Guo Tianzhu sat on the end of the bench, one foot pedaling on a tight grass rope to fix a long whetstone, and the blade of a sickle was turned over and rubbed back and forth on the stone. "Can't we grind it again tomorrow? It's just a waste of time." Shan Wenxiu, Guo Tianzhu's wife, who was washing the pots and pans on the stove, complained, carrying an oil lamp made of an ink bottle and hanging it on the wall closer to him.
