The next day, everyone was busy with their own affairs, and Cheng Xiaoxiao could finally go out alone. She was going to Cheng Beiniu's house to find Mr. Yan and get the money. She had too many things to stockpile, and just selling herbs was a drop in the bucket.
Walking to the end of the village, the breeze blew through patches of rice fields, the stalks swaying left and right as if dancing with the wind, absorbing sunlight and dew freely. Upon closer inspection, the fields were cracked, and the growth was far inferior to the current hybrid rice, sparse, with shorter grains. Despite this, it was still the grain everyone relied on for survival.
