This is a story about "the returnees don't know where they are going".
Thousands of years ago, young Chen Mo was given a piece of silver in exchange for going up the mountain and embarking on the path of spiritual practice. When he stepped out of the mountains, he was already invincible, but found that everything he really wanted to protect had turned into smoke - his master's sect was destroyed, his fellow sects were buried on the top of Cangwu, and he was the last one to survive, and the only one who had escaped for a thousand years.
Thousands of years later, he returned to his hometown.
The alleys in Sioux City's old town are still there, but the bluestone slabs have been replaced by cement roads. The wonton stall at the street corner was steaming with white steam, and the girl from the flower shop next door would put unsold gardenias on the window sill to bask in the sun. No one here knows his name, no one recognizes him - which is exactly what he wants. He wanted to eat a bowl of wontons quietly in this city a thousand years from now, wait for a night rain, and watch the lights of the city come on and off.
