The Francis of Cisterna

This is a gilded era known as "eternal amber" in history books. The royal family declares the sacredness of blood, historians sing about benevolent governance, poets praise faith, and the splendid civilization seems to be solidified in the clear resin of power and art. The court painter Leon Vulkan was one of the craftsmen who polished this piece of "amber". His brushes added glory to the noble lady, gilded the icon with golden light, and permanently preserved the heroic posture of the knight and the majesty of the monarch in the grand mural. However, when he was ordered to depict the prosperity of the prosperous age, As he read the chapter, his eyes gradually saw the insects and cracks sealed under "amber": the bloody plunder under the knight's coat of arms, the suffocating secrets in the monastery cellar, the annihilated names in the financial account books, and the cold evaluation and transactions behind the banquet in Highgarden. Praise is the currency in circulation, and criticism is the sharp knife hanging from the neck. Leon learned to obey on the canvas, but on the back of the palette, using paint and obscure brushstrokes, he began to record another kind of truth, until he hid a fatal motto in the corner of an altarpiece dedicated to the new king: "A lamb has never seen a sheepdog's tusks until it's driven to the slaughterhouse" This manuscript is proof of his dangerous double life - he is both a composer of odes and an eavesdropper of funeral songs. When the price of praise becomes increasingly high, and when silence becomes a kind of complicity, Leon must decide: whether to continue polishing the eternal "amber", or to raise the painter's golden hammer and smash it against the hard shell that imprisons the truth. When you open this pseudo-memoir written in paint and blood Please look at the yellowed parchment in the middle of the title page first: Please remember the silent admonition: "All praise must be paid, and all criticism must be paid."