Su Chen, a high school scumbag, skipped classes and got into trouble. When he opened his eyes, he became Su Xiaoyuan, an abandoned baby from Feng County, Qing County, Song Dynasty. When he was picked up by the kind-hearted old man Su and his wife, he was wrapped in rags and carrying half a piece of stiff cornbread - this was his first connection with this world.
From answering questions to practicing boxing, the young man was gearing up towards Qingcheng. He became a disciple of the retired soldier Wang, and later practiced martial arts with a mysterious old beggar.
The year his adoptive parents left, he had just become an independent escort. Old Man Su held his hand before he died, and the rough palm was still stained with the bamboo scraps used in weaving bamboo baskets: "Don't imitate those heroes who work hard, just stay safe."
With these words in mind, he broke through the sword light at the Black Wind Gate and survived the miasma in the Misty Ridge. When he met a crazy beggar who pointed out the secrets of Xuanji Gate, he just smiled; when faced with the temptation of Jiuxiao Linglong Pei, he turned around and walked into the inn and ordered a bowl of hot noodle soup.
"Secret secrets of the world? Top masters?" Su Xiaoyuan stuffed soy sauce beef into his mouth and held the calico he bought for his wife in his arms. "I just want to protect this shipment and go home to tell stories to my baby."
Later, there was a tile-roofed house in Feng County, and the hollyhocks that the adoptive parents liked during their lifetime were planted in the corner of the courtyard. Su Xiaoyuan has become the most "bad" escort in the escort agency. He doesn't take the lead and doesn't cause trouble, but no one dares to look down on him - after all, being able to make every escort trip smoothly is a skill in itself.
Under the setting sun, he taught his son how to walk, while his wife stood at the door with sweet potato porridge and laughed. The wind blows in the direction of Qingya Mountain, carrying the fragrance of pine needles, just like every dusk when my adoptive parents were still there.
It turns out that the best world is not in the light of swords and shadows, but in the fireworks of firewood, rice, oil and salt.
