After getting a drink of water, everyone dove back into the cornfield, working feverishly to husk the corn.
They had never imagined such a bountiful harvest. Now, the people of Zhao Village were exhausted but happy. At the mere thought of grinding the corn into flour—of making corn cakes, corn steamed buns, and cornmeal bread—they no longer feared hunger. Plus, if stored properly, cornmeal could last for a year or two. Thinking of this, they endured their fatigue without complaint.
It was the peak of summer, and cicadas shrieked tirelessly in the branches, as if shouting to cheer on the sweltering heat. Sweat beads the size of soybeans rolled incessantly down everyone’s foreheads and cheeks, popping out in thick, heavy drops.
Chapter 496