Immortality Is Poison

In 221 BC, Qin Shihuang ruled the world and wanted only to survive. The alchemist Xu Fu led three thousand boys and girls into the sea to search for medicine. An alchemy furnace outside Xianyang City accidentally exploded. Ming Changsheng, a young man who burned the fire, was penetrated by the "immortal energy" and stopped aging. At first, he thought it was a blessing. He was ecstatic, he was grateful, and he felt that he was the lucky one chosen by fate. He wants to live well and see the world a hundred or a thousand years from now. He lived for his dead comrades, for the children who died, and for all those who had no time to live - this was his mission and his pride. But time is a dull knife. It doesn't rush to kill you, but cuts you off bit by bit. Every farewell left a hole in his heart. The first time he sent away his comrades, he cried all night; the first time he sent away his wife, he sat in front of the grave for three days; the first time he sent away his children, he left the city and never went back. In one hundred years, he can still laugh; in five hundred years, he can still drink; in a thousand years, he can still write poetry; in fifteen hundred years, he has begun to count how many people he has sent away; in two thousand years, he dare not count anymore. Five hundred years ago, he thought it was sweet wine. It was 1,500 years later that he realized it was poison. And he had been drinking it for too long, and the poison had penetrated into his bones. Immortality is poison, and time slowly turns it into poison. And the antidote, never.