In the Imperial City, the once resplendent and warm Linhua Palace had truly become the notorious Cold Palace.
Even on New Year's Eve, not a trace of the festive spirit could be felt.
Perhaps it was because too many palace maids and eunuchs had recently died. Anyone staying here could constantly feel a creeping coldness seeping into their bones.
It made one's skin crawl.
Consort Shu, Su Yuru, still stunningly beautiful in her plain dress and simple hairpin, sat on a small stool clutching a plain flatbread with not even a sesame seed on it.
Looking around the somber palace, she could not help but feel overwhelmed by sorrow.
Tears trickled down from the corners of her eyes.
She who was once celebrated, now seemed like the person utterly forgotten within these walls.
Thump!
Suddenly, she threw the coarse flatbread on the ground and stomped it into mush, crying out hysterically:
