This Scholar is a Bit Chivalrous

About This Novel

"The Source of Water Margin: The Legend of Shi Naian" In the chaotic times of the late Yuan Dynasty, wars broke out everywhere. On the eve of the decisive battle between Zhang Shicheng and Zhu Yuanzhang, Shi Naian, an old man in his seventies, and his disciple Luo Guanzhong fled Huai'an and settled in Shanyang County, the choke point of water transportation. The iron horses in Zhenhuai Tower are saddened by the wind, and thousands of sails are racing in the canal. In this ancient city, intertwined with the Mongolian and Yuan cavalry, the secret codes of the rebel army, and the grievances of the Cao Gang, a masterpiece that will subvert the times is about to be born. The former magistrate of Qiantang County and the mysterious Xin Weike Jinshi now only have a bald pen and half a broken stele. The tears of Yan Ding, the chants of the plow workers, the fists of the rogues, and the Taoist's Zen ideas are all transformed into Lin Chong's wind and snow, Wu Song's sharp knife, and Song Jiang's struggle in his works. When Zhang Shicheng's three letters of appointment arrived at the same time as Zhu Yuanzhang's spies, when the Shanyang County magistrate criticized the manuscript of "Water Margin" as "poisonous", this nearly blind old Confucian, under the solitary lamp in Daxiang Quxiang, completed the most magnificent betrayal in the history of Chinese literature - he returned the rivers and lakes to the people, and carved loyalty into the mountains and rivers. This is not the birth history of a novel, but a literati's life answer: When the temple is out of order, who is the justice in heaven and earth? When history turns to dust, why is there immortality in pen and ink? From Caoqu Haozi to Liangshan Juyi, from Huaiyang dishes to heroic blood wine, from the broken monument "Xing Tian Xing" to the ending "Liao'er Wa". Open this book and witness the lonely journey that used ink as sword and blood as ink seven hundred years ago. One part "Water Margin" and half Chinese soul. And all this began in the 26th year of Yuan Zhizheng, in the west of Huai'an City, an old man pushed open a creaking wooden door.

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