Feng Liqing, an e-sports player from the Xuanwu Kingdom, relied on his talent to create many miracles.

In Feng Liqing's middle school, everyone knows that there is such a talented player in e-sports.

Countless esports players, they all want to make a difference in that esports game.

The e-sports players, they took their dreams and compared them with the e-sports players.

In fact, many e-sports players, they don't have to rely on their own hard work and struggle to get a relatively wealthy life like that Feng Liqing.

In the eyes of the e-sports tycoons of that Xuanwu country, many e-sports players, they only played e-sports to eat and live a good life, but they later achieved good results.

Wei Taiqiang, the e-sports tycoon of Xuanwu Kingdom, promoted Feng Liqing, the alley kid in Beihua City.

Of course, that Feng Liqing, his e-sports friends are generally not as enthusiastic as the e-sports players in other countries. Watery: The usual forehair and rose perfumes added to the garden fountain during the festival, as well as more complex, priceless scents mixed with neroli, tuberose, longevity, jasmine or cinnamon oils, which come from behind a magnificent carriage like a heavy band every evening. He wrote down the scents with curiosity, but not particularly appreciation, as if they were ordinary scents. While he noted that perfumes were intended to be intoxicating and appealing, and he recognized that the individual fragrances that make up the fragrance were of good quality, he considered them as a whole to be crude and adulterated, not synthetic. He knew that as long as he had the same basic ingredients, he could make a completely different scent.

Many of the basic ingredients he had seen in the stalls selling flowers and spices in the market; The other basic ingredients were new to him, and he filtered them out of the mixed scent one, and kept them in his memory without knowing their names. They are ambergris, waste cat, patchouli, sandalwood, bergamot, vetiver, catarrh, benzoin, khubu flower, beaver incense.

He didn't make a choice. He makes no distinction between what is usually called good or bad; Not yet. He's greedy. His purpose in hunting is to take all the scents that the world has to offer, and his only criterion is that they should be new. The smell of a sweaty horse is as valuable as the tender green scent of a budding rosebud, and the pungent smell of a bed bug is no less than the smell of roast calves stuffed with fat strips coming from the old man's kitchen. All the smells, he devoured and inhaled into his stomach. In his fantasy scent synthesis kitchen! New scents are often compounded here – not yet an aesthetic criterion. They are all strange smells, and he creates them and destroys them very quickly, like a child playing with blocks, both inventive and destructive, with no obvious creative criteria.

Tutu Bridge stands silently on the right bank of the river, in the shadow of the "Plant Pavilion" opposite Wangjia Bridge. He didn't applaud with his hands, he never looked there when the rocket was in the air. He came here because he thought he could smell something new, but it turned out that the fireworks did not provide any valuable smell. There erupted with crackling sounds and everything that radiated a glittering light, leaving at best a monotonous smell of sulfur, oil, and saltpeter.

He was about to leave this boring festivities and walk home along the Louvre galleries, when a gust of wind blew something at him, a tiny thing, a little imperceptible, a little crumb, a scent atom, no, less: a premonition of a scent, not a real scent—but a reliable premonition of a scent that had never been smelled. He retreated to the wall, closed his eyes, and puffed out his nostrils. The scent was so delicate that he could not control it firmly, and it repeatedly broke free of his sense of smell, obscured by the gunpowder smoke of firecrackers, blocked by the smell emanating from the crowd, and destroyed by a thousand other scents of the city. But then, in an instant, it came again, and there was only a faint hint of a wonderful smell, and it appeared for a short second...... The land was gone again. Tu Tu Bridge is very painful. This not only made his greedy character suffer an insult for the first time, but also made his heart ache. He had a peculiar hunch: this scent was a key to the mystery of all other scents; If you don't know about this fragrance, you don't know anything about all fragrances; If he does not succeed in possessing this fragrance, then he, Tu Qiao, will live in vain in this life. He must possess it, not simply for the sake of possession, but to calm his heart.

He was agitated and in a bad mood. He hadn't figured out where the scent came from. Sometimes, there were intervals of minutes before a little bit of fragrance came back to him. Each time, fear came over him, and he was afraid of losing the fragrance forever. In the end, he was finally saved in despair: the scent came from the other side of the river, somewhere in the southeast.

He left the walls of the "Botanical Pavilion" and squeezed into the crowd to carve a way for himself to cross the bridge. Every few steps he stopped, stepped on his tiptoes, and sniffed over people's heads, at first with excitement and at first he smelled nothing, and at last he smelled something, and smelled the scent, which was even stronger than before. With a clear goal, he disappeared into the crowd and continued to push through the crowd of people watching and setting off fireworks, and the people who set off the fireworks lit the fuse of the rocket with torches at all times. Tutu Bridge lost its fragrance in the acrid smoke of gunpowder, and he panicked, and continued to ram, continuing to drive, and after an unknown number of minutes, he reached the opposite bank, at the intersection of the Mai House, the Maracay Pier, and the Avenue de Seine.

Here he stopped, focused, sniffed. He smelled it, and he held it firmly. The smell is like a strip dragged down the Avenue de Seine, very clear, but still very tender and very fine. Tu Tuqiao felt his heart beating, he knew that his. It was not because I was tired of running, but because I was powerless in the face of the smell. He tried to recall certain scents that could be compared, but had to discard all comparisons. The smell was fresh, but not sweet lemon or sour, not from myrrh, cinnamon leaves, wrinkled mint, plant, camphor or pine needles, not rain, cold winds, or spring water..., and the smell was heaty; But unlike bergamot, cypress, or house, not like jasmine and daffodils, not like rosewood, not like butterfly flowers..., this smell is made up of a mixture of two, volatile and heavy, no, not a mixture, but a unity, little and weak, but strong and firm, like a glittering piece of silk... The smoke was not like silk, but milk as sweet as honey, and the milk melted the biscuits—but in any case, milk and silk, how could they be connected! The smell is incomprehensible, indescribable, unclassifiable, and may not exist at all. But it's all there. Tu Tuqiao followed it with a trembling heart, for he had a hunch that it was not he who was following the scent, but that it had captured him and was now mopping the floor vigorously beside him.

He walked up the Avenue de Seine. There was no one on the street. The house stood empty and silent. The people here went down to the river to watch the fireworks. There are no unpleasant smells and pungent gunpowder smell to interfere here. The streets emit the usual smell of water, feces, rats and rotten vegetables. But floating above it was the soft, clear strap of the finely painted earth bridge. Within a few steps, the sparse glow of the sky was swallowed up by the towering houses, and Tutu Bridge continued to walk in the darkness. He doesn't need to look at anything. The smell led him without fail.

After fifty metres, Tutu Bridge turned right into Rue de Marre, an alley that was perhaps darker, barely wide enough for an arm. Surprisingly, the smell is not necessarily much stronger, but it has become purer and more attractive as it becomes purer. Tu Tu Qiao body involuntarily walked、In one place, this smell suddenly bowed him! To the right, seemingly leading him into the middle of the walls of a house, a low hallway appears that leads to the backyard. Tutu Bridge travels through this corridor at night, through this backyard, turning a corner to reach a second, smaller backyard. Here there was finally a light: the field was only a few steps away, and like all genius eccentrics, through an external event that put a formal everyday habit in the spiral chaos of their souls, Tu Tu Qiao no longer left the direction of his own destiny that he thought he had recognized. He now understands why he lived so tenaciously and hard. He had to be an aroma creator. Not just a random maker, but the greatest perfume maker of all times.

That night, he was awake at first, and then in a dream, inspecting the ruins of the vast desert of his memories. He examined millions or tens of millions of small building blocks of odor medicine and systematically sorted them out: the good ones are good, the bad ones are bad, the fine ones are fine, the coarse ones are coarse, the smelly ones are smelly, and the fragrant ones are fragrant. After a few weeks, the classification became more and more detailed, the catalog of smells became richer, the distinctions became more and more detailed, and the grades became clearer. , six on the left bank and one right in the middle, that is, on the trading bridge that connects the right bank with Île-de-France. Four floors of buildings were built on both sides of the bridge, one next to the other, so that people could not see the river from anywhere when they crossed the bridge, and thought they were on a very beautiful street with a perfectly normal foundation. In fact, the Pont du Trade is one of the best trading places in Paris, with prestigious shops and goldsmiths, joiners, the finest wig-makers and bagmakers, the finest producers of women's underwear and socks, shoe stickers, riding boot merchants, epaulette-embroiderers, gold-minted buttons and bankers. The shop and house of Gisseppe Bardini, a perfume maker and glove producer, is also located here. Above his window was an ornate shrine painted green, and next to it hung Bardini's solid gold insignia, a gold vase with a bouquet of gold flowers in the vase, and a red carpet in front of the door, also bearing Bardini's emblem, a golden embroidery. As soon as it was opened, the Persian bell sounded, and two silver mandarin ducks began to spit violet perfume from their mouths into a gold-plated bowl in the shape of a bottle with the Bardini emblem.

Behind the tent room made of shiny boxwood stood Bardini himself, an old man, standing like a pillar. He wears a silver wig on his head and a blue tunic trimmed with gold trim. He sprayed himself with Frangipani perfume every morning, when the mist of perfume swirled around him, as if it had placed his body in a distant smoke. He stood motionless, looking as tight as his own. It was only when the bell rang and the mandarin duck spat out perfume—both of which did not happen often—that life suddenly came upon him, and his body shrunk together, became small, and became active, and bowed incessantly, and came out from behind the tent room with such speed that the mist of Frangipani's perfume did not have time to keep up with him. He invited the customer to sit down and brought the most exquisite fragrances and cosmetics to the customer to choose from.

Bardini has thousands of fragrances and cosmetics. His products range from fine fragrances, essential oils, dispensings, leather extracts, secretions, balms, rosins and other solid, liquid and waxy cosmetics and medicines – from a wide range of pomades, ointments, powders, soaps, emollients, sachets, hair waxes, beard oils, flesh wart potions and beauty ointments to shower gels, detergents, perfumes, toilet vinegars and many more pure perfumes. But Bardini wasn't resting on his laurels with these top-notch beauty products. His ambition was to bring together in his shop something that had a certain scent or that served scent in some way. So in addition to the smoking pills, ingots and smoking tools, there are all the spices from the orient to the cinnamon, as well as the syrup, liqueurs, fruit juices, wines from Cyprus, Malaga and Corinthos, honey, coffee, tea, dried fruits, preserves, figs, candies, chocolates, chestnuts, and even gelatinous cauliflower sprouts, cucumbers and onions, as well as salted tuna. Then there are fragrant lacquers, perfume letterheads, inks scented with rose oil, Spanish leather briefcases, white sandalwood dipping pen holders, incense-like wooden lockets and cabinets, a variety of knick-knacks and bowls with flower petals, brass incense burners, glass bottles for perfumes, crystal bowls with stoppers for flowing pats, incense gloves, incense handkerchiefs, pins with nutmeg flowers, and a cloth that can make a room smell for more than a hundred years.

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