Qingyan Noble Family

Dayong Dynasty, Qingyan Village. On a thunderstorm night, the 300-year-old locust tree next to the Li family's ancestral grave was split in half by thunder, and a wisp of smoke rose from the grave. There was a lot of quarrel among the villagers: some said it was a bad omen, while others said it was a good omen. Ten-year-old orphan Li Qinghe squatted on the ridge of the field and ate steamed buns. He only thought about one thing: what to eat tomorrow. There is no system, no time travel. His parents sold out their land for medical treatment, leaving him with a dilapidated house that leaked from the rain. He made a living by working with his hands, picking out bird eggs, touching field snails, fighting wild snakes, and building bamboo rafts to catch fish in exchange for food. Life was as hard as chewing coptis, but he was able to chew out the sweetness from it, and incidentally became the leader of a dozen and a half-year-old children in the village. Later, a down-and-out scholar who had failed in the examination for twelve times came to live in the house. The teacher is pedantic and accepts death, but the students are shrewd and know how to do things - one teaches reading, the other delivers fish, everything is going crazy. Qinghe has learned all the words, and has transformed the Li family from a blade of grass into a tree: three sons, one in politics, one in the army, one in business, and a good girl who is favored by the group. In his later years, he bravely retreated from the rapids, returned to Qingyan, established ancestral precepts, and planted new locust trees on the slope of his ancestral tomb. Whether that wisp of green smoke was good or bad, he didn't bother to ask: he lived his own life and found his own happiness. Anyway, he was already the ancestor of those cheap descendants in future generations.