In the seventh year of Taishi, Liu Shan gazed at the empty bed around him.
His thoughts inevitably turned to his father, stern yet kind, and to his mother, who had always cherished him.
He thought of his second uncle, whose face was always so serious, and his third uncle, who would prick him with his beard.
He thought of Uncle Zilong, who had carried him through the ranks of countless soldiers.
And, of course, he thought of the son who had died amid the turmoil of war, right before his eyes...
At that moment, Liu Shan finally let go of every mask he had worn, and a single tear slowly fell into the empty air.
“Imperial Father... Your son... truly cannot do it!”
In the second year of Zhangwu, a great fire consumed all of Liu Bei’s hopes.
In the imperial palace at Chengdu, Liu Shan jolted awake...
The author leans toward the official historical record, with no bizarre Systems or things that are ahead of their time.
