"Why should a sword be a sword? Why should a tripod be a tripod..."

In front of an open-air table in the downtown area, the old man took a sip of hot soup and murmured softly to himself, but no one heard him.

In the busy street in the morning, life is full of life, and everyone is doing their own thing. After Ah Qing served the new customers a plate, she returned to the wooden bench under the shed. Her hands were not idle, and she continued to work with other simple female workers.

Exquisitely woven sword spikes.

After a while, she seemed to be tired in the middle of the journey. The pretty girl in a sarong temporarily put down her work, thought for a while, took out the "blue butterfly flower" given to her by a young county magistrate, and placed it in the sun.

She had a quiet face, lowered her head to look at it, and occasionally touched the Pythagorean-shaped piece of paper on the butterfly flower with her little hand. The companions around her turned their heads and glanced at her, not paying attention, and everyone was doing their own thing.

At the table not far away, the old swordsmith was lost in thought for a while. At a certain moment, he shook his head gently, immersed himself in eating the last bite of breakfast, and slowly lowered his chopsticks.

As usual, the old man stood up without saying a word, picked up the wine bottle and left, but just as he left the table and turned around, he suddenly caught a glimpse of blue flowers from the corner of his eye.

The next moment, an old man paused and fell back to his original position. He picked up his chopsticks again and stared quietly at the empty dinner plate.

The morning market around was noisy and lively, but no one noticed this inconspicuous scene...
Chapter completed!