Jinyi Dust

On the 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month in the fifteenth year of Hongwu's reign, it was Little New Year's Eve. Nineteen-year-old Jinyiwei Xiaoqi Wang Shanxi saw a five- or six-year-old girl kneeling in a pool of blood in the crowd at the Dong'anmen execution ground. She did not cry or make any fuss, just watching her parents' heads fall to the ground. He didn't know how he picked people up. All he knew was that he couldn't let go. The family only has one and a half shabby rooms, and the eldest brother Wang Shanfu works as a catcher in Shuntian Mansion. He is used to seeing life and death, and he knows best what "mind your own business" means. My younger sister, Wang Shanying, is twelve years old and is at a sensible age. She has already started to help her mother sew and wash. My mother had been a widow for fourteen years, and she had used her hands to stretch the three brothers and sisters until their waist could no longer be straightened. A family of four refers to his monthly salary of two taels of silver. He still took the little girl home. She never cried once from the beginning to the end, she just clutched the corners of his clothes tightly, like she was clutching the last straw. He named her Ping An. But he didn't know that the girl he picked up in the twelfth lunar month was the granddaughter of "Chen Branding Iron" Chen Ning. He didn't even know that in Hongwu's capital city, every particle of dust had an eye, and every good thought had a price. He is just a little royal guard. He just wanted to keep his family fed and clothed. He just hasn't learned yet. Some peace is never something to make a wish for.