Rural northern China in the 1970s.
During the wheat harvest, the old well at the village entrance once again became a favorite topic of conversation. Some said it was too deep, others that it was too old, but no one could say exactly when it had been dug.
That year, Zhou Weidong failed the college entrance exam and started delivering food with his father. Zhao Peng, from the same village, got into Peking University and left for Beijing. One saved money hammer blow by hammer blow at an auto repair shop; the other turned page after page at university. Their paths seemed destined never to cross again, yet the village well quietly tied them together.
Three years later, Zhou Weidong returned to the village with forty thousand yuan and hired people to dig a new well. On the day water first flowed, he squatted by the well and drank a ladleful, then called his father.
There was a long silence on the other end. Then came just two words: “A sacred thing has happened.”
Some leave the countryside, while others return to it. Those words, “A sacred thing has happened,” mark both a farewell and a chance to put down roots.
