The paddy fields in Zewei Village are green and yellow, and yellow and green again. Women have never made the decision. Lu Yanqiu stood on the ground of her home holding her daughter Lu Xiaosui, who had a high fever. Uncle Lu Demao's rice grew in the three-acre field, and his waist was bent under the weight of the heavy ears. She went to the clan leader, who knocked on the cigarette pole and said, "You don't have a man, so your fields belong to the clan. This is the rule." Her daughter was so burned that she was talking nonsense, and there was only half a jar of old rice left in the house. Lu Yanqiu squatted in front of the stove, scooped out a bowl of water and sprinkled a handful of salt - the most inconspicuous thing in her "seasoning bag". After drinking the hot soup, my daughter's fever subsided. The next day, the vegetable seeds she pickled with seasoning packets sprouted on three-thirds of the wasteland in front of the house, and they were three times stronger than others. The news reached Lu Demao's ears, and he walked into her house with a bowl of wine: "Yanqiu, your uncle has farmed your three acres of six-cent field for five years, and it's time to pay it back. But you have to sign - the field belongs to you, you pay the public grain, and you get 30% of this year's harvest." This is not to return the land, but to ask her to bear a debt that she cannot repay. Lu Yanqiu poured the wine in the bowl on the ground and said, "I'm going to go through legal procedures and sue you for illegal appropriation." The whole village was watching her being kicked out for the second time.
