This is a story. It is a big story, as big as several generations. It is also a small story, as small as a piece of trivia on a plain. In my memory, I can always see an earthy gray clay pot with stains and scratches on the stove at my grandma's house, which contains the favorite of all the original people - syrup. This wild plant attached to wheat fields (wheatgrass) was the most easily available food source for poor people in that era. It was sour and sweet, bitter and sweet, and when poured on white noodles, the aroma and acidity of the noodles mixed together directly pierced the taste buds. The "low-class" ingredients have been passed down from generation to generation due to their unique and delicious taste, and the people living on the Hualong Plain have also reproduced from generation to generation amid grudges and entanglements, battles and contests, emotions and ties. Now, a hundred years have passed, Hualongyuan has long lost sight of the smoke from the kitchen in the early morning, and has lost sight of the laughter of children in the threshing floor at sunset. Changjiazhuang and Guanjiawa under the original upper and lower plains have also been deserted, and have lost the vitality of those years. Back to the main story, the story starts from the Quanzigou between Changjiazhuang and Guanjiawa during the Xuantong period...
