Imperial Calendar, November 7, 1444, pre-dawn.
Changge City.
On the walls of the Royal Palace, a long line of torches almost illuminated the small world completely bright.
Sparse shadows of trees cast on the withered yellow grass, and the verdant evergreen hedges have already been stained with a few drops of fresh blood.
In the garden square in front of the Spring Palace's gates, the scent of golden chrysanthemums could no longer be smelled, only a strong stench of blood.
Since the Winter Rebellion a hundred years ago, this is the first time this magnificent Royal Palace has been drenched in blood again.
Since the golden finch fell from the Scales Crown in obscurity, the cold crow from Thornfield Castle has calmly passed down the crown three times.
It seems to be a curse of the Spring Palace: blood on the fourth.
His long hair tangled with sweat, draping over his shoulders, two of the three helmet feathers on his Yingbela helmet already broken.
