About ten days before the Start of Autumn, the corn had grown tall and was almost as high as a person, lacking the endless openness of springtime.
In half a month, it would probably be time to detassel... In the dialect of Jiangcheng, it's called "pulling tassels." Xu Qing held up an umbrella and looked around; although the cornfields often witnessed some marvelous stories, those were tales of coarse men. As a scholar, venturing in would leave him with cuts from the leaves, both painful and itchy.
And it might not even be the leaves that got to him, but being beaten to a pulp by Jiang He instead.
After all, under the broad daylight and vast sky, Jiang He was no Gong Li, and Xu Qing was certainly no Jiang Wen.
The lush trees and the light, gentle breeze, Jiang He walked along the path with her bag on her back, pinching the leaves of the crops by the roadside. When she turned back, she saw Xu Qing's gaze on the cornfields was a bit strange.
"What are you thinking about?"
