At this time, in Jiangnan.
Old Wu was living as an old farmer. He and his wife were farming and weaving together.
The two of them were deeply in love.
She wiped his sweat, and he massaged her shoulders. Their life was hard, yet happy.
A wife, children, and a warm bed—truly the traditional happy life.
They worked hard and reaped hard.
In the end, they gained a tiny bit of sweetness.
Then they kicked their legs straight and life came to an end.
Then he looked at his own father.
His father had turned out to be a scholar.
He spent his days composing poetry and matching couplets.
He was doing better than Old Wu.
At least he did not have to do hard labor.
Still, he could only make it as far as a scholar.
But scholars in Jiangnan were quite valuable.
After all, literacy was high there, and standing out was not easy.
At the very least, they could form societies, take on lawsuits, or open private schools. So long as they were not too lazy, they could live comfortably.
Those with more ambition could even become minor ranked officials in remote places.
Meanwhile, his mother stayed at home reading romantic novels about talented scholars and beautiful ladies.
Wenren Sheng watched them for a while.
He found that they were actually living quite a flavorful life.
Some people said, what was so good about ancient history? Of course, there was nothing good about it.
But after growing tired of lavish feasts, people naturally began to crave a simpler, fresher sort of life.
It was hard, but real enough to soothe the spirit.
Old Wu and his father had both been living like that.
But something seemed to be wrong.
Wenren Sheng spotted the problem ahead of time.