The days on the loess slope are like the shadow of the old locust tree, moving slowly. Ma Guilan guarded the stove and vegetable garden, watching her twelve-year-old son Jianjun running and jumping with a basket of pig grass, and listening to the silence of Menghulu's husband Ma Laoshi as he smoked - the days were as dull as straw fire, until Ma Laoshi brought back fertilizer from the town and handed over a blue cloth schoolbag with red five stars printed on it.
