The atmosphere on the threshing ground tonight was completely different from yesterday. Laughter echoed all around, and people were scattered across the open field, now dotted with even more straw ricks.
A group of old men had gathered at the highest point, a prime spot that caught the breeze and offered a view of the entire threshing ground. They were squatting or sitting, smoking their long-stemmed pipes and laughing boisterously.
Xu Dageng, who was usually quiet and unassuming—offering little more than a nod or a brief word of agreement with his old friends—was now gripping his pipe and boasting about his plump little grandson.
Of course, he was exaggerating. The baby was one of a set of twins, so anyone could guess he was much smaller than an average newborn, no need to even see him.
