Although Nanyi County is small, it can pass through Bashu in the west and hold the throat of Sichuan and Hubei provinces, which should not be underestimated.

Looking at history vertically, whether the county seat of Nanyi was built on a high mountain, or in a canyon, or beside a river, without exception, the city was broken and destroyed, the official office was razed to the ground, and the county seat was forced to move to another place.

The reason is very simple, the whole society is chaotic and dilapidated, how can the county be safe? The building has collapsed, and it is difficult to hold on alone.

In his spare time, Nong Tianyi often goes to the mountains near the county seat, visits historic sites, and discovers hidden places.

There is a family not far from the county seat, and an ancient willow tree falls next to the earthen house between the mountain beams. The mountain breeze carries the moisture of the river, moistening the tea trees of the two mountains into a strange and luxuriant, and the wild flowers all over the mountain are fragrant and fragrant.

The mountain road is backed by mountains and waters, like a river meandering, and occasionally, one or two households, the wood door is hidden, the dog lies in the rice field, wagging its tail idly, and a few chickens leisurely walk in the jungle. In front of the house and behind the house, the tea trees are unusually green.

The city, the willows on the wall, the falling red, the swiftlets flying in the distance. By the moat, a severed arm wall was silently sad, meandering away with the quiet river. Birds gathered, and the sound of the city gradually subsided.

Here, it is the site of an ancient battlefield. It was as if the bloody history had not yet gone far, and at this time it was struggling between the crevices of the masonry, dark and damp soul. The golden hook of the scorching sun tried to salvage the scarred particles and sink the torn scarlet into the west together. Is Elysium there?

Those dead branches, golden leaves, chirping in the evening breeze, don't you want to end there? is also like the yellow robe of the court official, shining with golden light, sniffing out the wind from the lost war games.

It was once a strategically important ancient city. Faintly saw the archers standing in the dark in the corner of the city wall, and shot down a heartfelt ...... The birds gathered and combed their tiredness in the twilight, and the dark night that gradually pressed down turned their wings black.

When the ancient city wall is barren and lonely, it is like an oil painting dye that grows, altering the spring and autumn on the bluestone, and the bold and freehand story will be talked and laughed and scattered into the castle, and a trace of cold killing will arise spontaneously.

Some people and things are lost inside and outside the city walls, or they may strayed under the long path of dark-colored polished stone slabs, and some of the trampling sounds may be washed into the labyrinthine cellars by the rain, refrigerated or fermented......

As you can imagine, the carriage has come and gone. The roar of chariots, the cold light and chill of swords, forced or strangled the former dynasty.

The beauties laughed and frolicked in the courtyard, and a touch of blush and a roll of fragrance stained through the robes and the wanton savagery, as well as the inhumane hunting.

The grass and trees are deep, and the moat drowns out passion and resentment, sorrow and hatred. The soldiers who broke into the city, hugged the beauties and resentful women, drank and had fun, and the palace song flowed with the moonlight to the misty grass outside the city.

Nong Tianyi seemed to hear the sound of killing and shivered in the cold wind, the sword was still sharp, the artillery fire was still thick, but the scepter changed hands. And the city wall is stronger than power, lying on the vicissitudes of the earth, suffering again and again, and escaping robbery again and again, maintaining its majestic posture.

The towering lookout is like a lonely old man, alone tasting the depression of the last winter. The process of bullet hole crossing is actually a bit of bloody ink on the textbook.

The flags are unfurled in the wind, like a picture scroll turned over, and the trajectory of the swim can only be recognized at the moment when time pauses.

In the face of such a tragic situation, Nong Tian thought for a thousand years: some generals and soldiers were turned to white bones and turned to ashes, and they were at the base of the city wall at their feet, groaning in pain in the soil...... Some dust floated in the air, in the scrolls of history, like spreading cicada wings, hula chasing something.

Suddenly, a flock of birds broke into Nong Tianyi's field of vision, just in time to turn the title page of the singing night.

The fallen bricks and stones are more like ghosts of the dead and alive, crawling in the untended wilderness. It seems to be waiting for something, and it is extremely stubborn and chaotic, as if it has no intention of confusing people's field of vision......

A heavy snowfall froze and regained the ruins.

When it returns, or when it leaves, it is still alive, turning over the remaining manuscripts in the annals of history, as if it is torturing the truth, and those souls that have moved have long been gone.

Nong Tian regarded them as "cold ruins" - a burning flame in the depths of the years, scorching this indifferent world.

The ancient battlefield still exists, and the ancient city still exists! It is conceivable that an arc of light crossed the sky, as if lightning tore through the chaotic and dazed heaven. Sinking, or disintegrating, like the indescribable pain of internal division.

It doesn't take much to look through the carvings and paintings to make out the true appearance of the carved beams and paintings, the solid foundations have been quietly loosened, the riveted iron nails on the wooden pillars have split into multiple layers of rust, and the spots are like a reddish-brown hoarse roar......

Under the feet of Nong Tianyi and his guide, there were scattered bricks and stone tiles, and multiple sounds rushed out of the ground: pain, collapse, groaning, and bloody heads squeezing between the cracks in the broken stones and in the soil.

The weeds are menacing, there are lost manuscripts full of blurs, and a stubble of green faith is opening up the master's unfinished thoughts through the sun.

After a night of wind and snow, there seemed to be a cold weapon flying arrow, abandoning the city and walking out of the ghostly spirit. Those bayonets and guns were buried deep in the sea of snow, and the biting cold current rolled through the battlefield of fighting, and the swollen maple leaves burned like red blood stains on the desolate field.

The wild plum swallows the lonely tongue of fire, the shrubs are like snow washing with swords and swords, the green space in the distance, the umbrellas hang with snow, like a white camping tent, a little silent, a little dangerous.

The turtle looked down at the high hill and stepped on the abyss. The cedars are clear, the needles are hung with camel bells of the wind and snow, and the screams are engraved on the ruins. The brittle texture, the hardship of the deep lock of the nicks, the section and the witheredness, there seems to be a swimming shadow in the snow mirror that glides past Nong Tianyi's eyes:

The scholar stepped on the snow and came, full of fragrance, and first met "Chengmen Lixue, like a spring breeze". Mangosteen volleys away, the sound of the piano in the bamboo is full, the silk strings roll up thousands of piles of snow, and the realm is as elegant as the state of heaven.

The courtyard cultivates bamboo, the sun is happy, the sound of books is loud, the green forest is sparse, the window flowers are warm to know the thousand-year-old scriptures, and there must be snow-white rice paper crawling full of life and vivid pink.

At this time, the guide peeled open the snow-covered grass and shrubs, and a piece of buried broken walls, scattered green bricks, and warm details of the branches were revealed in front of him. The mossy moss of the sealed history is still abundant on the slippery surface, the hanging of the trees frozen in the ice often laps the wreckage, and the cold birdsong or two makes the surroundings even more poignant.

The terrain was high and low, the steepness of the twists and turns, and in the difficult march, they occasionally encountered a piece or two of white bones. Xue Guang was in pain, squeezing the waves of tears in his eyes.

Walking through the abandoned hellish realm, at this moment, there seems to be some kind of storm, rustling in Nong Tianyi's heart, some kind of hatred, or some kind of love, has it never parted ways with this snowflake from heaven?

The local guide told Nong Tianyi: Hundreds of years ago, in Nanxiang Village, just outside the city wall, there was a young man named Bailong, who made a living by growing tea and hunting. Because of his white skin, the villagers called him "Little White Dragon".

One day, Bailong went up the mountain to pick tea, and when he returned home at noon, he caught a muntjac on the road. When I got home, I forgot to make tea because I was busy slaughtering muntjac, and I didn't find the tea leaves that had been left on hold overnight until the next morning.

The next day, when Bailong saw it, he hurriedly started to stir-fry, but he didn't expect that after brewing the tea leaves that seemed to have withered, they turned out to be unusually sweet. He pondered carefully and finally realized the mystery: it turned out that the tea leaves were in the basket, after running all the way and bumping, just like "shaking green", and then put it overnight, but it was like "spreading green", so the final tea will have such a special aroma.

Unexpectedly, this white dragon tea was also accidentally born because of the "little white dragon".