Dusk descended, and the village gradually began to fill with the smoke of cooking fires.
In this slowly-paced old village, the middle-aged and elderly who were left behind still happily embraced the slow rhythm of the past. The slightly younger ones might use gas stoves, but the older generation still used earthen stoves.
Thus, at mealtime, each household's smoke curled upward, accompanied by the dark night tinged with a hint of mysterious blue, settling everyone's soul from the inside out.
But... the tranquil crowd clearly did not include Song Sancheng.
He had spent the day with Qiaoqiao, grunting and groaning as he turned over a good stretch of land, watching the child earnestly plant the corn and sorghum according to his instructions, before he shouldered his hoe and headed home.
On the way, he made a point to circle back and check on his old family home.
That house had accompanied him for 20 years, a full 20 years!
