Farmers took these "lucky words" very seriously. It was one thing not to offer any, but she had gone and said something unlucky instead. If Uncle Zhang heard, he'd surely scold her for being 'a young'un with no filter'!
Seeing her look of regret, Zhang Huai chuckled. "It's just a few words. Whether the fields do well or not isn't decided by a single sentence, is it?"
After speaking, he glanced at the sky. The sun had long since set, and the fields were no longer baking hot. A light breeze carried a refreshing coolness, and wisps of cooking smoke were already rising above the village. "We should head back," he said to the other two. "It's time for dinner. Besides, the mosquitoes are thick in the paddies. Juhua, you shouldn't have come along—you'll get eaten alive."
He glanced toward the mountains. 'Once autumn arrives,' he thought, 'I'll be able to come and go with Qingmu and Juhua. But for now, we have to go our separate ways.'
