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They are always woken up by the sound of "empty the toilet" at six o'clock in the morning. Looking out the window, tricycles carrying wooden barrels shuttled through the mist. It was a unique symphony in Shanghai alleys in 1978. Until one day, the shouting changed to "Collect old electrical appliances", and Lao Zhangtou stood at the entrance of the alley for a long time holding a broken semiconductor radio. It's like he doesn't know who to sell the "Butterfly" sewing machine in his hand - his daughter has already put on jeans. An entire era turned a page behind him.

Grandpa has terminal liver cancer, and the Quanzhou Puppet Troupe is on the verge of disbandment. Chen Wan, the granddaughter of an Internet celebrity in Beipiao, was forced to return to her hometown and saw her grandfather rehearsing the lost play "Dream Weaving" late at night. She was angry and live broadcast this "old antique", but the barrage exploded: "Grandpa's eyes are shining, and the puppet is crying!" When millions of viewers poured into the live broadcast room, Chen Wan discovered that grandpa's strings contained secrets from thirty years ago. And this one-act play about resurrecting life is the real reason why his father ran away from home.

At the end of his life, Yu Xiaogang was sent back to his boyhood by a mysterious force. Opening his eyes, he found that he could see golden words floating above everyone's heads. "Twin martial souls, innately full of soul power" - that was the label of young Tang San. "Bibi Dong, Death Spider Emperor Martial Spirit, innate ninth-level soul power" - the girl who walked out of the Pope's Palace. In this life, he is no longer a theoretical master. At Notting College, he stopped Tang San: "I know you can hold a hammer in your left hand." In the laboratory, he used a formula to deduce the evolutionary path of Luo Sanpao. Bibi Dong was shocked by his theory: "Join Wuhun Hall, and I will grant you the position of elder." He smiled and handed over the new version of "The Ten Core Competencies of Wuhun" with a smile. When the Golden Iron Triangle reunited, his holy dragon's pressure made the stars tremble. When Qian Daoliu was reading the "New Interpretation of the Nature of Soul Power" that he published anonymously, he was discussing the hidden weapon blueprints with the Qibao Glazed Sect. Emperor Xueye received an anonymous letter: Within twenty years, Tiandou will die in Wuhun Palace. At the signature, a yawning Luo Sanpao is painted.

Ling Qingyun was once the most dazzling genius in the mainland. During the awakening ceremony, he was declared to be a mortal body without spiritual roots. Just as he fell off the altar, a taunting voice sounded in his mind: "Mortal body? These idiots call the chaotic celestial body a mortal body?" "The Hongmeng Purple Qi you consumed in your previous life was enough to burst ten heavenly realms." "Hurry up and start cooking, don't act tragically!" Ling Qingyun looked at the test stone that had been drained of its life and fell into deep thought. It turns out that the so-called rules of heaven are just a prison?

As a psychiatrist, I have an innate ability to see the emotional monsters that other people turn into. The depressed person is surrounded by a dark beast called "nothingness", and the anxious person is crawled with the thorn-haired spider of "fear". I have healed countless patients, but I have never been able to see my own emotional entity. Until that day, I saw Lin Wan, a girl who tried to cut her wrists. The "nothingness" entrenched in her body suddenly raised its head, and its blood-red eyes looked directly at me. In the bathroom mirror, I saw for the first time the beast lurking in the shadows behind me. It slowly opened its eyes and stared at Lin Wan's monster. "Doctor," Lin Wan said softly, "it turns out we are raising the same monster." I held her trembling hand: "Yes, so I know how to feed it."

Mount Lushan contains Pokou, and photographer Chen Mo captured the wonder of the sea of ​​clouds. When the thick fog cleared, a Republican villa appeared in his telephoto lens. The map shows that there is a cliff with a height of ten thousand feet. Following the strange coordinates, he found the entrance to the villa and met the guardian Lin Yin. "This villa belongs to Lin Yuanshan, an engineer who disappeared in 1948." She said softly. Time is frozen in 1948 in the villa. On my second visit, the villa became transparent. Lin Yin took out his father's yellowed notes: "He is studying the space folding points of Mount Lu." A heavy rainstorm was approaching outside the window, and the instrument sounded a piercing alarm. "Hurry up!" Lin Yin pushed him out the door, "The villa is going to disappear!"

In 1925, I stepped off the cruise ship carrying a new Paris suitcase. The driver sent by his father held up a "Song Mansion" pick-up sign. I lowered the brim of my hat and slipped into the rickshaw through the side door. That night, the pawn shop had an extra string of ancestral pearl necklaces. The father was furious: "In order to escape from marriage, you even gave up your ancestors?" I pointed at the headline "Women's Self-Reliance" in the newspaper and smiled: "The value of the Song family does not need to be proven by marriage." Three months later, my architecture office opened on the Bund. The night the glass door was smashed, I was staying up late drawing. An ultimatum from his father was slipped into the crack of the door: "Go home and get married, or be kicked out forever." Neon signs light up above my head-- The four words "Zhiwan Design" pierced the night on the beach in Shanghai.

He was the most outstanding Chinese doctor in the Japanese army field hospital. The commander ordered him to revive a seriously injured guerrilla captain: "Heal him, and I will make him speak." On the operating table, he cut open the wounded man's blood-stained military uniform, and a familiar scar was clearly visible. That was the imprint left by them falling off a cliff together when they were teenagers. "Don't save me... Become a traitor... It would be better to die..." The comrade muttered under anesthesia. Late at night, he sneaked into the ward to inject a fake death agent, but was interrupted by a Japanese military medical officer. "Chen Sang, what are you doing?" The scalpel flashed with cold light, and he wiped away the blood, then carried his comrades on his back and walked into the darkness. Gunshots suddenly rang out outside the city. He tore off his white coat and tied it to a branch. "Now, I'm your medic."

Lin Wan, a fashion blogger with a sharp tongue, complained on live broadcast that the national fashion design is too tacky. She was struck by lightning in 1925 and became the only daughter of a Shanghai cheongsam family on the verge of bankruptcy. The original owner stuck to the old ways and designed a cheongsam that was old-fashioned and was disliked by the socialite community. Lin Wan looked at the room full of outdated silks and satin, sneered and tore up the antique patterns collected by her father. "My ancestors asked you to directly sew sequins on the buttons?" When her modified backless fishtail cheongsam debuted at Paramount, her conservative tailor father was furious. But the Shanghai tabloid exclaimed: "The daughter of the Lin family turned Su embroidery into flowing moonlight." When a comprador from a foreign bank came to her door with a contract, she turned him away. "Chinese aesthetics don't need Western certification." Until the old-school apprentice who always tried to undermine her silently blocked her from the warlord's gun that forced her to marry. The moment the blood stained his gown, Lin Wan discovered-- Hidden in the inner pocket of his suit were every rebellious sketch she designed.

In the summer of 2025, when ancient book restorer Shen Shuyi was restoring Anti-Japanese War documents, he discovered the map in the mezzanine. The map pointed to the valley where the guerrillas had buried the time capsule-the exact place the real estate tycoon was about to bulldoze to build a resort. When Gu Changhe, a 100-year-old veteran, was on his deathbed, he tremblingly handed over half of the yellowed photo: "Tell her for me... She has been waiting for me for eighty years..." Shen Shuyi found the woman in the photo, but learned that she had been killed by a traitor in the autumn of 1945. As the bulldozer roared closer, she dug out the rusty iron box. On the back of the love letter inside the box, clues about the traitors within the guerrillas were recorded in secret words. On the wall of the developer's boss's office, the ancestral sword of the Japanese army colonel hangs impressively.

In the future society, the installation of emotion chips will be mandatory, and any extreme emotions will be corrected by the system. As a chip engineer, my mood index is always stable at 3.2 - Perfectly in line with the standard. Until the chip suddenly alarmed during maintenance, indicating that I had an "angry" emotion. The system suggested that I should be injected with sedatives immediately, but I remembered the scene of my childhood holding my mother's dead photo in a heavy rainstorm. On the monitoring screen, the emotional index of all citizens is a steady green light. I suddenly realized: this means that human beings have collectively lost their true emotions. The alarm sounded suddenly, and the system detected that "dangerous thoughts" began to spread. A cold needle poked out from the ceiling and aimed at my carotid artery.