Qin Qianluo's heartfelt words, those words, were like pebbles thrown into the once calm lake of his heart, instantly stirring up ripples that lingered for a long time.
From their few words, he clearly understood what Feng Qingyun was worried about—as the times rolled forward like wheels.
If the common people, due to the awakening of their sense of autonomy, develop the idea of overthrowing the imperial power, this is undoubtedly a major issue concerning the fate of the nation.
Like the Sword of Damocles hanging overhead, it could change the future trajectory of the nation at any moment, triggering a cataclysmic transformation.
Every word Qin Qianluo spoke was clear, logical, and meticulous, like a perfectly interlocking mortise and tenon structure, each link connected and flawless.
Her words, like a bright candlelight, illuminated a path of reflection in the darkness of his heart, a darkness filled with confusion about the future.
He pondered deeply in his heart, repeatedly savoring Qin Qianluo's words. The more he thought about it, the more he felt that what she said was absolutely right. He deeply appreciated Qin Qianluo's far-sightedness and unique insights.
It was as if she stood at the intersection of history and the future, already having grasped the pulse of the times.
However, a sense of confusion, like a heavy gloom, quietly spread through his mind and wouldn't go away.
If that day truly comes and imperial power ceases to exist, whose orders will this vast empire obey? What will become of the royal family?
This question was like a fog, enveloping him and plunging him into deep thought.
His brows were furrowed, and a few fine lines appeared on his forehead as he tried his best to imagine the scene he had never experienced before.
He felt as if he were in a chaotic, misty forest, surrounded by confusion and the unknown, and every step of exploration was filled with difficulty and bewilderment.
He fumbled around, trying to find a clue, but every idea was like a mirage, bursting the moment it appeared, leaving only endless confusion and helplessness.
After pondering for a long time, my mind remained in a state of chaos, like tangled threads that I could not untangle.
He shook his head helplessly, the movement slow and heavy, as if carrying the future and anxieties of the entire nation.
It's as if I want to temporarily shake off these complicated and tangled thoughts, yet I know they are already deeply imprinted in my heart.
He then carefully and solemnly kept in mind the profound remarks he had heard that day.
He knew that this was no ordinary matter, and its importance was self-evident, like a key juncture in the long river of history, which would have a profound impact on the future of the country.
He planned to carefully copy it onto the booklet his father had left him after he returned home.
This will be passed down to future generations so that they too can reflect upon and gain wisdom from these words.
To avoid detours on the road ahead and better lead the country towards prosperity.
After all, the terms "weak Song" and "slave Qing" are like two heavy pebbles thrown into a lake of the heart.
The moment it entered my ears, it stirred up complex and subtle ripples in my heart, giving rise to an inexplicable sense of heaviness and bitterness.
The words “weak” and “slave” are by no means words that can evoke pleasant emotions or beautiful associations, no matter how carefully they are interpreted from any semantic perspective.
They are like two gleaming, incredibly sharp daggers, piercing straight into the most sensitive corners of people's hearts with a sharp and stinging force.
What it carries and conveys is a complex atmosphere of decay, humiliation, helplessness and lamentation, as if it carries a heavy sigh from the depths of time.
Although he didn't know exactly what these two dynasties were, Qin Qianlu mentioned them.
The undisguised, almost instinctive disdain that slipped out of his voice was like a resounding bell.
It struck his heartstrings with a deafening force, clear and powerful, making it impossible for him to ignore.
The contempt and disdain in that tone, along with the underlying anger at its lack of competitiveness, were like a vivid brushstroke brimming with emotion.
In his mind, a series of blurry yet visually and emotionally impactful images slowly materialized:
Perhaps on the ancient battlefield where yellow sand filled the sky and war raged, the Song army was defeated and had no power to resist the surging enemy.
The soldiers abandoned their armor and helmets, their faces filled with fear and despair. Their figures appeared so small and helpless amidst the swirling yellow sand and flying flames of war.
Faced with a ferocious and brutal enemy, their weapons seemed so fragile.
They could only watch helplessly as the merciless iron hooves trampled the land, and the people cried out in despair amidst the raging flames of war.
The voice seemed to transcend time and space, echoing in his ears, telling of endless pain and despair.
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