On the second year Xiao Zuo became emperor, the Jin army stepped through the Meridian gates with their iron heels, and Nan Liang fell to ruin. In one evening, he was reduced from the monarch above many to a Nan Hun Duke anyone could humiliate and insult.
When Xiao Zuo woke up from a nightmare the middle of the night dripping with sweat, the outside of the windows dimly fell with a light pitter pattering rain.
The nation of twenty years, and the eight thousand miles of land could only glanced at in dreams of old. Even while dreaming at midnight, he could not help but think of his Ji Le Palace at Nan Liang, that jaded tree with fine branches and soft silk, the imperial maids wearing flowery ornaments playing the lute, playing the Magpie Treads On Branches.
Just at the time his country fell into ruin and he was like a duckweed adrift, He Xuan smiled and reached out to him.
