Mo Hua, twenty-two years old, is a senior social worker. On the weekend, my mother asked me to go back to the countryside to pick bayberries. When I was climbing a tree, my foot slipped and I fell from a three-meter-high branch. When he opened his eyes again, he saw in front of him the primeval forest that blocked out the sky and the sun. The good news is that I have a small bag with unlimited access to new recovery fluid, but the bad news is that my broken ankle is in excruciating pain. Before she could recover from her half-life, she bumped into a young man in ancient costume who was covered in blood. He had a half-broken arrow stuck in his chest, and he was injured until he could only breathe. She was applying medicine to him with trembling hands when the young man suddenly opened his eyes and grabbed her wrist: "Tell me, who sent you here?"
