The Path Toward Heaven

The green seedlings stretch their waists, the distance between each plant is absolutely the same, perfect.

No matter what angle you look at, the seedlings are in a straight line, and there is no deviation in the shadow of the water surface.

The most outstanding farmer in the mountain village can't do that.

Looking at this picture, Liu Shisui's mouth could not be closed for a long time.

The breeze was blowing, and the young plants were ups and downs.

The boy in white stood on the ridge, nodded slightly, and satisfied with his own means, turned around and walked back, lying down on the bamboo chair and closing his eyes.

Liu Shisui looked at Tianguang and said, "Son, do you want to cut wood next?"

Because the boy in white didn't admit that he was a fairy master, the villagers decided to call each other after discussing it.

"It's here." The boy in white said with his eyes closed.

Liu Shisui didn't understand what he meant, and asked, "Or cook rice first?"

The boy in white ignored him.

Liu Shisui only understood what he meant, but did not understand why he changed his mind so quickly.

"I just want to learn, I don't like it."

The boy in white said, "Even if it makes sense, it won't suit me."

Liu Shisui didn't understand it, but then he asked, "Why?"

The boy in white said: "Because I am lazy and not good at it."

Liu Shisui was a little excited and asked, "What are you good at, son?"

In the rumor of the small mountain village, the fairy masters in the Daqing Mountain are gods who can wave thunder and fly swords into the sky.

The boy in white said, "Cut off."

Everything in the world has weaknesses.

What he is best at is to find those weak points and then disconnect them.

Such as magic weapon, such as mountain peak, or something.

Liu Shisui didn't expect to hear such an answer, but he was disappointed. He scratched his head and said, "No wonder you cut vegetables so well."

The wind rises, a leaf floats down, and the stubble is very smooth, like being cut by a real sword.

A cicada cried.

This should be the first cicada in Xiaoshan Village this year.

The boy in white opened his eyes and looked to the distant peaks hidden in the clouds.

Liu Shisui picked up the fallen leaf, looked at his profile, and asked, "What is your name, son?"

The boy in white was quiet for a while and said, "Jing Jiu."

"Jing Jiu?"

"Water well, ninth."

"Well water doesn't violate the well of the river, isn't it so good?"

"Have you read the book?"

"There was once a gentleman in the village who left last year. I heard that he wanted to go to the county to test the child."

"I have also read it."

"Ok?"

"Ask me if you don't understand."

"Thank you, son."

"Ok."

Liu Shisui looked at the boy in white. This face had been on his face for nine days. With resistance, he still felt a little dazzling and rubbed his eyes subconsciously.

"Are you ... in a bad mood?"

The teenager in white looked at the peaks in the mist in the distance for a long time, and suddenly said: "It's hard to not bother to do the same thing all the time."

Liu Shisui thought for a while and said, "If ... that thing is to eat meat."

...

...

A year passed quickly and deep spring came again.

For the young boy in white who claimed to be Jing Jiu, the villagers were divided into two groups. One group insisted that he was the fairy master from Daqingshan, and the other group believed that he was indeed not a fairy master, but should come from the Fucheng, or even the capital Song's troubled noble son, but there is one point of view of the two factions, that is, they have never seen such a lazy person.

During this year, the villagers loved to hang out near Liu's house-no matter what Jing Jiu's identity is, they always like to see him.But no matter when people go, they will see Jing Jiu sleeping, if there is the sun, he will lie on a bamboo chair in the yard, if the weather is gloomy, he will lie on the bed in the house, if the weather is too hot , He will move the bamboo chair to sleep under the tree by the pond. If it snows, he will move back, but he will leave the window open.

After the first nine days, no one saw that Jing Jiu had done even the simplest housework. Bed making, quilting, and dressing were all served by Liu Shisui, even the bamboo he slept on. The chair was moved around by Liu Shisui.

However, the villagers still respect Jing Jiu from the heart, because when the children in the village read, he occasionally pointed out a few words. According to the children, the knowledge of the Master Xianshi is more profound than that of the previous gentleman. More than a hundred times.

The most important thing is that Jing Jiu is very rich, and very willing to spend money, although at the beginning, the villagers did not dare to ask for his money.The ancestral halls and immortal temples in the village were repaired using all his money. Now even the new road from the mountain village to the county has been repaired for more than half. How can the villagers not appreciate him or how to respect them?

"Son, be careful when you rest. Be careful not to fall into the pond again."

Liu Shisui carried the branches picked from the mountain and looked at Jing Jiu lying on the bamboo chair, worried.

This happened once, and he was severely taught by his father, saying that he did not serve a good fairy.

Jing Jiu lay on the bamboo chair for a while, not knowing whether to respond to his words or why it was too comfortable to rest in the shade.

It should be the latter, his long fingers tapping on the bamboo chair, the rhythm is very scattered, without any rules, giving a lazy feeling.

Liu Shisui hesitated for a moment and put down the branch on his back.

He sat down against the big tree, hugged his knees, stared at the bamboo chair, and dared not relax for a moment.

He is now eleven years old, but he is still ten years old. Jing Jiu does not seem to mean changing his name for him. When he wants to come, it should be the reason why the son is too lazy.

No matter what his name is, he is still honest and credible. Since he promised his father to take good care of his son, he must do it.

Moreover, the sound of Jing Jiu Gong knocking on the chair is very interesting. He didn't know how to describe it in words, but he felt that his heart became more and more quiet.

The mountain breeze gently brushed the water, the sunlight was gradually dimmed, and the night became thicker and thicker.

"Last two times, breathing out early."

Liu Shisui was slightly alarmed, and then sober, said: "I see."

Jing Jiu opened his eyes and looked at the pond.

The night wind disappeared, and the water was calm, like a mirror.

Looking at the face on the water, he didn't speak for a long time.

This face is beautiful.

This face is perfect.

If the eyebrows are picturesque, the painter must be the best in thousands of years.

Even he has never seen such a good-looking face in countless spiritual circles of handsome men and beautiful women.

The starlight fell on this face, on the water, and the light moved slightly, making this face feel more dreamlike.

This is not the first time he saw his face.

When he saw this face by the pond at that time, he realized why the villagers had that kind of reaction on the day he first arrived in the mountain village, and then thought so firmly that he was a fairy master.

Nobody will be dissatisfied with such a face, even if he is Jing Jiu.

He just thought there was something weird.

Looking at himself on the water, he raised his hand and touched his ear.

It was a pair of whispering ears. Looking at Yuanyuan, what is interesting is that it is not ugly to match this face, but it is a little cute.

He understood why, but he was still not used to it.

The night wind rose again, dispelling the perfect face on the water and dispersing the thoughts in his heart.

Everything is like a dream bubble, as if it was said by Sister Lian in Shui Yue'an.

Jing Jiu lay back on the bamboo chair and wanted to drink water, but found that the kettle was in front of the chair and needed to sit up again, so he glanced at Liu Shisui.

Liu Shisui squatted at the bottom of the tree, holding grass roots to play with green insects, and felt his eyes falling on him. He raised his head to know what was happening, sighed, got up and walked to the bamboo chair, lifted the kettle, and handed it to the well Nine before.

Jing Jiu drank a bowl of water and closed his eyes again.

Liu Shisui didn't leave, so he squatted down by the bamboo chair, propped his jaw with his hand, and looked at Jing Jiu's face in a daze. How could he be so beautiful?

He sees too much, so unlike other villagers, he knows that this face has actually changed during the year, not brows, but ... temperament?

The son was not as stupid as he was at first, his eyes were more agile, and he was more angry. In fact, he had more words than before.

Jing Jiu closed his eyes, and after three breaths, he opened his eyes again.

Liu Shisui was a little surprised. Over the past year, the son has never opened his eyes so quickly, whether it is a deep sleep, a break or a false sleep.

"What are you doing?"

Jing Jiu looked at the stars in the night sky and said, "I'm deducing the next three years."

Liu Shisui scratched his head, thinking, what are you doing when you sleep every day?

Jing Jiu seemed to know what he was thinking, and said, "I am deducing the next three thousand years."

Liu Shisui opened his eyes wide and said, "Three thousand years?"

Jing Jiu asked: "If you meditate hard and exhaust your mind, you have written an excellent article in countless hours, and feel that you can never write such a good article in this life, but the result is that the paper is accidentally dropped into the stove , Burned to ashes, what do you think? "

Liu Shisui didn't respond for a moment before he responded. He stroked his chest with his right hand and said, "Don't dare to think about it, I feel sad when I think about it."

"It's not pain, it's pain." Jing Jiu said quietly for a while, "It's painful."

Those suffering non-personal experience can not understand.

It hurts.

However, it is painful to think about, in addition to rewriting that article again, what else?

Liu Shisui said sympathetically: "That man can only be rewritten."

Jing Jiu said: "Yes, what can be done besides rewriting?"

Liu Shisui thought of one thing and worriedly said: "But what if the wonderful words in the original article and those subtle allusions can't be remembered?"

"It's naturally not important to remember, how can those words and allusions be really wonderful?"

Jing Jiu looked to the peaks in the night fog and said, "Write it again, it must be a better splendid article."

Liu Shisui thought for a while, and did not know if it made sense. Thinking about the previous conversation, he asked curiously, "What did you do with your son? What will the rainwater be like in the next three years?"

Jing Jiu's eyes fell on a wood not far away, and said, "I only figured out that time is up."

Just tonight.

The night breeze rose slightly, the shirt was fluttering, and a rather middle-aged middle-aged practitioner fell to the ground, carrying a long sword behind him.

Liu Shisui was startled and hid behind a bamboo chair.

The middle-aged practitioner's eyes fell on Jing Jiu, and Jianmei's eyebrows were slightly picked up, seeming to be a little surprised.

...

...

(It ’s not going to be so early, but rewriting the article is really a very important thing in the first half of this story. For our author, it ’s painful because the computer crashed, because of the power outage, because of the cat, because of the wife, Because of various and even bizarre reasons that are ridiculed by readers, we have indeed lost many manuscripts. I believe that most authors have this experience. That is the most painful time for us. The degree of pain and the number of words in the lost document Proportionally, it is still a geometric series. At this time, there is no other way than comforting each other. In the past few years, my friend and I have encountered this situation, and we used the sentence of Jing Jiu in the article to comfort ourselves and encourage cheer. Then It ’s our sincere words-plots that you ca n’t remember if you lose them. Those plots are not eligible to stay in our novels. What you can remember is good. Rewriting will inevitably lead to better articles. This is the truth, just ... I wish the world's authors do not need to experience such a thing, why?)