Chapter Two: A Bountiful Harvest

When Ma Yuan returned home from the reed marsh, Ma Jianguo was sitting on the doorstep, smoking dry tobacco, his face dark and gloomy. As expected, Ma Yuan had taken quite a beating.

Ma Jianguo didn’t dislike that Ma Yuan went to find Huo Dashan; rather, he was frustrated with his son’s lack of ambition. The Ma family had been skilled carpenters for centuries, yet Ma Yuan couldn’t master the craft. How could the Ma legacy be passed down if the ancestral skills faltered in this generation?

Especially as Ma Jianguo felt his own body weakening with age, his woodworking no longer as perfect as before. This weighed heavily on him, and he smoked pouch after pouch of dry tobacco, lost in worry.

...

On these two days, the late autumn sun shone warmly.

In the wheat fields of Huixiang, golden waves stretched endlessly. As the gentle autumn breeze stirred, the wheat danced wildly across the hills.

From an aerial view at sunrise, every household in Huixiang had already lit their lamps; everyone was up early, dragging woven bags and pushing carts toward their own fields.

This was the rhythm of rural life—either rising early or working until dark.

The Ma family, known across several villages for their superb carpentry, had their doorstep nearly worn through by visitors these days. Many came to rent their threshing machines, but with only ten machines, they were in short supply.

So Ma Jianguo resolved that after this bumper autumn harvest, when winter came, he would start crafting new threshing machines to use the following year.

That was why, two days ago, he had gone to the forest farm to select fine wood for processing.

Every household had polished their sickles until they gleamed, joyfully plunging into the boundless sea of wheat.

For farmers who toiled the land year-round, this was the happiest time, despite the scorching sun or aching backs. The tangible harvest was their most powerful reward after a year’s labor.

...

The Ma family owned nearly ten acres of wheat fields. Ma Jianguo had hired over a dozen reapers early on. As a wealthy household, the Mas could afford to pay wages and even provide a meal for their workers.

Typically, employers who hired reapers tried to save wherever possible; simply paying on time was considered generous. Ma Jianguo’s practice of providing a meal was rare, which explained the steady stream of workers flocking to his fields.

Across the hills, no one knew which family started the harvest first, but excitement quickly spread through the village. Each household grabbed their tools and plunged into their endless fields.

Ma Jianguo’s fingers were calloused, and he rarely worked in the fields himself, sometimes just walking across the uneven stubble after harvest.

When Ma Yuan was young, he often accompanied his father on such tasks and once asked what he was doing.

Ma Jianguo said, “You need to check often, or else they’ll think you’re a fool.”

Ma Yuan didn’t quite understand the meaning then but would crane his neck to watch the reapers in the fields, facing the earth with their backs to the sky, as steadfast and solid as nails driven into wood.

Because the autumn wind was dry this year, Ma Jianguo arranged for a simple shelter beside their field, with some green bean tea for the workers to rest and refresh themselves.

The leader of Ma’s reapers was Wang San, who had worked for the Mas several times before. Wang San’s team was skilled and quick, which was why Ma Jianguo kept hiring them year after year.

“Boss, it’s really hot today, and you’re still supervising?” Wang San rubbed wheat leaves in his hands and wiped sweat from his brow, grinning sheepishly.

“It’s hot, but winter’s coming soon. This is the foundation,” Ma Jianguo shifted his stance and pointed to the wheat field in front of them, then invited Wang San to sit.

“That’s true. These days, you can’t be too careful. It’s good to stock up on grain,” Wang San gulped down some cold water and sighed in relief.

Ma Jianguo looked at Wang San’s sun-kissed skin tinged with red and suddenly found the man amusing for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Wang San didn’t know why Ma Jianguo was smiling but, seeing it, laughed heartily in return. Their laughter echoed across the golden wheat fields, carried away by the wind.

“Boss, how old’s your boy now?” Wang San suddenly asked. Having worked around here for years, he knew Ma Jianguo had a son.

“After this harvest, he’ll be twelve. Not a little kid anymore,” Ma Jianguo replied.

“Twelve, huh? That’s not young. Have you thought about sending him to school in the county town? More and more folks are happy to send their kids to study there. I hear the schools teach a lot now.” Though a laborer, Wang San had traveled widely and had broader horizons than Ma Jianguo.

At Wang San’s suggestion, Ma Jianguo fell silent for a moment, only pulling out his old dry tobacco and lighting it, puffing quietly.

“Boss, just ignore me. I’m off to work,” Wang San said, sensing Ma Jianguo’s mood, and went back to the fields.

But Ma Jianguo’s heart was restless. He had been to the county town many times and knew it was a world apart from the countryside.

The people and the way of life were completely different.

Though Ma Jianguo had always insisted his son focus on learning carpentry, he was no unyielding old relic. Influenced by those around him, his thoughts were already shifting, though he hadn’t yet realized it himself.

That night, after dinner, Ma Jianguo lay in the yard, smoking his dry tobacco. The smoke drifted upward like clouds.

Ma Yuan sat in the yard, counting ants under the bright moonlight—a pastime he loved for passing the time.

“Ma Yuan, get ready. In a couple of days, you’re coming with me to the county town,” Ma Jianguo said softly.

Startled from counting, Ma Yuan looked up at his father and nodded firmly.

After speaking, Ma Jianguo relaxed completely, his heart filled with contentment. He believed this autumn would surely be an unprecedentedly bountiful year.