Even from the roadside, Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi could see a hunched figure crouching in their field, picking up rice ears. The figure looked very unfamiliar to Lin Yue, but it was Shen Lingzhi who spoke up: “Brother, let’s go to the other field first. We’ll leave this one to her.”

Their family wouldn’t be short on grain this year—they might not have more than enough to eat, but they’d certainly be able to have a meal of white rice every day—so Lin Yue had no objections. He simply asked, “Who is that?”

“Her family lives behind Grandma’s house. She married into a family that also bears the surname Shen. According to the family hierarchy, she should be called ‘Second Aunt,’ but since she’s already beyond the five degrees of kinship, she’s just an ordinary neighbor,” Shen Lingzhi explained.

Hearing about the generational relationship, Lin Yue grew even more puzzled; he’d assumed she was someone of his grandparents’ generation. “She does seem quite a bit older than my parents.”

Shen Lingzhi glanced at them again before whispering to Lin Yue, “Actually, Uncle Shen is only five years older than Dad, and Aunt Shen is even younger. It was that year when her son—our cousin—died of illness while serving in the military. The shock of it all made them age prematurely. My cousin’s wife was only twenty at the time. I heard they were the ones who decided she should remarry. Now, besides the two of them, the only other person in their family is a two-year-old nephew.”

Lin Yue felt a pang of sadness. Such stories sounded all too familiar. He would only turn eighteen at the end of the year, but over the past decade or so, he’d heard countless similar accounts—from their own Yushui Village, the nearby Qinghe Village, and the village where his mother’s family lived. At the mere mention of such events, several faces immediately came to mind.

“Sigh, thank goodness there haven’t been any military drafts in recent years. Otherwise, who knows how many more cases like this there would be.”

Shen Lingzhi nodded as well. “It’s a blessing. Second Uncle’s family still has farmland, but Second Aunt isn’t in good health and can’t do heavy labor, which is why she occasionally comes out to gather some stray rice ears.”

Every family has its own set of hardships. Aside from letting out a sigh, there didn’t seem to be much they could do. With their minds on the rice ears in the fields, Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi didn’t linger here long; they headed straight for another field.

While they were busy, Shen Zhengchu and his son weren’t idle either. Although the rice had been brought into the courtyard to dry, the rice paddies were still full of Chinese bellflowers. Since their family harvested the rice faster—the Shen Fanglin family next door hadn’t finished yet—they were the first to plow the fields with their oxen this year.

If the weather held, the rice in the courtyard would be ready for threshing after two or three days of drying. So as soon as Shen Zhengchu and his son had finished carrying the rice, they began plowing the fields. For three days in a row, they went out to the fields before dawn and didn’t return until noon. They had no choice—people could work without rest, but the oxen couldn’t.

Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi spent their time either gathering rice ears or going to the riverbank to cut grass to feed the oxen, while Song Xunchun was in charge of turning and drying the rice in the yard. In her spare time, she took care of various odd jobs. None of the five family members had a moment to spare.

Another three days passed in this manner, and the rice in the Shen family’s courtyard was finally dried. When they ran their fingers through the ears, the grains would fall right out.

The Shen family’s rice-drying bed wasn’t very large—it could barely fit two people—so they took turns. On the first morning, Shen Zhengchu and Song Xunchun stood on opposite sides, each holding a bundle of rice stalks tightly in both hands and slamming them down onto the bed with all their might. The grains dislodged by the impact fell onto the bamboo mats spread out beneath the bed.

Once a sufficient amount of grain had accumulated, Lin Yue would walk over carrying a divider and spread the grain onto the surrounding bamboo mats to allow for continued drying. The grain had to be dried until it was crisp; that way, it wouldn’t rot once stored in the cupboard, and there would be fewer weevils. However, it was nearly impossible to completely prevent infestations.

Across from Lin Yue stood Shen Lingzhi, who was busy carrying bundles of rice spread out for drying from the other side and stacking them at the feet of Shen Zhengchu and his wife for easy access. After putting the rice away, he had to stack the threshed straw against the wall to save it for later use—for braiding straw ropes and sandals, or for feeding the pigs and stoking the fire.

Meanwhile, Shen Huaizhi was in the field, digging the soil with a hoe. They’d plowed the field in a hurry the previous two days, and some of the edges hadn’t been tended to yet; he had to hurry and finish digging them before the clods of earth hardened again.

That afternoon, Shen Huaizhi, Lin Yue, and Shen Lingzhi worked together to thresh the rice. The Shen couple took over the tasks Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi had handled that morning. With so many people in the household, all of whom worked efficiently, the rice was fully threshed in just a few days.

Once the rice was dried, a new task awaited them. The dried rice couldn’t be stored right away; it had to be placed in a winnowing basket for sorting to separate various impurities—such as stones and clods of earth—and to winnow out the chaff.

The night before winnowing began, Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi stayed up all night sewing several face masks. Worn together with their headscarves, they could cover everything except their eyes.

Lin Yue was extremely pleased. “This will definitely keep out a lot of dust. We shouldn’t end up covered in dust and dirt after winnowing.”

Shen Lingzhi nodded. Wearing his face mask, his voice sounded a bit muffled. “Brother, I have one concern—this feels a bit stuffy. I’m afraid I’ll have to go back inside to take it off and get some fresh air before long.”

“The stitches are thick—I deliberately sewed three layers separately, just in case it wouldn’t block the dust. If it gets too stuffy, you can always take off one layer,” Lin Yue said.

Early the next morning, after washing up, Lin Yue and Shen Ling put on their face masks—the kind that had been soaked in water. There were five masks in total; aside from the two of them, only Shen Huaizhi wore one, at Lin Yue’s strong insistence.

Song Xunchun tried one on as well, but took it off after just a moment. “I can barely breathe with this on. You two wear them; I’ll pass. I’ll just wear a headscarf.”

Shen Lingzhi wouldn’t have it. “Mother, please wear it. Otherwise, you’ll start coughing again in a minute.” 

“We’ll deal with the coughing later. Wearing this right now is even more uncomfortable than coughing.”

Song Xunchun couldn’t get used to wearing it, and Shen Zhengchu certainly couldn’t either. It took Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi a great deal of persuasion to get them to agree to put it on if they started coughing.

The doors and windows of every room in the Shen household were shut tight. As soon as they began shoveling the first bucket of grain, dust swirled everywhere in the courtyard, stinging their eyes and throats.

Before an hour had passed, Song Xunchun and Shen Zhengchu—who had sneezed seven or eight times in a row—put on their face masks as well. “Ahem, ahem. They’re damp, but they’re not as irritating to wear. Not bad—we’ll use these next year, too.”

Shen Lingzhi chuckled from the side, “My brother and I tried them last night—you guys just didn’t believe us.”

“All right, all right. Stop going on and on.” Unable to save face, Shen Zhengchu waved him away.

Shen Lingzhi laughed even louder. Lin Yue was also cowering behind Shen Huaizhi, laughing—his figure hidden from view, but his voice growing louder and louder.

By the time the threshing was finished and the Shen family had stored the dried grain in their cupboards, it was already late August. This year’s harvest hadn’t been very good. If Shen Huaizhi hadn’t passed the Xiucai examination and been exempted from taxes, the Shen family would likely have had to buy some grain just to scrape by until next year’s rice harvest—and that was assuming they supplemented their diet with sorghum, buckwheat, and beans in addition to rice.

Of the dried grain, two dou were left out in the open after the rest was stored in the cupboard. Shen Huaizhi casually pounded the grain into rice; with fresh rice on hand, he naturally had to taste it first.

That day, the Shen family’s breakfast was plain white rice porridge—no seasonings added, just a simple bowl of new rice poured into a pot and simmered over low heat. As the porridge began to bubble gently, the aroma of the rice wafted through the air.

Although the unique aroma of new rice isn’t as enticing as the scent of meat, it possesses a distinctive, refreshing sweetness. After simmering for over a full hour, the white rice porridge was topped with a thick layer of rice oil—it was simply delicious.

That evening, Shen Guangchu and his son once again went door to door to spread the word: the Autumn Festival, falling in late August, was scheduled to take place three days later in the ancestral hall courtyard, beginning at the end of the Si hour—that is, around lunchtime. This was a festival in which the entire village was expected to participate; those who arrived late might even face a minor penalty, such as having to sing a mountain song to liven up the festivities.

For farmers, the Festival is a day as important as the Lunar New Year. It is a festival that gradually evolved to combine both ritual and celebration, as farmers prayed for favorable weather and bountiful autumn harvests. The She Festival is held twice a year: the Spring She Festival in February, to pray for favorable weather and the vigorous growth of crops, and the Autumn Festival in August, to celebrate a bountiful harvest. The way each village celebrates the She Festival varies slightly.

Lin Yue had never participated in Linshui Village’s Autumn Festival before, and he was incredibly curious. “What are we going to do on the Autumn Festival?”

Shen Huaizhi replied, “Before the Autumn Village Festival begins, the entire village gathers to worship the ‘Village God’—that is, the ‘God of the Land’—as well as the ‘God of Grain.’ The ceremony is very solemn and serious, but once it’s over, everyone can enjoy themselves. It’s similar to a fair or a temple festival; villagers even sell goods outside the ancestral hall, and there’s a bonfire in the evening.”

Lin Yue’s interest was piqued. It sounded like a lot of fun—much livelier than the festivities in their own Yushui Village. There was even a bonfire; he wondered if there would be drumming, singing, and dancing as well.

Shen Lingzhi added cheerfully, “On top of all that, every household in the village prepares a dish to bring along. Although they’re all vegetarian, everyone makes their own specialty. I remember last year, Uncle Guang’s family made water bamboo shoots—they were absolutely delicious.”

There are certain rules regarding the dishes. If a family prepares something common that every household has, like radishes or Chinese cabbage, they need to make a larger portion. For more unique items, such as water bamboo shoots or lotus root slices, you might only need a large bowlful. There’s also congee, flatbreads, and steamed multigrain buns—the variety is truly rich. For some of the village’s poorest families, this is a chance to slightly improve their daily meals. Aside from a few individuals, the vast majority don’t mind if what they bring isn’t the best.

Lin Yue looked up. “So what should our family make this year?”

Song Xunchun thought for a moment before saying, “How about making some pastries? Things like buckwheat cakes or sorghum cakes. You guys can set up a stall in town this year—the villagers have been talking about them a lot.”

Although Lin Yue hadn’t paid much attention to it before, he had a general idea. Back when he was still living at home, he hadn’t actually set up a stall—he’d just go with Lin Yang, carrying a basket, to hawk their wares along the streets. There were always people who would discreetly ask them how much money they’d made.

“Then let’s make buckwheat cakes. They’re easier to make than flatbreads,” Lin Yue said.

Song Xunchun nodded. “Whatever works—let’s do whatever’s easiest. Lingzhi will help you then.”

She hadn’t had a moment to spare these past few days either. They’d just harvested the rice and deep-plowed the fields again. Now that there was still some well-rotted manure and wood ash at home, she needed to go out to the fields to apply fertilizer and replenish the soil’s fertility.

By now, this year’s crops—wheat, sorghum, buckwheat, corn, and rice had all been harvested. The Shen family’s fields were mostly empty; once the fertilizing was done, it would be time to start planting again. They’d plant some radishes and Chinese cabbage in the fields to harvest in winter and sell in town, along with some fava beans and peas, while the main fields would be planted with wheat and soybeans.

Since the fields had already been plowed, planting was easy. Each day, only Shen Zhengchu and Song Xunchun worked in the fields, while Shen Huaizhi was busy going up the mountain to chop firewood. He could make two round trips in a single morning, and the woodpile in the backyard was growing ever higher. In the afternoons and evenings, he copied texts at home, hoping to finish this task as soon as possible.

Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi didn’t have much to do, so they tidied up and headed into town. On the first day, they didn’t bring much with them and didn’t rent a stall—just a display rack—selling only a few types of pastries that had sold well before. Having been away for a while, their regular customers in town had probably almost forgotten them.

So for the first couple of days, they just walked around a few extra times to let the town’s customers know they were back in business.

Before they knew it, the Autumn Village Festival had arrived. Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi got up early, steamed several pots of buckwheat cakes, and pushed their small cart into town as soon as dawn broke. At that point, there were still two hours left until the end of the Si hour. Factoring in the time for the round trip, they’d have about one hour to hawk their wares in town and make it home before the third quarter of the Si hour.

To maximize their selling time, Shen Huaizhi took them to town that morning. He was strong and a fast walker; pushing the cart was actually faster than Lin Yue and Shen Ling-zhi walking empty-handed.

When they reached the town entrance, Shen Huaizhi stopped. “You two go on ahead. I’ll head back first. If I happen to come down from the mountain later, I’ll come pick you up.” Lin Yue declined. “No need to go to all that trouble. We’ll head back when we think it’s time. Just wait for us at home.”

Shen Lingzhi also chimed in, “Brother, when you go to chop firewood, remember to check if the twisted jujubes on the mountain are ripe yet. If they are, be sure to pick some to bring back for us to eat.”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll head over to the jujube trees when I go to chop wood this morning,” Shen Huaizhi said.

After exchanging a few words, the three went their separate ways. Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi pushed the cart into town, while Shen Huaizhi strode briskly toward home.

Toward the end of the Si hour, the Shen family arrived at the ancestral hall right on time. Shen Guangchu’s son, Shen Yanzhi, and a few other young men were standing at the entrance. Seeing them arrive, they looked somewhat disappointed. Shen Yanzhi turned his head and called out, “Second Uncle, Second Aunt,” then turned to Shen Huaizhi and said loudly, “Huaizhi, you’re right on time. We were just wondering what kind of punishment we’d have to give you if you’d been late.”

Shen Huaizhi laughed, “I was worried my cousin might be thinking about me, so I rushed here as fast as I could.”

“Hahaha, come on in. My dad was just looking for you—he said the village head wants you to help preside over the ritual.”

Shen Huaizhi had never participated in the past, so he was a bit at a loss for a moment. He simply said, “I understand. Well, let’s go inside then. Cousin, you guys go ahead and get to work.”

The village head of Linshui Village was surnamed Li; he was the father of Li the Carpenter, who lived at the back of the village. He was already at an age to understand his destiny, but he was still in good health and spoke with a strong, resonant voice.

“Zhengchu, Huizhi, you’re finally here.” 

“Third Uncle/Third Uncle-in-Law”

“Uncle, is there something you need from me?” asked Shen Huaizhi.

Li Shezheng replied, “It’s no big deal—I just thought I’d ask you to co-preside over the ritual with me. People say scholars are the incarnation of the Star of Literature; who knows, maybe the Star of Literature and the Earth Deity even know each other.”

Shen Huaizhi: “……”

“You’re joking, Uncle.”

“Haha, we common folk have no way of knowing what goes on among the gods and immortals. But just in case—you’ll come with me this year. I’ve watched you grow up all these years; there’s nothing about you I don’t know.”

Unable to refuse, Shen Huaizhi simply said, “Alright, I’ll take your word for it, Uncle. But just in case the rains aren’t favorable this year, don’t blame me.”

Li Shezheng waved his hand and laughed, “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve been presiding over this for so many years, and it hasn’t been smooth sailing every year. Take this year, for example—it’s been raining heavily. Who can predict the weather? We’ve held our rituals rain or shine every year; do you really think Heaven would take a dim view of us? Maybe this area is just meant to get rain. You can rest assured.”

The courtyard of the ancestral hall had been cleaned the day before and now looked spotless and tidy. Tables and benches brought from several nearby households were arranged around the perimeter, topped with pots, bowls, ladles, and other kitchenware containing the food the villagers had brought.

On the central offering table, sacrificial items, tea, and wine were neatly arranged. Most villagers were poor, and Linshui Village had few sacrificial fields, so they could neither afford nor provide the “three major sacrificial animals”—pigs, cattle, and sheep. Instead, they offered the “three minor sacrificial animals”: chicken, duck, and fish. The chickens and ducks were purchased by the Village Head at market price using money earned from the ritual fields’ produce, while the fish was caught from the river by Shen Yanzhi and a few young men—they specifically chose the largest one. All were slaughtered and cooked at dawn and brought over this morning.

Above the offering table were the seats for the “God of the Village” and the “God of Grain.” Once all the villagers had gathered, the Community Day ceremony would officially begin.

The Village Chief raised a cup of wine from the offering table and sprinkled it on the ground, then began reciting a prayer for a bountiful harvest: “In the eighth month of mid-autumn, on this auspicious day, Village God…”

After reciting the first section of the prayer to the “God of the Village,” Shen Huaizhi immediately followed with the second section dedicated to the “God of Grain,” the content of which was largely similar.

After the prayers were recited, the other villagers of Linshui Village faced the seats, knelt, and bowed their heads in reverence, praying for a bountiful harvest in the coming year.

After the ritual concluded, the offerings were distributed among the villagers to eat. It was said that in the past, they used to be buried in the ground, but after several incidents where villagers secretly dug them up, the practice was discontinued, and the offerings were now distributed directly to everyone.

There weren’t many entertainment activities in the village—no lion or dragon dances, nor acrobatic performances—but there were two men skilled at playing gongs and drums, who had arrived with their instruments, creating a lively clanging and clattering that filled the air.

Accompanied by the sound of gongs and drums, the villagers began sampling the delicacies. The buckwheat cakes brought by the Shen family were very popular—not only were they delicious but also convenient; it was perfect to grab a piece and then move on to try something else. Before long, the bowl in front of Shen Zhengchu was empty.

Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi had long since wandered off to the side; they’d started eating right at the entrance. Since they’d arrived early, they’d taken a bite of everything and were already full before they even reached the last stall.

“Brother, you’ve got to try this pumpkin. The one from Uncle’s house is sweet and sticky—it’s even better than ours.” 

“Here I am! Aunt Fanglin brought stir-fried chestnuts—they’re delicious too. Here, have one.”

The ancestral hall courtyard wasn’t small, but with the entire village in attendance today, there simply wasn’t enough room for everyone. Even during the memorial service a short while ago, many latecomers had to kneel and pay their respects outside. Once the feast began, the situation became even more chaotic—the entrance was so crowded that it was nearly impossible to move.

Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi made their way around the table once and then rushed outside; they simply couldn’t stand the crush inside. Lin Yue had originally wanted to find Shen Huaizhi, but with so many people around—and since they hadn’t been together during the memorial service—he couldn’t spot him anywhere.

Seeing four or five stalls set up along the path outside the ancestral hall—each consisting of nothing more than a mat laid on the ground with vendors hawking their wares—Lin Yue and Shen Lingzhi made a quick trip home to bring back a basket full of the buckwheat cakes they hadn’t sold that morning.

Lin Yue tugged at Shen Lingzhi’s sleeve and whispered, “People just had buckwheat cakes inside, so I don’t think many will buy them. Let’s bring just a few—if they don’t sell, never mind; we’ll just treat it as a bit of fun.”

Shen Lingzhi nodded in agreement, then added, “Brother, did you see that stall on the right side of the ancestral hall entrance? They’re selling little bamboo-woven toys. Let’s go check it out later.”

“Sure.”