"I tasted the wind, a fishy-sweet mixture of rust and grass roots."
But here, in Chilechuan, the wind still smells like the old year. It comes from Siberia and flies across the Gobi Desert, picking up sand and grass seeds and slapping it on the face, causing slight pain. The clouds were very low, not one by one, but in one piece, slowly and heavily, rolling over the horizon.
When Pei Yifeng came, the spring breeze was crossing the Yellow River.
He met an arrogant young man who became arrogant upon meeting him, and elders who had experienced the world... They taught him how to predict the weather, identify vegetation, and survive on the grassland. Pei Yifeng also used his knowledge to help herders organize their accounts, record the grassland scenery, and experience the unique customs and customs of the grassland.
In this chaotic era, this is the place he longs for - Suiyuan, not the seemingly revelry of Shanghai.
How long can this stability survive in this troubled world? Pei Yifeng thought quietly - no one knows.
"The old man here said that the wind here recognizes every person on the grassland. It has blown away the Huns' cavalry and cooled Genghis Khan's stirrups. Now, it is just blowing quietly, blowing a few scattered yurts and an endless, black road."
Intention: The heart follows the heaven and the earth, and the mind is led by the cattle and sheep
