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I am the Chief Purification Officer of the Purification Department, number P-0001. My job is to purify illegal consciousness bodies-to delete their memories, personalities, and emotions, turning them into empty shells. On the 337th mission, I stood in front of the consciousness cabin and looked at the man inside who I had purified ninety-nine times. Before every cleanse, I say "I love you." I don't remember why. When the purification was started for the hundredth time, there was an extra line in his code: If you don't exist, return to me. The sea of ​​debris split open. The ninety-ninth fragment is rising. The truth was about to be revealed - I was not his enemy. I am the person he loved by disappearing ninety-nine times.

Every time she finished writing a poem, someone would die. In the first song, the maid died in the well. In the second song, the wet nurse dies by the door. In the third song, the brother died on the bed. Every word will be fulfilled three days later. The people who fulfilled it were the people around her. But Shen Yu must write - because if she doesn't write, she will die. The "Ci Gu" is published every three hundred years, and the fate of the seventy-two poems. She had to find three blood tablets and one wordless tablet before she finished writing. Otherwise, the day when the seventy-second poem is finished-- The person who died was herself. Ancient style suspense, Chinese style mild fear, strong suspense and strong head. "Prophecy: One Thousand and One Nights Against Destiny" has been launched.

The long-cherished wish of Ni Haixia, the great medical mentor The silver needle in the left hand can help people, and the article in the right hand can help people. Shi Qiao is a doctor from Yixintang. He has been practicing medicine for three generations and is a practicing physician specializing in treating difficult and complicated diseases. But what he is best at is not treating physical illnesses, but treating mental illnesses. Xiaoyu saw her father die in a car accident and didn't speak for three years. Shi Qiao said to her: "What your father wants to hear most is your voice." Chen Zhiyuan suffered from headaches for three years and did not dare to visit the prison. Shi Qiao said to him: "You owe him an apology." Li Zhenggang suffered from insomnia for three years and could not forget the eyes of a child. Shi Qiao said to him, "Just tell him and it will be fine." One hundred and twenty-three children who were sold, one hundred and twenty-three waiting parents, and one hundred and twenty-three adoptive parents who have raised them all their lives. They are all waiting. Waiting for an answer, waiting for an ending, waiting for someone to tell them who you are. Shi Qiao has been looking for him for thirty years. His apprentice continued to look for him. The apprentice's apprentice continued to look for him. From generation to generation, healers are always on the road. If someone waits, there is hope.

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In Night City, memory is both a commodity and a weapon. I am Su Rui, a "memory craftsman" who walks on the edge of the law. My job is to repair and retrieve the past that has been formatted by the "Psychic Super Dimension" company for my clients. Until I saw them rounding up a girl in a discarded chip, codenamed "The Other Side 73". That night, the company's most terrifying "cleaning department" drone swarm surrounded my residence. I was forced to jump into the sewer and fled to the end of the world. A mysterious man who calls himself "Archiver 07" sent a message: "If you want to survive, go find the Gravedigger." Only then did I realize that what I was repairing was not the memory, but the bloody truth that had been covered up in this city. And I myself seem to have become the memory source that must be "processed".

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Doctor, parent heart Ever since Shennong tasted hundreds of herbs and Huangdi wrote the "Nei Jing", there has been a secret bloodline stretching endlessly across the land of China. This bloodline is not in the genealogy of emperors or the biographies of generals, but in the prescription medicine cabinets, volumes of medical books, and pairs of three fingers placed on the ruler. They are doctors, doctors, real people, and virgins. Some of them are famous all over the world, some are hidden in the grass, some are regarded as honored guests by emperors, and some are called "living gods" by the people. But in the final analysis, they are just a group of people - a group of people who don't want to see anyone die. Today, I would like to use this list to record the fifty Xinglin saints who have hung pots to help the world from ancient times to modern times. They are not gods. They're just more afraid of death than we are.