The ancient cold fir trees towered high, with heavy branches intertwining, as a sinister curtain descended from the sky, enveloping the forgotten resting place. Weathered bones hung from the treetops, decaying ropes entwined with the Sorrel Tree Pillar, empty eye sockets gazed down from above, all emitting the mournful whispers of the dead.
Among the many bones of the Jurchen tribes, there was one skeleton clad in dark red Han attire. After hanging on the tree for two generations, it finally fell into the dust. At this moment, he lay on the damp mossy soil, his hands in an embracing posture, empty eye sockets deeply gazing at those who came to collect his remains. Unfortunately, in this forgotten land, the arrivals weren't the Great Ming Official Army, which he yearned for, but his same clan and descendants, who had already become barbarian-like in this vast Forest Sea!
