This story takes root deep in the mountains of northwestern Guizhou. It spans from the late 1970s to the early 1990s, with the rolling hills and steep slopes of Zhijin County as its stage. There are no flat, fertile plains here, only ridge after ridge like waves frozen in place, trapping village after village in their folds. There are no mighty rivers, only the Sancha River cutting through the gorges, its muddy yellow waters year after year wearing away the stones along its banks and the hearts of the people.
The people in this story are ordinary farmers, craftspeople, village teachers, and market peddlers from Zhijin County. Their lives are like the cornfields on the slopes, planted in spring and harvested in autumn, bound to the soil and dependent on the weather. When the seasons are kind, they can hope for food and warmth; in a bad year, they have to tighten their belts. They might quarrel over the boundary of a few mu of land, yet quietly bring a bowl of corn porridge when misfortune strikes a neighbor. Love here is not just moonlit romance. More often, it's helping carry water or chop wood, or sharing the warmth of a threadbare quilt on a cold night. Striving is no grand declaration; it's a back bent like a bow while hauling manure uphill, or a needle stitching clothes for the children by lamplight.
Their world is small, so small that some never leave the mountain valleys of their county in a lifetime. Yet it is also vast, filled with hopes for better days, the ties of family and friendship, and the ripples stirring in every heart as the wheels of history roll through the mountain villages. This is no earth-shattering legend, just a group of ordinary people on ordinary land, using sweat and tears to write the story of their own times.
