When Chen Mo squatted on the grassy slope, holding half of the plow head in his hand, no one believed that this "waste" who couldn't even grow sweet potatoes could really make waves. But the fire in his eyes was brighter than dusk.
The first days were like a dry, hard tortilla, hard to swallow. The land was barren, funds were scarce, and technology was lacking. The villagers laughed at him as "a fool who dreams of eating meat." Zhao Dahu set up traps to suppress him again and again, as if he wanted to strangle this emerging hope in the mud. But Chen Mo didn't believe in fate, so he gritted his teeth to open up wasteland, checked information by kerosene lamp at night, and followed the old farmer to prepare the land during the day. Li Tiezhu stayed up late with him to mix the seeds, while Wang Xiulan carefully recorded the changes in each leaf. The three of them plunged into this silent land, quietly taking root like seeds.
The turning point begins with an insect plague. Seeing that the vegetables they had worked so hard to grow were about to be destroyed, everyone almost collapsed. At the critical moment, Chen Mo responded calmly, led everyone to dig through the soil overnight to catch insects, and invited experts for guidance. That night, sweat and soil mixed together and became the price of their growth. From then on, Chen Mo's name was no longer just a joke, but a synonym for hope.
When a person stands up from the dust, how much ridicule and disdain are beneath his feet? When a village changes its destiny because of one person, should we also redefine the word "waste"?
