Another day of work has ended.
As the sun gradually disappeared beyond the mountain's peak and its rays faded, the fields were enveloped in starlight. The indigenous workers, wearing straw hats, packed up their tools.
Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Kulu, lagging behind everyone else, casually pulled up a handful of weeds to clean the mud off his calves and the edges of his shoes, rolled down his pant legs, and then caught up with the others.
The path home led through a forest. For those unfamiliar with the surroundings, a first walk would inevitably be fraught with stumbling.
But this path was built by the indigenous workers' own hands. They knew it intimately, and even in dim light, it did not hinder their progress.
The workers at the front were chatting and laughing, discussing what they might do tomorrow with the light workload.
Someone suggested going fishing by the river—
