Sword

It was an era when human flesh was cooked in bronze cauldrons. The Nine Cauldrons of the Emperor of Zhou were covered with dust, and the feudal princes carried covenants on their spears. Those who kill are made marquis, those who steal the country are made king. Hundreds of schools of thought contended over whether human blood or pig blood should be used to sacrifice the flag. Feng Liang was fifteen years old when he crawled out of the mass grave in Changping. There is a broken sword in his arms. He still doesn't understand that in this era, the crowns of princes are soaked in blood, the tongues of counselors are made of iron, and the covenants are dripping with undried human oil. At this moment, he just wants revenge. Twenty years later, Jing Ke invited him to go to Xianyang with him at the edge of Yishui. The emperor no longer had a cauldron to carry, and the princes were carrying the empty land. Whoever wins will be the new "ritual". He refused. The broken sword was still on his back. The temples of the Six Kingdoms collapsed one by one, and the ruins were filled with people kneeling alive and lying dead. He bent down, helped the kneeling ones up, and dragged the lying ones out of the rubble - he didn't choose a country, a surname, or whether it was worth it. At this time, he was just a man trying to rebuild something on the ruins of broken rites and music.