Press the shutter and open your eyes again, the grassland has returned to six hundred years ago.
In 1383, she taught Zhanchi, Yilu and firearms in her graduation thesis to a mixed-race Mongolian-Chinese boy who had been abandoned by both parties. The prophet is her sharpest knife. She accurately predicts the reshuffle after the Yuer naval battle for him, and forges the first musketeer team of this era for him.
But she understood the price of time travel too late - for every year she lived in ancient times, her memory of the future was reduced by one layer. Modern names, schools, and eventually even who you are will be forgotten.
The boy she raised is now a chess player who can choose between the Ming Dynasty and the Three Guards. He never asked her why she was in a daze, but when she was confused again, he rewrote her name and put it in her hand.
She could figure out who would win in Jingnan, and who among the three guards would make the first move.
The only thing she couldn't tell was whether she would still be able to call him by his name when she woke up tomorrow.
