Go to the white head
Shen Yungui felt that his heart was stirred.
The general's youngest son was bright and handsome. He played with her and they were a pair of happy enemies. Unfortunately, this scumbag only had one day's memory. Yesterday, he said he loved her, and today, he wanted her to marry someone else for the sake of the family.
Shen Yungui was married.
Prince Liang of Great Wei was handsome and had outstanding military achievements. He was her childhood sweetheart, and her mother looked at him as if he was her own son. It was a pity that this scumbag was smiling on the surface, but his heart was killing. The smell of blood on his body had never stopped. Since she was young, she was not afraid of her parents and brothers, but only this killing god, the smiling tiger.
After Shen Yungui got married, he went to war again.
She had never expected that the traitor of the Great Wei that had supported her to grow up would take root in the Imperial Court and almost take the lives of her father, brother, and husband on the battlefield. The building was about to collapse, and there were countless people who were like-minded with her. She picked up her father's sword and mounted the horse. There were thousands of people waiting for her triumphant return.
On the battlefield, it was said that she went deep into the enemy city alone for her husband, whose life and death were unknown.
The truth was indeed so. Qin Yanzhi, who was half-dead, was dug out from the pile of dead bodies by her. He felt that he did not have much time left. He was not willing to die. He lay on her back and told her his funeral." After I die, you have to…"
"Bah! When I go back, I'll be a great general who has made great contributions. If you die, I'll definitely ask uncle for thirty Jade-faced Playboys to party in front of your soul every night, one per night!"
Qin Yanzhi was speechless.
When you see a good person, think of becoming like her/him. When you see someone not so good, reflect on your own weak points. Confucius Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself. Franz Kafka