For reasons no one knows, classical poetry flourished millions of years ago.
Millions of years later, it gives schoolchildren headaches, but no one pays it any mind.
Classical poetry begins to fade in China, even as it grows popular overseas.
Just as poetry is gradually disappearing from people's lives, one strange event after another begins to unfold.
People vanish mysteriously every day, and society's institutions slowly begin to crumble.
Tang and Song poetry vanishes overnight from every region of every country.
Everyone can remember only a few scattered lines.
The very next night, the nation's top intelligence agency discovers a strange continent approaching above the Pacific.
Only when the worlds of the myriad realms descend over the Pacific, evil spirits possess people, and monsters awaken do people realize the true power of classical poetry.
As the myriad realms begin their invasion, no measures taken by the nations together can stop them.
China is in grave danger. Its people are in grave danger.
At this critical moment, that night, a fourteen-character line, both familiar and unfamiliar, echoes across China's skies until dawn:
“Since ancient times, who has escaped death? Let my loyal heart illuminate the pages of history.”
That night, wind and thunder rage, holding back the invasion of the myriad realms. That night, blood dyes the sky as the road of retreat is cut off for gods and demons.
There are no gods protecting China, only nameless people whose deeds and glory remain forever buried. But when their stories are passed down often enough, they come to be called gods.
A title is only a matter of faith; responsibility is what reveals one's mettle.
