The world is ancient and desolate, and everything is still on the edge of ignorance. The strong wind carries the gravel across the wilderness, and the dead bones lie silent among the ruins and become a monument of time. Yun Zechuan opened his eyes from the chaotic drowsiness. There were cracked animal skins beside him, and his fingertips touched the cold frozen soil. He forgot about his past, but he held on to his simple skills of farming, weaving and construction, and found a place to stay in a mountain valley in this ancient world.
They reclaimed wasteland and cultivated fields, sowing wild millet seeds found in mountain streams; they built huts and used rough wood and thatch to build shelters; they led springs and built canals to let the clear running water meander around the ridges of the fields. At first he was alone, but later, the displaced tribesmen followed the smoke from the cooking stoves, and injured animals and birds holding branches also became companions in the countryside.
He is not familiar with the treacherous killings of the ancient times, but with a clear heart, he weaves a square inch of heaven and earth with smoke curling up in the wilderness, so that the desolate wilderness slowly emits the warmth and softness of human fireworks. This is the symbiosis of one person, one clan, and one world. It is the slowest and most tenacious rebirth in the ancient times.
