At times like these, Juhua would move to his side, gently fanning him and wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead with a cotton towel until her arm ached and she drifted off to sleep.
They could only feel relieved once the early rice was harvested. When the wind-dried, winnowed grain was stored away in the underground storeroom, they felt even more secure.
After they had planted the late rice, news came from Xiatang Market: this year's summer tax had risen by forty percent compared to previous years. This was, of course, an additional levy.
