## Hill of the Gods: The Power Rings of Palatine Hill
When you climb the ridge on the gravel of the Imperial Avenue, you suddenly fall into the creation myth of Rome - Palatine Hill. There is no bloody glory of the Colosseum, no perfect dome of the Pantheon, only the half-buried palace ruins in the wild flowers whispering in the wind. But please believe that every inch of soil in this hill, which is no more than 60 meters high, is soaked with the genes of Western power.
**The space-time wormhole of Romulus's hut**. Next to the ruins of the Augustus Palace, a small circle surrounded by several charred wooden stakes is actually the legendary place where the mother wolf feeds her baby! Crouching down to touch the cracks of the carbonized oak, the fingertips feel incredible heat - not the sun's scorching, but the residual heat of the bonfire 2,800 years ago. When wild poppies sway on the rammed earth ground, you will see the figures of shepherds Romulus and Remus swaying in the heat wave: it turns out that the starting point of the empire is just a few charred fences.
**The secret language of mosaics in Villa Livia**. Entering the semi-underground residence of the queen, you will be caught off guard by the spring scenery in the room: turtledoves carrying figs fly over the branches of yellow fragrant plums, and pomegranates burst on the walls inlaid with colored stones. The peacock squatting in the corner has a lively look, and the grape vines under its claws extend to the real ground, entangled and coexisting with the weeds outside the wall - the ancient Roman craftsmen used 40,000 colored stones to solidify the luxurious feast at the peak of power into an eternal hymn to life.
**The Cliff Theater of Domitian's Palace**. Standing on the edge of the ruins of the most luxurious palace in the empire, there are tourists like ants in the Colosseum under your feet. In the past, tyrants set up cantilevered stands here and used pure silver railings to isolate the world. Today, the marble fence has long been weathered, but you can still experience the dizzy pleasure of power: when the dusk dyes the Colosseum into golden and red ruins, the mountain wind brings the faint roar of lions and the roar of chariots, and the whole city of Rome turns into a bloody sand table under your feet. At this moment, I suddenly realized that all empires will eventually return to dust, only the mountain wind is eternal.
Please bring a wild olive leaf before going down the mountain. Passing through the remains of the Flavian Palace arch in the sunset, the moonlight is pinning the shadow of the Doric colonnade on the stone wall of the Faun Cave. Augustus's ghostly purple robe brushes across your arm, and a few green peacocks suddenly pass over the broken walls of Tiberius's palace, and their long tails sweep down dewdrops like tears of the collapse of the empire. The most deadly magic of the Palatine Hill is that it makes you a creator and a gravedigger at the same time - when the mountain wind fills your clothes, you can hear more than just the sighs of Caesars, but also the echo of the eternal throbbing of power rushing in your own blood.