Wu Song couldn't help but frown as he listened to the gossip of the people on the street. The contempt in those people's voices made him a little unhappy. He subconsciously raised his eyes to look at them, but while searching, his eyes unconsciously spotted the person they were discussing.
The man was wearing a crescent-white gown, with the sleeves slightly rolled up. He had long, curly black hair that was rare at this time, but it made his skin tone even whiter. The noise on the street was a bit incompatible with that person. He didn't seem to care about the person who was discussing him. Wu Song felt that he didn't hear or didn't bother to pay attention. He always had a faint smile on his face. He held several damaged books on his chest that could tell from a distance that they were dated. His right hand with well-jointed bones rested lightly on a book, making it look like it was dusty.
Wu Song had always felt that he was a rough man, and he did not have many poems and songs in his mind, but at that moment, the sentence "There are gangsters and gentlemen, they are like quarreling with each other, like studying and polishing." This sentence suddenly came to his mind, and he couldn't help but be stunned.
That man was certainly not an actor, he had a strong bookish air about him.
Just as one could tell at one glance that Wu Song was a soldier, one could tell at one glance that Wu Song was a scholar.
Scholars, such people have always been envied by Wu Song.
But Wu Song also knew that his duty was to fight on the line and die for the country.
He is destined not to be a scholar, and those who are scholars are destined to miss him.