Registros Imortais dos Mortais
[Estilo do Mortal] [Sem Sistema] [Cultivo Tradicional] Um humilde vendedor de carvão, guiado por um mestre secreto. Entra no vasto caminho do cultivo imortal, supera miríades de tribulações e busca a
New Year's Eve.
Zhao Fusheng, carrying a basket full of charcoal, went door to door along the street, knocking on each entrance.
In a youthful voice, he called out, “Would you like to buy some charcoal?”
In past years at this time, with families gathering for reunion, plenty of charcoal was burned and sales were good.
Some kind-hearted folks, moved by pity or seeking good fortune, would buy extra to keep.
But this year was different.
The war raging outside was fierce, and the price of a pound of rice had surged by nearly a hundred wen.
Now, every household was barely able to keep their pot boiling...
No one was willing to buy the freshly burned charcoal.
His stomach grumbled in protest; he hadn’t eaten much for two days.
More pressing was the matter of his grandfather, who was still in the dilapidated temple.
His grandfather was suffering from a heat illness, his head burning fiercely, tormented for two days, his starving gaze growing more desperate.
“Please buy some charcoal!”
“One wen per pound.”
Every household showed warm light inside, but no one opened their door or even responded.
He came to a main hall; through a crack in the door came the faint warmth of air inside.
Laughter and the scent of steaming food floated out.
This drew Zhao Fusheng to linger outside the door.
He knocked as usual, but this time his call was different.
“Uncle Wu, Auntie.”
“Do you need firewood?”
Creak!
The door opened, and Uncle Wu glanced around.
“