter smell of soapy water soaked into his fingers, but the lifeline stained by mineral ash quietly pierced his left eye. Natural disasters corrode bones; man-made disasters are like knives. When the razor cut off the first lifeline, Chen Jing was no longer just an apprentice seeking survival. From the embers of Lao Zhou's body burned with bone powder, to the blood-stained power struggle for the Zhenxie Division's belt, he dragged his half-stiffened left arm into the whirlpool. On the night when the mourning platform collapsed, the white-haired boy stood on the ruins of the broken tower, with silver streaks on his left eye like uncold soul fire. With a sharpened blade, it's time to shave off this cannibalistic world.