Uncle Chen brought over a pot of chilled tea, the earthenware pot bubbling as he poured it into a rough porcelain bowl. "Try it," he said with a smile, "homemade mint tea, it'll relieve your fatigue." Ah Yu took the bowl; the chilled tea had a slightly bitter taste, but a refreshing sweetness followed her throat. She gazed at the vegetable garden before her, the newly planted seedlings swaying gently in the evening breeze, the water droplets on their leaves reflecting the setting sun like scattered gold.
“Look,” A-Jie suddenly pointed to the distant mountains, “don’t those clouds over there look like the goosegrass we just pulled?” Everyone looked in the direction he was pointing, and the sunset was dyeing the clouds in varying shades of gold and red, indeed resembling a meadow warmed by the setting sun. Someone burst into laughter, the sound carrying along the ridges of the fields, startling several sparrows pecking at food in the ground.
The Gift of Soil: Silent Teachings
Before wrapping up, Uncle Chen picked a few fresh tomatoes from the field and shared them with everyone. The tomato skins still warm from the sun, and the sweet and sour juice exploded in your mouth the moment you bit into them. "These are the first harvests," Uncle Chen said, his eyes crinkling with a smile as he looked at everyone's satisfied expressions. "Farming is like living life; you can't rush it. Look at these tomatoes; they're planted in spring and bear fruit in summer—it all follows the seasons. People, too, have to learn to wait."
Ah Yu chewed on a tomato, suddenly recalling how everyone had been preoccupied with daily life before they set off—back then, they were like seedlings eager to bear fruit, forgetting that their roots needed time to grow. At that moment, the setting sun slowly sank behind the distant mountains, the shadows between the ridges of the fields growing longer. Looking at her companions' sunburnt cheeks, she suddenly felt that the sweat she had shed today seemed to have washed away all the accumulated dust in her heart.
On the way back, Amin hummed an off-key tune, while Lily and Xiaowen discussed whether they should learn to make scarecrows from Uncle Chen the next day. Ayu walked at the back, glancing back at the vegetable garden shrouded in twilight. Each seedling grew quietly in the soil, like a child harboring a secret. She knew that from this day forward, something had been planted in their hearts—a seed of patience, of reverence, of the grounded connection to the land that had been gradually lost in the city.
As the moonlight crept up the field ridges, the inn's lights were already on. Everyone sat around the stone table in the courtyard, sharing the fresh vegetables Uncle Chen had given them. The soup in the pot steamed, releasing the purest aromas of earth and ingredients. No one spoke, but a light shone in everyone's eyes—the fulfillment of labor, the satisfaction of nature's bounty, and the deep, warm strength felt in each other's company, a strength as rich and comforting as the earth itself.
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