Mr. Mu hadn't marveled for long when he felt a sharp pain on his hand; the sickle sliced from his left pinky all the way to his wrist.
Blood gushed continuously, and before long, it dyed Mr. Mu's entire arm red.
"Ah, Dad, you're bleeding..." Mu Dazhong noticed the situation and couldn't help but shout loudly.
Mu Danian, standing nearby, lifted his head and saw Old Mrs. Mu's bleeding left hand. His eyes darted, and he quickly spoke.
"Second Brother, what are you dawdling for? Get Dad back home. The weather is so hot; if we don't treat the hand properly, it'll stink."
Mu Dazhong hurriedly helped Mr. Mu to prepare to go back. Who would've thought Mr. Mu would swipe his hand away.
"No, there's just these seven or eight plots. I must finish them quickly; your elder brother is still waiting for the money."
"Dad, you must be muddle-headed. This hand is precious! If you don't treat it well, who's going to transplant the rice in a few days?"
