In the winter of the fifteenth year of the Yuan Dynasty, programmer Chen Mo traveled through time and became Wen Tianxiang.
He knows that cliffs will sink, prisons will come, and Chaishi's sword will fall. He cannot change any historical points. All he could do was say those two words again and again behind the iron bars: Don't change.
There are no golden fingers in prison. There were only hay, iron chains, water-seeping brick walls, and a pile of things that stretched from south to north to the chest - half a piece of old ink, a letter from home, a bag of osmanthus soil, and a few pages of charcoal poetry manuscripts. Some people came to see him through the iron bars, some risked their lives to pass willow branches in for him, and some whispered "The laurel tree is still there" in the court hall.
He waited in that prison for three years. Wait for the wind to come, wait for the spring to come, wait for everything that should come, and then bend down facing the south.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back at his work station. There is an extra line of words on the computer screen, which is Wen Tianxiang's handwriting——
The laurel trees are still green.
I used Wen Tianxiang's bones to stand for the rest of my life.
