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

The days that followed continued in this cyclical pattern.

Every day before dawn, Chen's father would take his two sons in an oxcart to the bean field at the foot of the barren mountain. The field had been newly reclaimed this year, and the soil wasn't very fertile, but the soybeans were growing quite well. They needed to harvest as many rows as possible before sunrise, because if the sun got too strong, the bean pods would scorch and burst, scattering the beans on the ground.

After delivering the first batch of food, Chen's mother also went to the fields. She bent down and followed behind the men, bundling the cut bean stalks into bundles and stacking them at the edge of the field. These bean stalks would be taken back to the threshing ground, dried, and then threshed with a flail to extract the beans.

Su Xiaoyin and Su Xiaoqing were never idle at home. After feeding the child in the morning and eating a few bites of breakfast, one of them would stay home to take care of the child, do housework, and prepare lunch, while the other would carry a basket to the tofu shop at the village entrance to buy two pieces of tofu, and then hurry to the threshing ground.

The grain drying ground was at the east end of the village, a large expanse of compacted yellow earth. The Chen family's area was right next to Chen Ermu's; their grains were spread out side-by-side for mutual support. Su Xiaoyin or Su Xiaoqing took turns sitting in the shade of a tree at the edge of the ground, doing simple needlework while occasionally getting up to turn over the drying soybeans and some early-ripening corn that had been harvested earlier. They also had to keep a close eye on the sky; if a cloud drifted by, they would quickly call for the grain to be brought in.

As noon approaches, those at home hurry to light the fire and cook. During the autumn harvest, every household eats two meals of dry food. Brown rice, mixed grain pancakes, stewed vegetables, pickled vegetables, and sometimes a plate of salted duck eggs make for a very good meal. Once the food is cooked, it is packed in baskets, covered tightly with a thick cloth, and carried to the fields.

Chen's mother didn't return for lunch. She ate with her sons under the shade of a tree at the edge of the field, rested for a quarter of an hour, and then had to go back to the fields. Su Xiaoyin took the empty bowls and chopsticks home, while Su Xiaoqing took the children to the threshing ground to exchange for their older sister.

The children, sitting in small carts beside the threshing ground, watched the golden beans tumbling under bamboo rakes, inhaling the aroma of the dried grains, and were quite well-behaved. Occasionally, a village woman would pass by, tease them a few times, and they would giggle, revealing their newly sprouted white teeth.

Evening is the busiest time of day.

Father Chen and his sons drove the oxcart, hauling loads of harvested bean stalks from the field back to the drying ground. Mother Chen followed behind, picking up fallen bean branches along the way. Su Xiaoyin and Su Xiaoqing, on the other hand, gathered the grain that had been thoroughly dried during the day, bagged it, and carried each bag onto the oxcart before transporting it home to the granary. By the time the last bag of grain was in the granary, it was already completely dark.

Dinner is usually a simple reheating of leftovers from lunch, or a pot of hot noodle soup. The family sits around the table, no one wanting to talk much, only the soft clinking of chopsticks against bowls and the occasional babbling of the children. But the contentment amidst the weariness is something no words can replace.

And so it went, day after day.

The soybeans at the foot of the barren mountain were harvested, and next came the sweet potatoes on the hillside. Sweet potatoes are susceptible to frost, so they had to be harvested before the first frost. Father Chen and his sons dug with hoes, while Mother Chen followed behind, picking up the grains, removing the mud, and packing them into baskets. The family's cellar was gradually filled, with new and old grains laid out side by side, like a silent reserve army.

Next came corn and sorghum. The Chen family planted a lot of these coarse grains in their fertile fields, the stalks tall and dense. It was stuffy and poorly ventilated inside; the sharp edges of the leaves left tiny red marks on your arms, which stung with sweat.

Then came the half-acre of rice. This was the family's most precious grain, cultivated for a whole year, all they had to wait for this harvest. Chen Dashan and Chen Xiaohe went barefoot into the field, bending over to swing their sickles, while Chen's mother, Su Xiaoyin, and Su Xiaoqing took turns carrying the harvested rice stalks ashore. These days, the four children were being carried by Chen's mother in baby carriers or placed in a cart by the edge of the field, and they were much quieter than usual.

It was a full month later when all the rice had been dried and stored in the granary.

Over the past month, everyone in the Chen family has lost weight, their faces are tanned dark, and their hands are covered with new calluses on top of old ones. But the sight of the overflowing granaries and cellars, with bags and stacks piled high, warms the heart.

On the last evening, Chen's father stood at the entrance of the barn, holding a pipe in his hand, and unusually lit it. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling bluish-white smoke, gazing at the piles of golden corn, plump soybeans, and several heavy bags of white rice, remaining silent for a long time.

Chen's mother came over, handed him a bowl of cold tea, and followed his gaze.

"This year's harvest is better than last year's," said Chen's mother.

Mr. Chen nodded, his voice a little hoarse: "Yes. The soil fertility improved in the second year after the wasteland was cleared. It will be even better in the next year or the year after."

He paused, then suddenly turned around and looked at the children behind him, who were also tanned dark red, exhausted but with bright eyes.

"It's been a tough month or so," he said. "The autumn harvest is finally over. I'll take a good rest for the next few days."

Chen Xiaohe wanted to say something, but Chen Dashan gently pressed him down. It was rare for Chen's father to say such things, so they just listened.

That evening, Chen's mother specially asked Su Xiaoyin to stew the two big bones into soup, and cut the two catties of pork in half to make braised pork. The whole house was filled with the aroma of meat, and the four little ones crawled around on the kang (a heated brick bed), looking straight towards the kitchen from the smell.

The meal was eaten more slowly than usual. No one was in a hurry to leave the table. Even Chen Xiaohe, who was usually the most talkative, just buried his head in his food and soup, occasionally glancing up and giving Su Xiaoqing a silly grin.

After the meal, Chen Dashan helped Su Xiaoyin clear the table. He suddenly said in a low voice, "This year has been tiring, but I feel confident."

Su Xiaoyin looked up at him.

Chen Dashan didn't explain further; he simply carried the stacked bowls and chopsticks into the kitchen.

Su Xiaoyin stood at the entrance of the main room, looking at the courtyard that was not luxurious but was becoming more and more prosperous in the night, listening to the faint smell of grain in the storeroom and the laughter of children inside.

A month of autumn harvest has brought back all the sweat and expectations of the year, and stored them away in the granary.

Starting tomorrow, life will enter a different rhythm—drying grain, storing it in the granary, repairing farm tools, and making final preparations for winter. Su Xiaoyin touched her fingertips, which had become soft again from holding the embroidery needle for so long.

The embroidery pattern for "Pine and Crane Longevity" is still waiting for them in the bundle.