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In late spring, the nights are getting shorter and the days are getting longer, the peach blossoms have faded and the rape blossoms are blooming. The sun sets and the dew rises. The fields and villages are filled with the golden fragrance of rapeseed flowers, making them extremely quiet. A wild cat scurries through the village alley, and a warm and warm plastic atmosphere flows in the village, just like a wild cat creeping in front of and behind the village, between the ridges of courtyards and roofs, in the gaps full of the fragrance of rapeseed flowers, and in the shadows of a few scattered lights. The shadows of the lamps are sweet, and the lamps are extinguished one by one, and the shadows of the lamps are getting thinner and thinner. Only the lamp in the village head's house stays on until late at night. A table of mahjong is gathered at the village director's house. This is a kind of thoughtful way for the village director to gather the villagers. Without the mahjong machine, the villagers' group would not be able to spread the news even if it held a meeting related to the new countryside.

Before noon, Mao Lan went to the field to pick beans. When she went out, Sailor Yao was wearing clothes and squatting in front of the rocks under the eaves, tapping the dry mud like thick scabs on his hoe and the red rust stains like moss soaked by the rain. There was a cigarette in his mouth, and the blue tobacco pipes fluttered upwards, making it difficult to open his eyelids, just like river water lapping against the embankment. He simply closed his eyelids, tilted his head, and tapped the red rust on the hoe surface with a wooden shovel. The beating made Mao Lan's heart bristle, like a cat's claws reaching into her mouth and scratching her lungs and heart valves. Mao Lan was originally knitting a sweater under the peach tree in the courtyard, her ten fingers sliding on the bright silver iron drill.