Sand Table Cultivation Record

When Chen Liang threw himself on the sofa in the rental house, his bank card balance was just enough to last for three months. At the age of thirty-five, he quit his endless job, and his days were like dust on the windowsill, without any disturbance. Until I caught a glimpse of that sandbox at a garage sale. The edges of the wooden box were polished and shiny, and there were crooked adobe houses embedded in the fine sand. Several little people as big as fingernails were so skinny that only their outlines were left, with sunken eye sockets and empty clay pots in their hands - clearly the look of the famine era. He paid the money by accident and placed this "miniature scene of suffering" on the corner of the table. When he woke up from thirst in the middle of the night, he saw a faint light of fire floating in the sand tray. The little people moved, supporting each other and digging in the sand. Some people fainted from hunger, and the people next to them wiped their tears with their sleeves. Chen Liang's heart tightened and he pinched half a piece of bread crumbs and put it in. The next second, a pot exploded in the sand tray. The little people kowtow to the "food from heaven" like pounding garlic, and the skinny woman holds her child and cries, taking the fingers of this "giant" as an oracle. Seeing the light in their eyes rekindling as they shared the crumbs, Chen Liang suddenly felt that the days spent spreading out seemed a little heavier.