That was Aunt Lin's voice.
"I have half a bowl of old rice at home. Take it to make some porridge for the baby," a stooped-over old man said.
"My rice is fresher. I'll go back and get it for you," a gray-haired grandma leaning on a cane chimed in.
"I have some too!"
"I have some cornmeal. Let your daughter-in-law have some too. It's not easy for a woman who's just given birth..."
One voice rose after another.
Even in their final moments, everyone here still held the greatest goodwill toward life and their companions.
This was what moved Tang Mo the most about this place.
After the crowd dispersed, Tang Mo didn't go home. Instead, she knocked on Aunt Lin's door.
"Oh, it's Tang Mo. Come in, quick."
Seeing Tang Mo, Aunt Lin warmly welcomed her inside. By now, she was quite familiar with this polite newcomer.
Perhaps rural people are born with a certain resilience, even when they know fate is about to deal them a fatal blow.
