Dragon Ball

When he woke up, the flower field was blooming with golden flowers. There is a mixed smell of grass and gunpowder smoke in the wind. He didn't remember his name, or why he was covered in scars. He only remembered that there was still some kind of warm, dissipating light in his palm - like an unfinished sentence, like a lamp that hadn't been lit yet. Later, a voice told him that it was called "qi" and was the sound of life itself. He didn't know what he was crazy about protecting. There was a woman waiting for him to come home at the sickbed, but he only cared about a certain obsession. Those memories were torn apart and buried by the cracks in time and space, and together with some inexplicable ability, they were sealed in a place where they could never be found again. So, he became a blank sheet of paper. On the white paper, one stroke after another began to fall: Mondstadt's windmill, Liyue's mountain mist, Inazuma's cherry rain, Xumi's tree shadows, Fontaine's tide, Nata's sacred fire, Nodkale's ever-melting moonlight. Every stroke is a name. Every name is a light that refuses to be extinguished. He learned to laugh, to catch someone when he was knocked down, and to stand on the pier late at night, looking at the sea and waiting for a direction that he didn't know who he was waiting for. His fists can break stars, but he never dares to hug them hard. This is not just an epic about a hero saving the world, but a person who has forgotten how to feel, and relearns the sound of his heartbeat in the bonds of seven lands. When the wind blows, the flowers bloom. When people return, the moonlight is just right. When all the battles were over, when peace ushered in Teyvat, and he stood in the sweet flower fields of Fengqi Land and looked out into the distance, he understood—— Some things are far more important than power.