The Wind and Snow Are Still Bright

In the 12th year of Zhengtong, there are still 500 days left before the sky falls in Tumu Fort. Zhu Qiyu, who traveled through time as a sick and weak vassal king, knew full well that Bai Ling would seize the family eight years later and die and the country would be destroyed. Facing the deadlock of factory guarding like a network, there are no system magic weapons, only cold and precise modern auditing and engineering thinking. He also floated rotten wheat to feed twenty desperate soldiers, used raw and cooked iron pipes to cover white wax spears, and drove hidden stakes into the bones of Jin Yiwei. In the rotten flesh of the system where bureaucrats hide from each other and the powerful eunuchs divide the spoils, he is like the wheat germ under the soil, sucking blood silently. The building will collapse and no one will be innocent. When Ye Xian's scimitar shattered the illusion of a prosperous age, the wolf that was grinding its teeth silently in the abyss finally waited for the thunder that devoured the world.