The Country Is Like Night

The first year of Jingyun, 710 AD... Cui Zhaoyue clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Hurt, but awake. She had to live, like a weed in the ground, she had to crawl out from the cracks in the rocks even if she was stepped on. No matter how dark this Yeting is, it has to be a little brighter, right? She thought. That light might be herself.