Zheng Qing was indifferent to Xiao Xiao's sorrowful musings about the spring.
Instead of listening to someone else's prattling, Zheng Qing focused more on the small bonfire in front of him. Watching the tangerine flames flickering in the fire, the young state-funded student heaved a satisfied sigh, waved his hand, and replied:
"As the saying goes, 'The edge of a sword comes from sharpening, and the fragrance of plum blossoms comes from the bitter cold.' To wear the crown, one must bear its weight."
Having just built a good fire, Zheng Qing was now full of confidence, making grand gestures as if he were directing a battle:
"The ancients even knew that when Heaven is about to place a great responsibility on a man, it first strains his mind, toils his muscles and bones, starves his body and skin, leaves his body exhausted, and disrupts his actions. How much more for us?"
Doctor Xiao glanced emptily at the spirited Zheng Qing.