Chapter 63 Myth of the Dragon Boat Emperor in the Water Palace
Chapter 63 Dragon Boat in the Water Palace, Myth of the Emperor
The blue waves are thousands of miles away, and the green mountains are covered with green. In the sunny day, the lakes and mountains in the south of the Yangtze River are slowly receding.
Murong Fu and others were traveling on a five-foot-long ship, which was roughly equivalent to a luxury cruise ship of this era, so they spent hundreds of taels of silver to rent it.
The cabin is very large, and except for the servants, everyone on the ship has his or her own room.
It had been two days, and Murong Fu was still recalling that night, Wang Yuyan's lingering green silk hair, as tender as water.
He sighed softly.
No wonder the old saying often says that Wenwen Township is the Tomb of Heroes. The real hero has to be defeated by the beautiful begonias sleeping in spring and the pear blossoms carrying the rain. What's more, I am a fake hero. According to this, my martial arts should belong to the path of the Tomb Sect.
number.
He smiled self-deprecatingly. He really had nothing to do with the word "ambition". If he insisted on relying on this aspect, he would be more like a mule, driven by a whip called fate, and had to move forward.
Before leaving, he specifically asked Deng Baichuan to pay attention to whether he could acquire assets such as mines near Suzhou.
Deng Baichuan was shocked.
Okay, let's go to the passes, cross Yanmen Pass, Niangzi Pass, Dashan Pass, various passes known as the keys to mountains and rivers, use their iron hooves to crush this so-called splendid and prosperous age, and the flowers and rivers.
I had forgotten that the Murong family's own ancestors also had the so-called Xianbei bloodline, the purest kind, which was six hundred years old. It was much more pure than Aunt Zhenghuangqi who was only three hundred years old.
Although a certain angry young man later realized that millet and rice were not the same thing, and he should also eat duck eggs.
The famous poem "Reminiscing about the Bianhe River" by Pi Rixiu, a poet of the Tang Dynasty, firmly cemented Yang Guang's label as an eternal tyrant: He died in this river in the Sui Dynasty, and he has been relying on Tongbo for thousands of miles. If there is no dragon boat incident in the Water Palace, we will be together.
Yu's theory of merit was not great.
According to the normal historical trajectory, all the singing and dancing will press the pause button on that afternoon more than thirty years later, and then start again on the shore of the West Lake until the end of this dynasty's life.
Today, this river has flowed for hundreds of years and is still the lifeline of the Song Dynasty. It is responsible for transporting grain to the heart of the empire, Bianliang, Tokyo.
But where are the books written in Xianbei script? Six hundred years later, where are the Xianbei people?
There is only a genealogy of the old Baba, a jade seal that has been carved out by dozens of generations, and the descendants of the Murong family can take it out late at night to look at it, smell it, and relive the short-lived glory of the past.
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But even if there is no Wanyan Aguda, there is still Wanyan Aguduo, there is no Wanyan Aguduo, there is still Wanyan Honglie, and all kinds of so-called barbarians outside the Great Wall have grown up. When the time is right, they will naturally mount their war horses and cross the Great Wall pass.
Oh, I almost forgot, because the Song Dynasty was so depressed, the Great Wall was not within the scope of the Song Dynasty.
It’s not that the Murong family can’t come up with this money, but because the Murong family has always been operating assets such as inns, teahouses, banks, and farms. In the words of later generations, the main business scope is the primary industry and the tertiary industry.
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This theory has been part of the Bible written in textbooks for many years. No one has questioned its correctness for many years. I don’t know if it has been changed now, or if the expert’s face is swollen.
According to the theories of some masters in the Song Dynasty, only the tertiary industry can maximize economic benefits. Only when the proportion of the tertiary industry is larger can a country prosper and the country become rich and the people strong. Even some obsessed masters proposed to give up.
In agriculture, all food is imported, and all people are invested in the tertiary industry.
Previously, Murong Fu read the poem "Compassion for the Farmers" by Li Shen, who pretended to sympathize with the peasants. The opening line: Sow a grain of millet in spring and harvest ten thousand grains in autumn. Murong Fu sneered again and again. Frankly speaking, the author had never farmed at first glance.
, one ear of rice can hold no more than 500 seeds. This is still the case in modern rice seeds, which have been optimized and bred. In ancient times, it would only be lower. Moreover, rice is not planted in spring and harvested in autumn, but planted in spring and harvested in summer.
Two seasons, if it can be like what the author wrote, then no farmer will starve to death.
However, after these six hundred years and dozens of generations, how much of the so-called Xianbei blood is left in the body?
The water surface where Murong Fu and others are now is the predecessor of the famous "Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal" in history. It is now called Bian River, a river that led to the demise of the Sui Dynasty in textbooks.
He even thought that he might as well be bolder and use Qinggong to sneak into the palace while that coward Zhao Ji was still a little kid, and kill him with one shot of the Six Meridians Divine Sword, which would be considered a blessing to all the people in the world.
The result was that for the poetry appreciation question, which the Chinese teacher called a scoring question, Murong Fu didn't get a single point.
If the old man didn't have some human fireworks, he wouldn't even want to plant the land.
Murong Fu thought that by not learning Chinese characters and only speaking and writing in Xianbei dialect, he would be able to retain a trace of his lost dream of his homeland.
In short, things like mining are thankless and wasted effort.
If the Wanli chariots and letters are confused, how can there be separate borders in Jiangnan?
He smiled bitterly and shook his head. At his level, if he really wanted to become an emperor, he would probably break the record of the shortest-lived dynasty in history, and even be inferior to Yang Guang of Water Palace Dragon Boat.
Due to years of neglect of dredging, the Bianhe River, which was once thousands of miles long, has become thinner than a jade belt, like a thin and withered old man, desperately supporting the livelihood of a large family and using all his strength to maintain the splendor of a home.
Raise millions of troops to the West Lake and immediately mount the first peak of Mount Wu!
What a warrior, full of murderous intent!
After he resumed his martial arts, Murong Fu, out of his simple national consciousness, really thought about spending some time to go to the White Mountain and Black Water in the Changbai Mountains, and kill Wanyan Aguda directly before he had grown up. This way there would be no future.
After the Yongjia Rebellion, the second Central Plains was shaken and the Shenzhou land was sinking.
When Murong Fu first saw this thin, well, let's call it a big river, he couldn't help but laugh. It was really hard to accept that the lifeline of the legendary Song Dynasty, which was rich and prosperous, was such a shallow river.
Even if he kills Zhao Ji, what will happen? If an artist dies under his own sword, countless carpenters, flower and bird craftsmen, and immortal cultivators will sit on that throne and use their various tricks to bring endless pain to their respective eras.
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Even if the person sitting on that throne is himself, can he guarantee that he will be an emperor who truly benefits the people? Let future generations thousands of years later know through the few words in the pile of old papers that he is also a good emperor who cares about all people.
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After all, I can be considered a good person at best, but good people often cannot be a good emperor.
This is the era, a thing that makes countless real heroes helpless and sigh with regret.
Not to mention the fake hero myself.
He felt a deep sense of powerlessness, which was stronger than when he faced Jiumozhi's flaming sword and Zheluoxing's Diamond Fist alone.
But his meditation was forced to be interrupted, because at this time, the big ship made a "bump" sound, hit something, and stopped.