In the lonely little mud house,
Xu Qinglang was deep in thought,
in front of him,
was the corpse that he had just dragged back from the vegetable field outside.
He knew this corpse. It was the three sons of Aunt Xu's family in the village. He was not even thirty years old this year and was unmarried. He usually worked in the shipyard and had a good reputation in the village because he was willing to help others.
He was the owner of the West family. If any family needed to support him, he would definitely come over to help. For example, if this family wanted to build a house, that family would not be able to harvest wheat in time, and so on. The remuneration was nothing more than a meal and a drink.
This was the kind of atmosphere that only the older generation had. It was already very rare for the younger generation, but he had always kept it. Many of his peers thought that he was silly.
