As soon as the hoe went down, the sky fell.
This is the forty-fifth day of the spring drought in the third year of Jinghe in the Dayu Dynasty.
Xu Hao squatted on the ridge of his field and picked up a handful of soil with his fingertips. When the wind blew, it turned into choking ash.
The cracked lines of the three acres of thin fields beneath my feet were like a ferocious spider web, bottomless, as if it could swallow up a person's last hope.
Not far away, a few men gathered around the only old well in the village. Howling curses floated intermittently, scolding God for not having eyesight and scolding Lord Dragon for being blind.
"Stop howling! Can howling make water come out?" A sharp voice overcame everyone, and it was Lezi, the rogue king of the village.
He squinted and glanced at Xu Hao's three acres of land with evil intentions, "If you ask me, the Xu family boy's land should be sold for a few bites of grain! Can he grow gold just by guarding that poor land?"
There were several echoing laughs all around, and greedy eyes were like wolves, clinging to Xu Hao's back.
