Silk Road

In the second year of Yuanhe, three feet of snow fell in Qiuci, and the Anxi Army lost contact with Chang'an for forty-two years. The blood on the city walls was frozen into ice, the grain stores were so empty that rats could run away, and the sound of Tibetan horns filled the city walls every night. No one knows that this nearly forgotten lone army is still waiting for an echo from Chang'an. Luoshan is just a kitchen soldier, holding two things in his hands: The bronze shuttle left by his father, and a plain silk that hides information about life and death. What is embroidered on the silver thread is not a pattern, but the coordinates of the Tubo barracks, the movements of the Dashi cavalry, and the last hope of the four hundred brothers. The traitor is spying in the dark. Tubo's blade is only a hundred steps away from the city wall, and the road he wants to take is the Silk Road of Death across the Western Regions. "If the thread is broken, it can be reconnected. If the person is gone, we will never be able to return to Chang'an." What he brought was never intelligence, but forty-two years of perseverance, the military flag that his father had not finished embroidering, and the Anxi Army's last inquiry into Chang'an. ——This time, can Chang'an hear it?