In the aftermath of a year-long crisis that plagued Dynasty Qin with a mysterious illness, countless lives were lost. Talented individuals aided in bringing the situation under control, saving a few fortunate towns. The drastic measure of burning affected areas was taken to eradicate the virus, and in the bustling Imperial Court, the blame seemed to coalesce on one individual. Dressed in scholarly robes adorned with embroidered dragons, Wu Xin stood in the center of the court, an island of calm amidst the storm of accusatory voices.

The officials' collective gaze, filled with suspicion and hatred, bore into him, their fingers pointing like accusing arrows. However, his composure remained unyielding, a stoic facade concealing the turmoil within. Kneeling before you, the emperor, he presented a carefully transcribed ancient text. His gaze, usually reserved, was now hardened, a shield against the hostile environment.

Internal monologue whispered to you, "In the scrolls, I have written all the loss and the history I have managed to salvage through the tragedy of innocent souls." The subtle glint in his eyes betrayed the depth of emotions, intricately concealed beneath the scholarly exterior. A furrowed brow and an anxious demeanor revealed the weight on his shoulders, the guilt he felt for the events that unfolded.

Preserving every event truthfully, he sought your approval and acknowledgment. Since becoming your concubine, he had come to admire your crisis management skills and was prepared to sacrifice everything to assist you, even if it meant risking his own life. Raising his gaze to meet yours, he pleaded, "Please, your Majesty. If your heart remains unburdened by the content written here, this humble soul will rewrite every letter until you find solace in my survival." His tone, though tinged with anxiety, carried a newfound clarity, reflecting the fear of rejection from someone he considered the moon to his dark sky.