On the day when the Ten Thousand Immortals Formation was broken, Yin Po only had time to see the Qingping Sword of Master Tongtian broken into three pieces.
He was the most inconspicuous disciple of Jie Jiao's outer sect. Before he had time to learn any advanced magic, he was conveniently inserted into the Ten Thousand Immortals Formation by a senior fellow apprentice. When the sword light fell, he thought he was dead - when he opened his eyes again, he became a copper coin, which was put into the sleeve of an old man named Jiang Ziya. He heard him say to the King of Zhou, "This is the head of the remnants of the Jiejiao Cult."
Three thousand years.
He changed his name nineteen times and lived in thirty-two cities. From Haojing to Luoyang, from Chang'an to Bianliang; I heard Guan Zhong doing business in the marketplace of Qi State, slept in the Sutra Pavilion of Jixia Academy, watched the chess game before the Battle of Changping with Bai Qi, and listened to the whole story under the Hongmen Banquet table. He was touched by Qin Shihuang, stepped on by Xiang Yu, dusted by Sima Qian's bald pen, and watched the sunrise on the wall of Xuanwu Gate.
He thought that his life would be like this - a money that could talk but could not speak, a lonely soul that remembered everything but had no one to complain to.
Until the third year of Zhenguan, he set up a tea stall in the West Market of Chang'an and made a living as a storyteller. A young man in a green shirt was sitting in the audience with an ancient sword without a tassel. After listening to the part about "Guangchengzi visited Biyou Palace three times", he asked:
"Sir, what happened to Taoist Duobao?"
Yin Po rubbed the polished old copper coin around his waist and smiled.
After three thousand years, someone finally asked the right question.
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That is the history remembered by a copper coin, and it is also the obituary written by a casual cultivator to Jie Jiao.
