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I often have a dream, a dream in which I cannot hear or see clearly. Every time I wake up from the dream, I have a strange thought in my heart, this world belongs to me.

In modern society, Chinese martial arts has withered away, and there are only a few martial arts practitioners. Chen Luo opened a school to teach apprentices, with three thousand disciples, orchid branches and jade trees, and Chinese martial arts shines brightly again. Disciple: "Master, do you know Wing Chun?" Chen Yu: "Yes." Disciple: "What about Tai Chi and Baji Quan?" Chen Yu: "Yes." Disciple: "Master, what are you searching for? Well, from beginner to master in Wing Chun?" Chen Luo: "Hey, what are you writing about? What do you think Chinese martial arts is, broadcasting gymnastics? Chinese martial arts is the essence of Han culture, a master of Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism and medicine, but the moves are only superficial." Disciple: "..."

In the 30th year of Qin Shihuang's reign, Wei Li, the Nth generation descendant of Shang Yang, made great ambitions to rewrite history. ··· ··· Many years later, Wei Li was hailed as an immortal in the world. "Poof!" Qin Shihuang spat out a mouthful of black blood while lying in the coffin. "At first, I thought he was a living god. I believed his words and took the immortal grass. But in the end, he was lying in the coffin neither dead nor alive." "Immortal?" Xiang Yu took a sip of wine, "He said that I could conquer the world, but in the end I lost to that rogue Liu Bang." Liu Bang sat on the dragon chair with a majestic look on his face: "Who is Wei Li?"