Ji Chi was originally a financial upstart strategizing among skyscrapers. A bizarre car accident threw him into a completely unfamiliar farming world - a village with gray bricks and gray tiles, fields raked by cattle farmers, and the rhythm of the rising sun and the setting moon. Being penniless, he was forced to put aside his pride and stumble under the strange eyes of the villagers. Fortunately, he was taken in by the orphan Mu Qi, whose rough but dexterous hands could mend a leaky hut and cook stomach-warming multigrain porridge. At first, Ji Chi regarded this primitive life as a prison, until he saw Mu Qi stepping on the morning dew to pick wild vegetables, heard the laughter of children chasing and playing, and tasted the aroma of steamed buns ground from wheat grown by himself. He used modern wisdom to improve farm tools and resist famine, while Mu Qi taught him how to identify grains, make pickles, and pickle winter vegetables. In the twelfth lunar month of winter, a family of three sat around a red-hot fire, the north wind howled outside the window, and the mutton soup in the coarse porcelain bowl was filled with steam in the house. Ji Chi suddenly understood: The so-called peaceful years are just that there are people who share the frost and snow with you and guard the smoke. This is a story about letting go of obsessions and embracing the land and your lover. There is no iron horse, only the gentle power of a long stream of water.
The intention: to find the simplest true meaning in the world of fireworks, and to write a long scroll of warmth that spans time and space with sincerity.