My grandfather was a founding warrior, and his merits were so high that he could build his own forest of steles.
My father was the prime minister of the dynasty, and he could determine the world's affairs with one stroke.
At first I was eager to get started - if this configuration was not used sideways in ancient times, I would not be able to apply for a cross-travel visa.
Until the new emperor ascended the throne, the bells rang throughout the imperial city.
When my father returned from the court, he stopped in the courtyard and gazed at the stars for a long time. I suddenly tasted the feeling of silence: great achievements are not blessings, and weight attracts wind. My family is so wealthy that, to put it another way, we are "full of people waiting to be fired."
The next morning, my life took a sharp turn.
He replaced the military book with "Secrets of Fighting Crickets", tied a lotus root pink silk ribbon on the royal sword and named it "Little Taohong". He spent all day hanging around teahouses and blacksmith shops, indulging in story telling and blacksmithing and quenching.
The royal censor wrote a letter criticizing me for playing with things, but there was only a laughing comment from the palace: "The young man's heart is quite innocent."
Every day before going to court, my father always gave me a long sigh in the courtyard - the sigh was perfectly precise, three points of helplessness was for outsiders to see, and seven points of tacit understanding was reserved for his own family.
We, father and son, tacitly acted out this drama of "unfortunate family and incompetent son" day after day, conscientiously.
