By the surging riverbank, Chen Xu faced a vague, phantom-like face.
Before he could sort out the myriad thoughts in his mind, the other spoke first.
"I have been silent for decades, and I don't know how long it has been since I last savored such fine new poetry." The phantom figure gazed at Chen Xu, sighing softly, "After people die, they always tend to forget many things."
This statement was quite intriguing.
What does it mean "after people die, they always tend to forget many things"?
Chen Xu hesitated for a moment and replied, "What has senior forgotten?"
"Oh, quite a lot." The phantom figure said, "Such as my name, my origins, some of my life events. Even the books I have written, I only remember half of them.
If I forget even more, in a thousand years or so, my heroic spirit will also dissipate into the world.
How can one achieve immortality in the world? Ha..."
Chen Xu did not expect such a response.
