The Watchers in the Wheat Field
At harvest time in the summer of 1972, the wheat in Yangjia Village had ripened.
Yang Dashan squatted on the field ridge, his bronze-colored face gleaming in the sun. Carefully, he plucked a head of wheat and gently cracked a grain between his teeth. The plump grain released a distinctive aroma in his mouth. He narrowed his eyes contentedly and gazed at the golden sea rolling before him. Sweat ran down his temples, leaving dark and pale marks on his faded blue shirt.
"It's going to be a good harvest," he murmured, gently stroking the heavy ears of wheat with his rough palm.
"Brother Dashan!"
A clear call came from the end of the field ridge. A young woman with two braids came lightly toward him, carrying a bamboo basket. Inside were two earthenware jars. "My mother asked me to bring you some mung bean soup."
Dashan turned at the sound and saw Lin Xiaojuan's figure, rimmed in gold by the sunlight. His heart stirred. She was the daughter of the village accountant, Lin, and had just turned twenty. She was well-known as a fine young woman throughout the surrounding villages. Suitors had come one after another, but she had always turned them down politely.
"The sun's so fierce. Why did you come out?" Dashan hurried over and took the basket from her. Their fingertips brushed accidentally, then quickly parted. A faint blush appeared on both their faces.
Xiaojuan lowered her head and smiled, revealing two shallow dimples. "I wanted to come." As she spoke, she lifted the lid off one of the jars, filled a bowl with mung bean soup, and handed it to him.
Dashan took the bowl and drained it in one go, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That really hit the spot."
"Slow down."
