In the twelfth year of Yongjia, winter, heavy snow swirled.,Xiao Changxuan kicked open the heavy doors of the Cold Palace with one kick. Sitting cross-legged in the center of the hall, Xie Zhiwei, dressed in a pure white robe, raised his head and smiled when he saw the arrival. "Ten years," he said, "it's finally come.","It's a pity, Xiao Changxuan. You'll never have another chance." Xie Zhiwei's lips curled into a mocking sneer, her eyes devoid of the fiery hatred and killing intent that had once burned within them. Instead, there was a sense of ease and indifference. "Xiao Changxuan, I've already spoken to the new emperor. He has spared your life, allowing you to taste the bitterness of being a dethroned ruler. From now on, every day, every moment, you and Xue Wanqing will kneel before the ancestral tablet of my Xie family, repenting and atoning for your sins…"。