There has been a severe drought for three years, and the land has been bare for thousands of miles. The last few rows of thin fields in Chen He's home were cracked like spider webs, and the withered yellow rice stalks trembled in the hot wind. Small drops of blood oozed from the chapped lips of his wife, Axiu, and his son's cry tore through the dead air. Chen He's trembling hand reached towards the corner of the wall - buried there was the last handful of drought-resistant rice seeds he risked his life to leave behind. The rice seeds were golden and plump, burning so hot that his palms ached. This is the last fire and the overwhelming despair...
