“Isn’t that Ye?”
The villagers working in the surrounding fields spotted Ye Wen and stopped what they were doing in surprise.
“She actually came down to the fields?”
“The sun must be rising in the west. Ever since her husband died, when has she ever worked the land?”
“Exactly. She dumped all this land on the eldest and second sons. And that second one is always dodging work. With so much land, it’s the eldest who does everything year in and year out. Xiangdong really is too honest for his own good.”
“So what if he’s capable? Isn’t he still disliked?”
“Right? It’s almost like that eldest son isn’t her real child.”
“I wonder if that third one will even pass the xiucai exam. If he doesn’t, won’t he have to rely on the eldest to support him forever?”
“Shh, keep your voices down. What if she hears you?”
She had already heard them. Ye Wen’s mouth twitched, but she could only pretend she hadn’t.
Both brothers heard the villagers’ words. The eldest felt a sting in his eyes. How could he not know about his mother’s favoritism over the years? But as the eldest, with their father gone, the eldest son was like a father. He had to hold this family together and couldn’t argue with his younger brothers over such things.
Still, he was human too. He also felt wronged and hurt. He awkwardly turned his head away, stopped listening to those voices, and went into the field to start working.
The second son felt embarrassed as well and sheepishly followed him into the field. The villagers weren’t wrong—he really was used to slacking off in the fields. Afraid his mother might act up, he moved much more briskly than usual.
Only Ye Wen was left standing in place, listening to the villagers’ muttering.
She had no way to refute it. The original owner really had been biased—this was the truth.
If this were her own era, it wouldn’t just be a few people gossiping nearby. Post it on a short-video app, and even her ancestors for eighteen generations would get torn apart by keyboard warriors.
She watched as the eldest had already nimbly entered the field and picked up his sickle to harvest. His movements were skilled and efficient. In just a few strokes, he cut a bundle of rice, tied it up, tossed it onto the ridge, then bent down to cut the next one.
Ye Wen glanced back at the villagers whispering not far away. When they saw her look over, they immediately shut their mouths and lowered their heads to focus on their work, no longer daring to chatter.
The original owner had simply been too fierce. Similar things had happened before—she could point at someone’s nose and curse them loudly. Other people had work to do and no time to argue with her, while she didn’t work at all and could hop around chasing people and yelling at them for an entire morning.
So everyone knew better than to provoke her. When she looked over, they all stopped talking.
Ye Wen picked up a sickle and went over to squat beside the eldest son. Looking at this silent young man—only twenty years old—she saw hands covered in thick calluses. His speed at harvesting rice was astonishing, even more practiced than some of the old hands in other fields.
September was still hot, and sweat quickly beaded on his forehead.
She slowly crouched down, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the sweat from his face.
The eldest froze, his sickle hanging in midair. His mother had never treated him like this before.
“I was muddle-headed in the past,” Ye Wen said softly, each word clear. “I won’t be like that anymore.”
His eyes instantly reddened. He hurriedly wiped his face with his sleeve and turned his head away, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Why is Mother saying these things…?”
Ye Wen said nothing more. Actions spoke louder than words. The original owner had been biased—she would not be.
She squatted beside him and started working as well.
It was late September, the prime season for harvesting rice. As far as the eye could see, golden waves of rice stretched to the horizon, heavy ears drooping low. To Ye Wen, who had never worked the fields before, it looked like a poetic picture of harvest. But that sense of poetry was quickly shattered by reality.
In the Wen family’s paddy fields, mother and two sons were sweating profusely.
Harvesting rice was far less pleasant than it looked. Bending over to work in knee-high paddies soon left one with aching waists and sore backs.
Ye Wen hadn’t even worked for an hour when she felt as if her spine were about to snap in two. Worse still, as the sun climbed higher, the scorching sunlight made her dizzy. Large beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks, and the clothes on her back were already soaked and clinging to her body.
She straightened her aching back and looked at the endless fields before her. Thinking about how they still had to rush to plant rapeseed and wheat after the harvest, she finally understood the saying, “In farming months, no one is ever idle.”
At that moment, Ye Wen suddenly felt that the hardships she used to complain about while preparing for graduate exams were nothing in comparison.
She had only worked for such a short while and was already overwhelmed. Yet out of these ten mu of land, at least seven mu had always been managed by the eldest alone. He used to head out before dawn and only return after dark, day after day. Who knew how hard his life had been?
Out of the corner of her eye, Ye Wen watched the eldest silently harvesting rice beside her. Perhaps her earlier words had stirred something in him. She could clearly feel his hands moving even faster than before.
He was like a tireless harvesting machine. With each swing of his sickle, neat bundles of rice stacked up along the ridge.
The second son had also matched his brother’s pace. In the past, when Ye Wen wasn’t around, he would always go through the motions in the field before sneaking off to take a nap. But now, not only was Ye Wen present, she was also different from before. Wanting to make a good impression in front of his mother, he worked especially hard.
In truth, he wasn’t someone who couldn’t endure hardship. He had simply put his mind elsewhere before. Now that he was serious, his working speed was not much slower than the eldest’s.
The food for the entire Wen family depended on these ten mu of poor land.
As Ye Wen cut rice, she calculated silently in her heart. Even if they didn’t support Wen Xiangbei’s studies, the harvest from these ten mu would only be enough to keep everyone fed. There would be no surplus money to speak of.
If the family was to live well, relying on this bit of land alone clearly wouldn’t do. They would have to find another way.
As the sickle rose and fell, Ye Wen’s thoughts drifted farther and farther.
The eldest noticed that his mother kept straightening up to pound her back and wipe sweat every so often, and he felt worried. How long had it been since she last worked the fields? How could she suddenly handle such heavy labor?
He had always been extremely filial, and on top of that, what his mother had just said moved him deeply. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer.
“Mother, please rest. Second brother and I can handle this work. Don’t exhaust yourself,” he urged.
Ye Wen wanted to persist a little longer, but harvesting rice was truly exhausting. The aching pain in her back forced her to admit that she really couldn’t handle this job.
Still, since she had said “those who work more get more,” she couldn’t be the first to break her own rule. She changed her words. “Then you two handle the cutting. I’ll carry the rice instead.” Switching tasks didn’t count as slacking off.
She set down the sickle, neatly bundled the rice ears the two brothers had cut, and carried them trip after trip to the ridge. Compared to bending over to cut rice, this work was indeed much easier.
Before she knew it, the sun was nearing noon. On the distant ridge, Wen Xiangnan appeared with a bamboo basket slung over her arm.
“Mother! Big Brother, Second Brother—time to eat!”
The young girl raised a hand to shade her eyes, her clear voice ringing out.