Ancestor Spirits Return to Ruins

Creative inspiration This book, to be honest, was "killed". In the first two editions, I wrote about modern cities: in the halcyon years, several children had the ancestral spirits of all Chinese dynasties hidden in their bodies, and they hid them for ten years in order to become ordinary people. I built it with very delicate things - a cauldron in the spiritual sea, a bloodline with the same surname, a villain who tampered with history, and a series of collisions of historical ideas. I love it myself. But it didn't pass. Not twice. I kept thinking about what the problem was. Later I figured it out: the problem is not with the ancestral spirits, but with the "hiding". Readers click in because they want to see the soul of a thousand-year-old general wield his sword. But I made the protagonist hide all the time - hiding from detection, hiding from classmates, hiding from his own bloodline. In the first three chapters, you are still bickering at the dinner table. The setting is layered one after another. The threshold is getting higher and higher. No one has the patience to wait for you to finish the game. The more peaceful the world becomes, the less necessary this "hiding" will become. The day I figured it out, I asked myself a question: What if even "peace" itself is gone? If the mountains and rivers change color within three days, the army is dragged to an alien planet by an inexplicable force to fight to the death, local zombies besiege the city, and one person dies, there will be more monsters on the front line - when China is really forced into a corner, what reason do these ancestral spirits who have hidden for thousands of years have to continue to hide? So there was "The Return of the Ancestor Spirits to the Ruins". The entire worldview was overthrown, and none of the ancestral spirits I was most reluctant to part with was lost: the tripod, the bloodline of the same surname, Lu Bu's madness, Guan Yu's righteousness, the pride engraved in the bones of each ancestor, and the gate and plain behind them. What has changed is just the stage - turning them from "ancestors quarreling in the spiritual sea" to the only knife in the apocalypse that can cut through the monster's hard armor. History is no longer a few lines of words that need to be carefully guarded, it has become a life-saving force. Armor that bullets cannot chew through, but people who have come out of the Chinese bloodline for thousands of years can do it with a knife. I also wrote the protagonist backwards. The easiest way to write a rebirth article is to bring back an omniscient, omnipotent, ruthless god. I don't want it. Lu Zhao brought back the memory of three years of disastrous defeat, but the memory was blurry and the key points were biased. His brain was in place, but his muscles and bones were not. He didn't come back to be crushed, he came back to grow up again - with three friends who grew up together in the orphanage. The sentence I most want to write is very simple: among the four of us, none of us can be missing. I wanted to write it in a more enjoyable way, and not just kill. It is when the entire country is treated as a chess game by a higher civilization and everyone believes that you will lose, but someone insists on overturning the table; it is the tone that tens of millions of people on the front line are defending on an alien planet, and a group of ordinary people in the local area are holding cold weapons to guard a building, and there is a planet in the sky to deliver supplies to the army; it is you slowly discovering that every time this nation reaches a desperate situation, there is still something in the bones that has not been broken. History is not a pile of old papers. History is the last and hardest trump card this nation holds when it is pushed to the edge of the cliff. This is the story I want to tell.