When I read my father's notes years later, I found that he had mixed feelings when he arrived in the South. The melancholy mountains of the south, the bare mountain beams, and the rich aroma of the dusty orange leaves under the sun all made my father feel strange and even repulsed. The affection was as deep as the attachment he had for it when he left it years later.

The dry and cold wind howled day and night outside the mountain pass, and someone told my father,

"There used to be more than 20,000 farmers standing in this place, who watched thousands of their companions gouge out their eyes. That devil is your first king. "The man who said this was a mountain guide on a mule, who was given 20 dinars and was in charge of taking his father to the east gate of Viruga, where he would get the remaining 10 dinars.

Swadia has always claimed that the war many years ago was a local war, after all, the scale of the war was not large, in some Swadia textbooks, even this battle is simply called the "tax battle", but for Rhodok, it is a national battle. Whenever there was a conflict within Rhodok, the authorities would attribute all the contradictions to the Svadians, which was effective and cost-free, requiring only a few propaganda teams to go back and forth every year to stage a few sentimental stories to the shepherds and farmers in the mountains. But the elite of the Rhodoks knew that they were in the same blood as the Swadians, and shared weal and woe. This will not change at least until the death of the first generation after the war. Bringing us closer together is of great benefit to both technical exchanges and trade facilitation.

The Swadias only reluctantly recognized Rhodok as a state until a few years ago. Because at this time, the profits from trade with Rhodok had compensated for the loss of tax revenues that year, which weakened the internal contradictions in Swadia and ******** the militants within Swadia. When the fanatical militants had no market, a wider exchange began. Every year, caravans laden with velvets, winches, tweeds and glassware leave the mountains and into the plains. The return of this trade is easy to remind the people of Uxhall of the armies of the former king, whose soldiers crossed the Blue Water River all the way south into the mountains, and now the southerners have rewarded them with caravans laden with dinars.

The old Swadia aristocracy always ridiculed Rhodok as a "small widow", but over the years, the small widow has turned its citizens into the most creative and productive people on the continent of Calradia. A Swadia scholar visited the south where he once lived, a few years after the lifting of the ban on the Sichuan-Romanian border, where he found that the south had changed, and he wrote a letter to the country, half amazed and half worried, in which he said: "In the south there are almost no serfs anymore, and these people have been freed by the enlightened government. A few years ago, we ridiculed Rhodok for abolishing the old legal concept of 'leaving farmers in the farmland', we thought that this would definitely lead to a decline in grain production, but in fact, a farmer running 4 acres of farmland is no worse than when he was running 2 acres of farmland, we underestimated the potential of farmers--- for many years, Rhodok has even been able to export grain to the north every year, which means that Rhodok has achieved an increase in grain production while the number of farmers has decreased. Not only that, but the liberal land policy of the Rhodok led to an influx of his people into the towns, who were absorbed into the factories and workshops of the Rhodocs as artisans. During my time in Rhodoc, I often saw that the Rhodoc people did not care about the all-night, flame-burning factories, and they were used to this kind of sight. And I've found that the Rhodoks care a lot about one concept: division of labor. When I carefully studied their division of labor, it suddenly became clear that this kind of activity was actually the guarantee of Rhodok's rise in national power. I visited a workshop where chains were made, and in Swadia it was often a master and his apprentice who did all the work, but there the job was assigned to a full ten people: one person to take care of the bellows to keep the furnace warm, one person to stretch the red-hot iron, and so on. I have carefully looked at their production records, a Rhodoc chain maker can produce more than 120 chains a day on average, I think you should remember that a few years ago Suo's craftsman award was awarded to a craftsman who can produce 110 chains a day, we call him a 'good producer', but in Rhodoc, this efficiency is only an entry standard for ordinary skilled workers. My fear is that I'm afraid this is just a microcosm, and that we may be far behind the Rhodocs in many ways. They had no magic, no treasure, just more rights to their citizens and a refinement of their division of labor, but it seems that these two things unleashed the potential of the Rhodoks like a volcanic eruption. We must be vigilant... Otherwise, one day, we will pay the price..."

When my father rode through the mountain passes in the mountains, he would not have known that when my grandfather walked into the valley of the white dove, he actually had the same mentality as him. It's just that at that time, my grandfather already had a wealth of life experience, and in addition to being unfamiliar, I felt more comfortable with what happened. My father was more worried, worried about his fate.

At that time, my father looked at the light gray clouds on the side of the mountain, listened to the trembling bleating of goats echoing among the mountains, and watched the unharvested grapes rot in bunches on the vines. What happened in Suno was like a bizarre dream. He remembered the hearty smile of a robber leader and the gloomy death of a steppe girl; He remembered his grandfather's embarrassment and his uncle's angry slap; He remembered Jill's accusatory gaze and Wright's utterance of 'in the Lower Spencer'.

Those words made my father drowsy on his horse, and at that time, the sun was shining down from the mountain beams, and the sweaty guide pointed to the surrounding mountain beams to introduce his father, and to his father's affection, the guide's accent was very similar to that of his grandfather, the kind of southerner that seemed to be rapid. Moreover, this guide, like his grandfather, had green eyes. In the south, there are more and more people with green eyes, and it is said that when the Swadiya people entered the mountains hundreds of years ago, the people here were all green-eyed.

My father was thinking about going to the south, and according to the current schedule, it was impossible for him to report normally at the university. The previous accident delayed my father. Before going to Djerkhala, my father had to go to Viruga to visit one of my grandfather's comrades. When my father was a child, I had heard my grandfather talk about this Rhodok, and my father had fought with this Rhodok on the southwestern front to resist the attack of the Salanders. Grandfather wrote to General Roddock, whose name was Garcia yu-Liran Gaslo, asking him to take care of my father during his time in Roddock, to which General Garcia wrote shortly after: "Of course, my brother. Your son is my son. ”

The general, who had served in the Southwestern Frontier as a young man, threw himself into an even more ruthless political struggle after sacrificing his life to fight the Salanders for several years. He has a one-eyed dragon brother, this man is completely blind, he repeatedly told his younger brother: "Fight your enemies like Swadiaans", in Rhodok's many power rotations, General Garcia has always been on the side of the victor, he used his iron wrist to knock down his opponents like dead leaves. This made him almost no friends, therefore, he has always cherished his friends and brothers when he was a teenager, and it is not easy for a person like him who plays with power to have such a person who has experienced the most passionate youth with him, and can understand each other in middle age.

My father and my guide were resting on the edge of a small stream, which the guide said was cold and cold from the deepest part of the mountain. The meat of the sheep that drank this water was tender and juicy; Crops watered with this water grow slowly, but the fruit is full and firm. Trees fed with this water often produce some of the most delicious pomegranates, citrus and chestnuts in the mountains. The guide told my father that this land belonged to a bachelor decades ago, and that after the death of the master, his stupid squire tried to coerce everyone into going to the army of the Northern King, and the guide laughed: "At that time, he wanted to take our people to your emperor."

Father's face changed, and he was a little embarrassed: "Is this place called Pei Gangde?"

"yes, I'm a native of here. I was only a little older than you at the time, and we listened to the squire's nonsense in the night, haha, and I ended up beating him with a stick. And then the next morning we threw him in prison. Maybe he's rotted there a long time ago. ”

"Uhh ”

"Lord? How can it be?! If that fool becomes a lord, I'll kiss my mule on the mouth, and before kissing it I'll feed it and make it burp," the guide laughed at his own words.

"Yes", the father said, "You will kiss it." ”

Wright led the horse to find water to drink, and when he came back Wright had filled his four skins with cold spring water, and Wright said, "The water here is so cold." ”

This sentence suddenly reminded my father of what the village chief that his grandfather had told him had said: "Are you crazy? Haven't you tasted how sweet the water is? Don't you see how strong the wheat here is? Don't you know that my lamb is about to give birth? ”

At that moment, my father suddenly missed the valley of the white pigeon, and the attachment to his hometown was the common nature of human beings, and at that moment, the wheat fragrance in the valley, the cherry pie made by the Nord woman, and the wooden sword that Jill made for him all poured into his memory at once. It made him a little difficult to hold himself.

Wright wrung out the towel and handed it to his father to wipe his face: "What's wrong?" ”

"It's fine. Some of them are homesick. ”

Soon the father put the saddle back on the horse, put on his hood, and stepped on the stirrup. The wind on the side of the mountain brought a low and muffled thunder in the distance, and the sun rain that is common in the mountains was coming. The guide told them that they had to get to the town before evening or they would get drenched in the rain.

When I read my father's notes many years later, I found that my father's mood was actually like the sun and rain many years ago.

The sound of his father's clattering horses' hooves shattered Lin Jing in the valley, and he ran all the way to Veruga.