The Speaking Pork Trotter

In the neon of blue and purple, under the thick steel sky, at the forefront of this surge of data, lies the world post-tech revolution.
It's also the dividing line between reality and illusion.
Steel and flesh, past and future.
In this place, the world outside and inside coexist. Everything in front of us feels like a wall of time within reach.
The darkness is slowly creeping in.
But hey, my friend, you gotta know, we can't just counter darkness with softness.
Gotta use fire.

Naming Technique of the Night

Lordbluefire

In the dim cottage on the mountainside.


This time, the old man was no longer quietly sitting but had placed a Go board in front of him, sometimes placing stones, sometimes lost in thought.


"Nineteen lines, a thousand ancient games without repetition," the old man said, "History seems the same, appearing to spiral upward, yet always different."


Shadow found a cushion behind him and sat down leisurely: "You want to lament that Qing Chen, you, and I are all different."


"Why didn't you bring him back?" the old man asked.


This elderly man named Qing Xun didn't know how long he had been sitting here.


Decades ago, he defeated seven Shadows to claim his current position, and from that year onward, the only thing he needed to do was play Go.


Engaging in endless battles and endgames on a board named Federation with players from across the world.


The board seemed complicated, but seldom did unexpected things happen, yet this year, something did.


574, New World