Chen Mo hasn't logged into "Jianghu" in ten years.
My father's account is still parked at the door of the teahouse. He is a thirty-level therapist with a white robe and a whisk. The last time he went online was 3,712 days ago. He originally wanted to just come up and take a look, but instead he dug out ninety-nine bottles of golden sore medicine in the warehouse, a Qingfeng sword engraved with "My son's silent sword, unparalleled in the world", and a bowl of crucian carp soup that had never been sent out.
My father is gone, but he carved everything he wanted to say in the game - on the sword, on the fish, on the trunks of the peach blossom forest, and on the rocks of the Golden Summit. Every line is evidence that he has been here, waited, and loved.
Chen Mo began to walk in the same way as his father. He founded the guild "Ye Yu" and led a group of people who were overwhelmed by life but refused to leave, from Daoxiang Village to the No. 1 Martial Arts Association in the world. On the day when the S1 championship flag was hung directly above the Chengdu City Guild Hall, the golden dome was filled with swords.
There is always a bowl of jasmine tea worth three copper coins in the teahouse, and there is an empty chair opposite. The tea is still hot.
Jianghu is not far away. All those who have left are still alive in the engravings.
