Ma Liu from Shangwang Village
by Liu Ailing
About This Novel
On a spring morning, Ma Liu carried a load of dung to the fields with a worn-out straw hat on his head. He has developed a habit over the years of never going to the ground empty-handed, so carrying manure with him is as natural to him as eating and sleeping. However, Ma Liu was getting old, and he could no longer carry a full load. The two buckets were still a little short of full. He slowly walked into the fields with a dissatisfied load of dung, feeling the spring in Shangwang Village. The ground is getting warmer, and the iron-gray dead grass that has been nesting on the roadside for the whole winter is glowing brightly like a person taking off a cotton coat. Leaves as big as copper coins bloom on the trees, like a girl putting on her new clothes for another year. A turtledove sat on a tung tree, cooing, and in the distance, the echo of its companion came from another tree. Sparrows and gray birds chatter, and magpies always pick the tallest tree on the top of the mountain, as if that tree is its watchtower.
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