In a certain segment of the river of time, a snapshot of history from two thousand years ago, there lay an unremarkable mortal city.

The streets were bustling with people, filled with the lively atmosphere of daily life. Porters, vendors, farmers, teahouses, and cosmetic shops were all present. At a table in a teahouse, Meng Qingzhou placed his blind cane on the table, picked up a cup of tea, and drank by himself.

"Entering a snapshot of history is like looking at the moon's reflection in the water. Ultimately, one cannot interfere with the future or the past. A mere passerby, also a mere observer, temporarily staying two thousand years ago."

Meng Qingzhou swirled the tea in his cup, yet no ripples formed. The light yellow tea remained as still as amber.