The Crops at My Home Are a Little Too Loud

Mo Yun thought he must have gone crazy.

Otherwise, how could he hear a feeble complaint coming from the soil while watering the cornfield? “...That’s all the water? It’s not even enough to wash my roots. I should’ve reincarnated as a cactus...”

That summer, the land leased by Mo Yun’s family suffered its third straight year of poor harvests. The cracked yellow earth looked like a wrung-out rag. Everything they planted died, and even the most drought-resistant millet produced only half a withered ear. His father squatted at the edge of the field, chain-smoking until cigarette butts piled up like a little hill. His back bent lower than the field ridge with worry. The family still owed money for Grandpa’s medical treatment, and if they took another loss, they would have to sell their only old house. Mo Yun had just finished the college entrance exams and planned to quit school and find work. But one stormy night, while trying to save their last few corn seedlings, a strange ball of lightning struck his arm. When he woke up, the world had become one big “roast session.”