Dressed as Xia Wuhui, a boy during the spring plowing season outside Yongcheng in the Great Qin Dynasty, he rolled up his trousers and held on to the iron plow as he moved quickly in the fields. Lao Li squatted on the edge of the field and counted the five acres of land I had planted all morning. I patted the cow on the back and said that Quyuli had figured it out himself. The black soil is stirred up in the wind and becomes shiny. In these troubled times, I will start by feeding the whole village.
