I started on a deserted island and encountered Ying Zheng, who insisted I was an immortal.

Meng Yi didn't sleep all night.

He held the linen paper with the IOU written on it in his arms, as if it were a red-hot iron, burning his heart with anxiety.

The moonlight shone brightly outside the cave, and by its glow, he carefully laid the paper on a flat stone.

The writing above is half Zhang Ying's crookedly written debt note, and the other half is the two ancient seal characters signed by Ying Zheng.

He gently stroked the texture of the paper with his fingers; its rough yet resilient feel made him tremble with excitement.

He found a burnt willow branch, dipped it in the dew on the ground, and tremblingly wrote ten characters on the blank space of the paper.

"The bright moon rises over the sea; we share this moment though we are far apart."

After finishing writing, he examined the line of text and felt that every word exuded an unprecedented vastness and magnificence.

He then remembered the last sentence.

May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, even though we are thousands of miles apart.

Meng Yi kept repeating it, and the more he recited it, the more profound the meaning became, even discerning a hint of the Taoist philosophy of tranquility and non-action.

He was certain that this was not a complete poem.

The entire work of a master who can write such sentences must be truly astonishing.

As dawn broke, Meng Yi, who had been pondering all night, had his mind filled with those two lines of poetry, and his eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion.

……

Zhang Ying was awakened by three burning gazes.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw Ying Zheng, Meng Yi, and Wang Ben standing neatly in front of his bed, all three faces wearing a kind of almost fawning smile that he couldn't understand.

Holy crap!

Zhang Ying was startled, her body reacting faster than her brain. The vigilance she had maintained on the deserted island for many years made her instinctively throw a punch.

The punch hit its mark.

"Aww!"

Wang Ben covered his right eye and squatted down in pain.

Zhang Ying shook her hand, sat up in bed, still a little confused: "What are you doing? Playing ghost and scaring people so early in the morning?"

Ying Zheng and Meng Yi quickly took a step back, their smiles freezing for a moment.

"The master is awake." Ying Zheng spoke, his gentle tone giving Zhang Ying goosebumps.

"Did you sleep well last night, sir?" Meng Yi asked, his attitude unusually respectful.

Wang Ben stood up from the ground, his right eye swollen with a dark bruise, looking just like a panda.

He looked at Zhang Ying, opened his mouth as if to get angry, but when faced with the warning from Ying Zheng, he forced himself to swallow his anger.

"I...I didn't eat breakfast, I didn't have the energy to hide," Wang Ben mumbled, making up an excuse for himself.

Zhang Ying ignored them; these drama queens' acting skills were getting more and more exaggerated.

He yawned as he walked out of the cabin and began preparing breakfast.

Breakfast was simple: a big pot of white porridge, a plate of stir-fried chives, and a few salted fish.

The island lacked everything except lard and mutton fat, and the aroma of stir-fried dishes quickly wafted out.

As Ying Zheng and the other two smelled the aroma, their stomachs began to rumble uncontrollably.

Zhang Ying set out the wooden bowl and chopsticks, glanced at the three people who had gathered around, and frowned.

"stop."

He pointed at the three of them with a look of disgust: "You lot, haven't you washed up since yesterday? Your hair is a mess like a bird's nest, and you smell terrible. Go and clean yourselves up before you come to eat."

"Especially you," Zhang Ying pointed at Wang Ben, "what kind of appearance do you have with those panda eyes?"

Wang Ben's face turned a deep liver color.

"Where should we clean it up?" Meng Yi asked.

"Over there," Zhang Ying gestured towards the sea, "I've prepared mouthwash for you."

The three looked in the direction he pointed and saw three wooden cups on a large rock, with a few green leaves soaking in them, emitting a refreshing scent.

There were also a few whittled, soft twigs and a small amount of white powder next to it.

"Mint leaf water is for rinsing your mouth. That's a twig; dip it in salt and use it to brush your teeth," Zhang Ying explained impatiently. This was a simple cleaning method he had come up with himself.

Ying Zheng and the other two looked at each other, but still went over.

Wang Ben picked up a twig, and Meng Yi picked up a glass of mint water; both found it novel.

Ying Zheng picked up the pinch of white powder, dipped a little with his fingertip, and put it in his mouth.

His movements stopped.

The saltiness melted on the tip of the tongue, delicate and pure, without the slightest bitterness.

This was not the coarse salt they usually saw, mixed with sand and stones, and dark in color.

This is fine salt.

It is the kind of refined salt that requires a complicated process, taking hundreds of pounds of coarse salt to refine into one pound, and can only be found in the Xianyang Palace.

Its value is comparable to that of gold.

Seeing that Ying Zheng did not move, Wang Ben curiously dipped a twig in some salt and put it in his mouth. He froze.

"Salt!" He exclaimed, one eye red-rimmed, the other wide-eyed as a saucer. "This is salt? How could this possibly be salt?!"

Its texture, as fine as white sand, and its pure, unadulterated saltiness, were even better than the imperial tribute salt he had ever tasted.

"What's all the fuss about?" Zhang Ying replied without looking up as she ladled porridge from the pot.

"This island has nothing but salt."

"Sir!" Meng Yi also realized what was happening, his voice trembling, "Where did you obtain such refined salt, sir?"

"It's from the seawater, where else could it come from?" Zhang Ying replied casually. "Just take the seawater to the salt pans, dry it in the sun, and then filter it a few times with charcoal. It's a bit of a hassle, but there's plenty."

He gestured with his chin to a large earthenware jar in the corner of the cabin.

"Look, there are plenty in those jars over there. If it's not enough, just take some yourself."

Meng Yi rushed over and peered into the tank.

A whole jar full of this snow-white, fine salt.

It must weigh at least several hundred kilograms.

Meng Yi's legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, muttering to himself, "Heavens... this... this..."

"Clang!"

The branch in Wang Ben's hand fell to the ground. He even forgot to spit out the mint water in his mouth and swallowed it with a gulp.

"Salt!"

Wang Ben let out a roar that sounded inhuman. He rushed to the large earthenware jar and plunged his hands into it.

The snow-white, delicate powder flowed through his fingers, its texture smoother than the finest silk.

He scooped up a large handful, as if holding a rare treasure, and stuffed it into his mouth without even looking at it.

"Pfft—cough! Cough cough cough!"

The intense saltiness instantly ignited his taste buds, and Wang Ben was choked so badly that his face turned red, and tears and snot streamed down his face.

But instead of spitting it out, he forced it down and then grabbed a handful, like a hungry ghost that hadn't eaten for eight hundred years.

"Good salt! Even better than the tribute salt from the palace!!" he shouted indistinctly, his dark circles under his eyes making his crazy behavior look extremely comical.

Zhang Ying couldn't stand it anymore, so she went over and slapped the salt out of his hand.

"Are you crazy? Do you want to dehydrate and turn into dried salted fish?"

"Eating like that will kill you, don't you understand science?"