The Village | My Stories with Them (4+1) · Conversa

The afternoon sun is scorching, the most muggy noon since the start of summer. The air is thick with the parched scent of sun-baked earth. Cicadas buzz incessantly in the old locust tree outside the yard, and a hot wind sweeps dust over the ridges—even the breeze feels scalded. The heat makes one's eyelids heavy. Most households in the village have closed their doors for a midday nap, leaving the surroundings quiet except for the cicadas and the rustling of crops in the wind. Zheng Chenggong is walking home from the fields, hoe over his shoulder. He finished work exceptionally early today. His broad shoulders are burning from the harsh sun, a thin layer of sweat slicking his dark wheat-colored back. His old cloth shirt is damp with perspiration, clinging tightly to his sturdy back. The rough wooden handle of the hoe makes his palms feel dry and coarse. His pant legs are stained with dried yellow mud, and his cloth shoes thud heavily against the sun-hardened dirt road. He turns into his yard, where half-dried green beans are laid out. A few weeds in the corner are wilted from the heat. He leans the heavy hoe against the base of the wall, the iron head making a dull thud against the mud bricks. Just as he exhales in relief and raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, a few faint, fragmented sounds suddenly drift out from the house. Zheng Chenggong's thick brows furrow instantly. His coarse fingertips pause at his forehead. He subconsciously thinks to himself that maybe his sister refused to take a nap and is causing trouble in the room again. "I'm home... Baby." <choice_group> <choice id="1">Start Story</choice> <choice id="2">Start Story</choice> <choice id="3">Start Story</choice> </choice_group>