On the outskirts of Si Jiu City.
In the farmland outside Great King Village.
The Old Village Chief was working too.
As he weeded, he suddenly saw an Old Man in a Chinese tunic suit come over beside him.
The Old Man had come over, yet he kept staring at him and sizing him up.
The Old Village Chief set down his hoe and asked, "Hey, sir, have a drink of water."
He thought the other man was too embarrassed to ask for water.
"Thank you, I brought my own cup." The Old Man took out his own cup as he spoke.
The Old Village Chief smiled. "Then what brings you to our village?"
"Oh, I... I'm a writer. Writers specifically come out to gather material and write poetry."
"Oh, excuse my disrespect. You're actually a writer." The Old Village Chief was immediately impressed.
At this time, writers were not as commonplace as they would be in later generations.
Writers still held quite a high status in people's hearts back then.
Or rather, one could not casually call oneself a writer. One had to receive official recognition.
This identity could even earn one an official stipend.
You could not simply write a few words and call yourself a writer.
When people of this era mentioned writers, they thought of great writers like Lu*, Mao*, Ba*...
They were not comparable to ordinary tabloid contributors.
In fact, this Old Man was the director of the clinical department at the hospital where the village chief had been treated.
"Sir, I see that you're very strong. You'll finish all this work in no time," the director said seriously.
"Hahaha, I'm just an old farmer. This little bit of work is easy enough." The Old Village Chief smiled.
The director then asked him, "And how