"It's really damn cold."
The frigid winter snow lingered over the lake for several months, and when the weather warmed slightly in the spring, it was as cold as the winters of previous years. The seedlings planted in the ground turned sullenly yellow and withered, none of them surviving.
As the remaining chill dissipated, the summer warmed only for a few days before plunging back into the bone-chilling autumn. The fields yielded no harvest throughout the year, and the farmers could only swallow their saliva, setting down their hoes to forage in the mountains.
Old Master Xu sat in front of the door, rubbing his hands in the cold wind, estimating whether the remaining grain in the house would be enough for next year's food and clothing. He had been the head of the household for more than a decade since his father Xu San had passed away, and he was quite adept at this task.
