Every night, Lin Ye returns to history.
Sometimes they are soldiers of the Qin State, digging holes in the loess of Changping and rubbing out blood blisters with their hands;
Sometimes he was a tea farmer in the Southern Song Dynasty who grew tea by the West Lake and had a wife who knew how to make pickles;
Sometimes it would be Zhuge Liang's clerks, in the autumn wind of Wuzhangyuan, copying for him the letter that would still be recited eighteen hundred years later.
In his dream, he could not save the young man who was trapped and killed, nor could he keep his lover who was selected into the palace, nor could he change any of the endings written in the history books.
But he remembered those people whose names were not in the history books——
A Ji, a Qin soldier who replaced his father in the army at the age of fifteen,
The old scholar who wrote a diary on the wall every day during the siege,
The mute girl from a mountain village in western Sichuan who cannot speak but has two dimples when she smiles.
He was told that he was the eye of history—that history was seen through him.
He was told that he was a prisoner - in the cell of time, looped fifty-seven times.
This is a story about "remembering".
History may not be changed, but there should always be someone who remembers those who have been forgotten.
This time, he chose to live well in the world with everyone's memory.
