As the family was chatting and laughing, they saw Zhang Huai hurrying over, his face glistening with sweat. "Uncle Zheng," he said to Zheng Changhe, "I've come to help you harvest your wheat—" He saw Zheng Changhe was about to offer some polite words and quickly waved his hand to stop him. "Let me help you finish up quickly so Qingmu can come help my family with our harvest. The old folks are saying the weather feels off, and they're afraid a big storm's coming. My dad said we can't wait. We have to harvest it and carry it straight home instead of leaving it in the fields to dry."
Zheng Changhe quickly stood up and asked, "Is that so? I thought something felt off, too—it's so stuffy! But it won't rain that soon, will it? Who said so?"
