The summer I was twelve was unbearably hot, and cicadas shrilled nonstop in the trees. As usual, Chen Mo walked home from school along the path outside the village. Lush rice paddies stretched along both sides of the path, their waves rippling gently in the breeze. As he walked, Chen Mo heard a faint cry for help not far ahead. Startled, he ran toward the sound and saw an old man who had fallen into a ditch by the roadside. The old man wore shabby clothes, his hair was gray and disheveled, and his face was twisted with pain. The water in the ditch wasn't deep, but the old man seemed to have sprained his ankle and couldn't climb out on his own
