A small mountain village beneath the Majestic Mountains.
Trees encircled the village, with an old wooden bridge and lush green grass along the clear stream. Several shepherd boys rolled up their trousers and waded in, turning over stones to catch fish. Every so often, they shouted and ran, splashing water as they chased fish. Low thatched huts and fence walls stood scattered along the stream, chickens and dogs calling to one another. Butterflies and bees busily gathered nectar among the yellow flower fields. This remote, impoverished place, too poor to squeeze out even two taels of oil, resembled a paradise beyond the world.
Old Man Yu slowly entered the village carrying bamboo baskets and hampers on a shoulder pole, occasionally greeting the farmers working in the fields.
Every now and then, he hurriedly dodged to the roadside to watch those rough Jianghu men gallop past on horseback.
Once those Martial Artists had gone far away, Old Man Yu quickened his pace home with his shoulder pole, his expression conflicted. He crossed the wooden bridge and returned to his courtyard.
Normally, after returning from the market, he would rest briefly before getting back to work. Yet today, the old man was acting entirely out of character.
He returned to his low thatched house and sat there in a daze, as though something weighed on his mind.
From the scorching noon until the sun slanted westward and set, he remained seated. His son and daughter-in-law returned from working outside, while his grandson rode a water buffalo into the yard wearing a straw hat. The boy carried frogs, river fish strung together with grass rope, and several birds in his hands, shouting that he was hungry and wanted food.
Cooking smoke rose from every household.
The countryside was poor, and they ate only