At the end of the corridor, the wind blows back the snow.
The frail young man in white clothes stood with his hands behind his back, his brows and eyes solemn. The fine snow fell on his face, wetting his eyelashes, leaving a white afterimage on his cheek.
The footsteps were approaching from behind.
The man breathed a little faster, lowered his head and whispered, "Your Highness, I found it."
The young man seemed to be awakened, his eyelashes trembled, and he turned around with pursed lips, "Meng Ji, do you really believe in ghosts and gods in the world? Before the emperor passed away, he suddenly opened his eyes and saw golden light shining on the world. It was the birth of a great and virtuous minister. Is it really credible?"
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