This is a realistic book—maybe you are the protagonist, or maybe the protagonist is you.

This is a book about real life, telling of the bittersweet and sour, the hardships and joys of living.

This is an optimistic and open-minded book, chronicling the struggles of an ordinary grassroots citizen.

This is a positive and uplifting book, weaving together ideals, beliefs, and daily life.

The synopsis was revised several times but never felt satisfactory, until I finally realized—

What I am describing is life, and life cannot be summarized in a synopsis.

Volume One: Notorious Far and Wide

Chapter 01: A Twist of Fate, Narrowly Escaping a Beating

On a midsummer morning, Fengcheng, located at the foot of the Zhongtiao Mountains, appeared especially tranquil. In the thin morning mist, one could vaguely see rows upon rows of tall buildings both near and far. Although this emerging city, built on coal, somewhat lacks cultural depth, it still manages to rank among the famous cities of Shanxi thanks to its solid economic foundation.

Early in the morning, the bustling activity of the morning market by the Jinxiu Bridge in the suburbs of Fengcheng began once again. Tractors, tricycles, rickshaws, and wheelbarrows rumbled together, bringing in vegetables from vendors, fruit sellers, and local farmers. There were even farmers from nearby villages carrying baskets of produce on their shoulders or in their hands. Many of the vegetables in their baskets looked quite ordinary and not very appealing—clearly homegrown. Yet these were the favorites of those who exercised in the morning and strolled through the free market—truly green produce, rarely seen in the city markets, and the prices were not high.

Originally, there was no morning market by Jinxiu Bridge; it only sprang up two months ago. There were already seven or eight wholesale fruit and vegetable markets in the city, but many small retailers preferred to buy directly from farmers or long-distance traders rather than wholesale from the markets. Here, not only was the variety greater and the prices lower, but there were also fewer fees for business, city management, and taxes. Even the small bosses from the wholesale markets liked to come here to stock up.

As for the existence of this semi-open market, the departments of industry and commerce, taxation, and city management had indeed tried multiple times to crack down and shut it down. But the people never lack wisdom. Years of dealing with the authorities had given them rich experience, making them masters of guerrilla tactics. Every time the market was shut down, a new one would quickly spring up in the surrounding area and soon become lively again. Over time, the authorities were powerless against this free market, as resilient as a cockroach, and it truly became a free market in every sense.

Around six in the morning, the market was at its busiest. Besides the small vendors, many people out for morning exercise liked to pick up some fresh and affordable vegetables here. The entire market stretched for a full li (about half a kilometer) along the roadside, with vehicles coming and going and a cacophony of voices. Occasionally, the moo of a cow or the bray of a donkey could be heard—farmers from nearby villages had joined the morning market too, making it exceptionally lively.

Not far from the market was Fengcheng’s famous karaoke bar—Jinxiu Karaoke City. Early in the morning, a young man came out of the karaoke bar. As usual, he would jog a few kilometers around the city square at this time every day, but yesterday he and his friends had drunk until dawn before leaving the karaoke bar. Walking along the road toward the city, the young man swung his arms and kicked his legs as he walked, starting his usual warm-up routine.

……

“Look, look, is that an ‘Er Guizi’ coming?” Farmer A shouted as he looked up, suddenly noticing the young man approaching from a distance. He quickly asked those around him. In Fengcheng, police are generally called “Leizi,” while those from industry and commerce, taxation, and city management—who often deal with small vendors—are all lumped together as “Guizi” (invaders). Among them, city management officers are called “Er Guizi” (second invaders), meaning they’re even worse than the original “Guizi”!

“No way, this place has only been here two months—they can’t have found us yet!” said a radish seller.

“Coming to check this early? Are your eyes playing tricks on you? If they come, it’s always a whole truckload!” said a potato wholesaler while weighing his goods.

Farmer A wasn’t doubting his own eyes. He was a city-suburb all-rounder, often roaming the city streets and alleys, and had long since developed a sharp eye—he once went four months without being caught by city management. He stared intently through the morning mist at the leisurely young man on the road, then suddenly shouted, “Damn, it really is city management! You guys still don’t believe me!” He immediately started up his three-wheeled motorcycle, ready to make a run for it.

His shout startled everyone. Most people there had dealt with city management before—best to avoid them if possible, because if you ran into them, you were in for bad luck. They often confiscated both your cart and your vegetables. If you tried to get them back, the fines weren’t worth it; if you didn’t, you’d lose your livelihood. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the young man approaching. Some had already started packing up their stalls, getting ready to run at a moment’s notice!

……

The young man, who had just jogged to the edge of the market, was suddenly stunned. He realized that everyone in the market—buyers and sellers alike—was staring at him, even the animals pulling carts. An old-looking bull occasionally let out a demonstrative “moo!” In his memory, he had never been the center of so much attention.