After fleeing the famine, my older sister and I married the brother next door.

As evening fell, the heat lingered, and the stone slabs in the courtyard still retained the warmth of the day. Lights were lit in the Chen family's main room, and the family sat around eating dinner. The meal on the table was simple yet substantial: sorghum cakes, a pot of thick mung bean porridge, a dish of stir-fried green beans, and a plate of purslane salad drizzled with sesame oil. Although there was no meat, in such a dry season, having a decent meal was a blessing.

Chen Xiaohe took a big bite of the flatbread and then gulped down half a bowl of warm mung bean porridge before he seemed to catch his breath. He swallowed the food and said with lingering fear, "Father, Mother, Brother, Sister-in-law, you didn't see it. Today at the village entrance, we ran into Brother Tiezhu and the others who had just finished their corvée labor... Ah, thankfully our family paid the taxes this year!"

He paused, lowered his voice, and spoke with a lingering fear rarely seen in a young man: "Brother Tiezhu was emaciated, his face was tanned dark and shiny, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. His arms and shoulders were covered with abrasions that had scabbed over, new wounds piled on top of old ones, it was a gruesome sight. None of the men who came back with him looked any better, they were all listless and staggering as they walked."

Father Chen put down his porridge bowl, his brows furrowed, and sighed, "I saw it this afternoon too. I heard from them that this year's corvée labor is awful. The work is much heavier than in previous years. The section of the official road they're repairing is supposedly being chiseled through rocky terrain, and the hammers are so vibrating they've split open. They're whipped up before dawn by the overseers and forced to work with torches burning in the smoky heat. Combined with this awful weather, many people have suffered from heatstroke in the first few days, some vomiting, some dizzy. The food is even more meager, just two black cornbread buns a day and a bowl of watery vegetable soup so thin you can barely see your reflection, hardly any oil. I heard from other villages... some didn't make it through." As he spoke, his voice grew deeper, his rough hands unconsciously rubbing the edge of the table. "The few from our village who went this year are lucky; they all came back unharmed. But judging from their condition, it will probably take them at least half a year to fully recover. The cost of medicine and tonics will probably be no less than two taels of silver."

Hearing this, Chen's mother kept chanting Buddhist prayers: "Amitabha! This is truly terrible! Every year they torment people like this. This isn't just corvée labor; it's killing us!" She recalled how Chen's father had returned from corvée labor last year and lay in bed for half a month before recovering. She felt both heartache and relief. "Dashan was right. Nothing is more important than people being safe and sound. To suffer like that, and then have to spend money on treatment and recovery, all in all, it would have been better to just pay the money in the first place. It's better to avoid suffering than anything else."

Chen Dashan had been listening silently, and now he nodded, saying calmly, "That makes sense. Paying money buys peace. Our family has escaped a disaster this year. Judging from the current situation, if we can still pay to offset the labor service next year, our family will have to scrape together the money no matter what." Because of his mobility issues, he had a deeper understanding of the cruelty of that kind of high-intensity labor.

The conversation shifted to the family's harvest and plans. Remembering something, Chen Xiaohe asked, "By the way, Dad, are we still going to sell those last few watermelons at the edge of the field? The vines look a bit wilted."

Father Chen hesitated for a moment, then shook his head: "We won't sell them. It's so dry, it wasn't easy for these few melons to grow. We'll keep the two biggest ones for ourselves, and tomorrow your mother can take one to each of the other four, one to the Er Mu family and one to Uncle Wu Fu's family. The Er Mu family helped take care of their livestock a while ago, and Uncle Wu Fu's family borrowed our plowshare for spring planting, we haven't had a chance to properly thank them. These melons aren't worth much, it's the thought that counts. Next year, we'll plant more, not just watermelons, but if we can find other melon seedlings, like cantaloupes, cucumbers, and so on, we'll try them too."

Su Xiaoyin, who had been eating quietly, looked up and said softly, "Dad is right. Neighbors should give and take like this. Our family has just started to get better; we can't forget those who helped us."

Chen's mother agreed: "Okay, I'll deliver it first thing tomorrow morning. In this weather, melons won't keep well, so the sooner we deliver them, the sooner we can eat them fresh."

As they were talking, Chen Dashan suddenly moved his left leg slightly, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. Su Xiaoyin, sitting next to him, immediately noticed and asked in a low voice, "Is your leg bothering you again?"

Chen Dashan hummed in agreement, then gently pressed the old injury above his knee: "It's a bit itchy and sore, and it's throbbing inside." He looked up at the dark blue, still starless night sky outside the door, "My leg is more accurate than a weatherman. After all this fuss, the weather's probably about to change."

"The weather's changing?" Chen Xiaohe's eyes lit up. "Dad, does my brother mean it might rain?"

Mr. Chen listened intently to the sounds outside the window. Aside from the tireless chirping of summer insects, there was no sound of wind or rain. But he trusted his son's intuition; the "ailment" left by Chen Dashan's leg injury was almost always accurate in predicting the weather. "Dashan's leg is usually like this before a change in weather. Itchy, sore, and heavy." A glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. "This drought has lasted too long; the crops in the fields are almost dying. If we could get a good rain, even if it's late, there would be some hope for the autumn harvest."

These words lifted the somber atmosphere at the dinner table. Indeed, farmers depend on the heavens for their livelihood, and nothing brings more hope than a timely rain.

After dinner, Chen's mother and Su Xiaoqing cleared the dishes, while Chen's father and Chen Xiaohe went to check if the livestock shed in the backyard was secure, in case it really got windy and rainy that night. Chen Dashan, leaning on his wooden cane, slowly walked into the yard and looked up at the deep night sky. The scorching heat in the air seemed to have subsided a little, and a faint, almost imperceptible coolness seeped out from some unknown corner.

In the east wing, Su Xiaoyin lit an oil lamp and, together with Su Xiaoqing, slowly unfolded the nearly completed "Hundred Blessings" embroidery on the embroidery frame. On the pale white fabric, only a few ripples and details remained to be perfected. Under the lamplight, the silk threads shimmered with a warm luster.

"Sister, do you think it's a good omen if it really rains?" Su Xiaoqing asked softly, stroking the smooth embroidered surface.

Su Xiaoyin threaded an extremely fine gold thread, preparing to outline the luster at the very tip of the character "福" (fortune/blessing). Upon hearing this, she smiled slightly: "Good weather and abundant harvests are naturally a good omen. This embroidery we're creating is about the continuous flow of good fortune. If it can be completed on a rainy day, it might even have more spiritual power."

Outside the window, the night grew even darker. In the distance, faint rumbles of thunder seemed to roll across the horizon, deep and distant, like the sigh of the earth after a long drought. Chen Dashan stood in the courtyard for a long time, until the chill gradually became noticeable, before turning back into the house. The tingling sensation in his legs remained clear and persistent.