Thousands of years ago, before the world became chaotic, there was a place where there was a long-lasting scenery, where the sun and the moon were never night, the mountains and rivers, the treasure-covered terraces, the four seasons were bright, the golden pot held the wine of immortality, the glass concealed the elixir of rejuvenation, the peach trees fragrant, withered once a thousand years, and the clouds and flowers were knotted, and they were completed for thousands of years. Dear readers, the story I want to tell starts from the human world tens of millions of years later. It has nothing to do with mythology or history. Clouds are born in dreams, and rulers are written in the dust; the three realms are impermanent, and the world is obsessed with confusion; the still water runs deep, and the vicissitudes of life sing; the clouds and sunshine of three lives come and go, and once the joys and sorrows are separated and reunited, some are just a period of joy and sorrow, a world that has been left behind.