Stepping into the wild ancient land, there is no golden finger blessing, no smooth success, just ordinary survival and taking root. He bid farewell to the wandering of chasing water and grass, and stopped by an unknown river valley. He used a rough stone ax to split thorns and plowed the land with blunt bones, trying to grow his own cooking smoke in this wilderness. From the anxiety when the first seed is buried in the ground, to the joy when the first ear of grain matures; from building a simple shack alone, to sharing a bowl of hot porridge with neighboring tribesmen. There are no thrilling fights, no dramatic plots, only day after day work, only reverence for the land and enthusiasm for life. In the time that slowed down, he used the simplest way to live out the wild days with the warmth of the human world, and poured out the stability and tenderness belonging to ordinary people in the ancient land.
