The two most beautiful things Liang Jiuge has done in his life:
First, before the age of thirty, he had clearly settled the accounts of the emperor, the prince, and the civil and military officials of the Manchu Dynasty, and became the God of Wealth County Lord that no one dared to offend.
Second, after turning 30, he burned all his account books and ran to the Gobi Desert to open a tavern with the words "No Service" written in big letters on the wine flag.
They said she was crazy. From the prosperous land in the south of the Yangtze River to the desolate places in the Western Regions, from the golden abacus to the rough pottery bowl.
She doesn't explain. He only works with poplar abacus every day, teaches little orphans how to read, brews sour wine, and waits for a swordsman who always comes to take credit.
Until the emperor's emissary came through the snow and delivered an imperial edict to set her free.
She threw the edict into the stove in front of him.
"If freedom requires charity from others," she wiped the stoneware bowl without raising her head, "is it still called freedom?"
Later, in the desert wind and sand, the lantern of "not waiting" was always on.
The abacus beads ring, the hatchet falls, and the days are rough and steady.
She finally lived up to the last four words in her account book:
The clouds are calm and the wind is gentle.
Intention: to carve out a world in the worldly flow and live a life that is as calm as one wishes.