Fighting to destiny

Chapter 1 Drought

There is a small village at the foot of West Mountain, called Liujia Village. The village is not big, with only more than 200 people, and most of the villagers make a living by farming and hunting.

There is an old willow tree at the entrance of Liujia Village, which has been eroded by the years. Even the oldest man in the village does not know his age.

At this time of year in previous years, the willow branches that covered the sky had already sprouted tender willow leaves, layer upon layer, full of green, and swaying gracefully in the breeze. But at this time of year, there is no green on the branches.

The dry brown bark peeled off from the trunk layer by layer, and the withered yellow willow branches fell down as if this old willow tree of unknown age had died.

At five o'clock in the morning, when the sky was just white, the villagers of Liujia Village got up early, men, women, old and young went out of their homes, gathered in groups of three or five, and walked towards the old willow tree at the entrance of the village.

Today is March 20th, the Spring Equinox, and there is a local custom of offering sacrifices to the sky. The intention is to pray for God's blessing, good weather, good harvest, and full rice warehouses in the new year.

It is a festive day.

However, the villagers did not see the joy that should be seen on festive days.

On the contrary, the elderly staggered and shook their heads and lamented from time to time; the middle-aged frowned, walked heavily, and looked bitter; the young people clenched their fists and kicked stones, irritable and restless.

Even the lively and active children lowered their heads and followed the adults step by step, without the vitality they should have.

Dullness and depression enveloped the entire Liujia Village.

To be precise, the entire southern land is shrouded in this dullness and depression.

Since the beginning of spring last year, a year and 48 days have passed, and no rain has fallen in the entire southern land.

Now the rivers are dry, the lakes are dry, the earth is cracked, the grass and trees are withered, and all you can see is the color of withering and death.

The crops in the fields have failed for consecutive seasons. The people have eaten up all the stored food, grass roots, and tree bark, and are struggling on the brink of death.

Drought, this demon from the abyss of hell, has raised its sickle in its hand, ready to reap the lives of tens of millions of people in the South.

In previous years, during the Spring Equinox, Liujia Village would place pig heads and three animals under the old willow tree, and the old village chief would read the sacrificial text, and then gongs and drums would sound, and the whole village, young and old, would celebrate the festival happily.

But this year it is impossible because all the edible things have been eaten up, so there is no pig head and three animals, and even three bowls of white rice are a luxury.

The old village chief is called Li Degui, he is 76 years old this year, and his body is still healthy. If there is no serious illness or disaster, it will not be a problem to live a few more years. Although he is old, his mind is not confused at all.

Nowadays, drought is raging, and every household is struggling to survive by counting rice grains. So even though today was the day of the festival, he did not follow the rigid instructions and had to prepare sacrifices such as pig heads and three animals. Instead, he told the villagers to put out three bowls of water.

He said that if heaven had eyes, it would sympathize with the suffering of the people and would not blame them.

The villagers followed the instructions of the old village chief and put out three bowls of water on the altar under the old willow tree.

At six o'clock, the red sun jumped in the eastern sky, and the light burst out, piercing the sky. Above the sky, there were no clouds, and the sky was blue. It was another sunny day.

"Ah--" The old village chief stroked his long white beard, looked at the blue sky through the gaps between the branches of the old willow tree, and sighed.

It was another sunny day. If it didn't rain, how could the people survive?

He shook his head with a bitter smile, walked to the altar with a willow stick, tidied his hair and clothes, and knelt on the ground.

More than 200 villagers knelt behind him.

Whoosh——

A gust of wind blew, and the dead willow branches fell, hitting everyone's heads and bodies.

An old woman with gray hair trembled and picked up a willow branch, holding it in her rough and skinny hands. Her sunken eye sockets were filled with tears. She leaned her forehead against the willow branch and fell to the ground. She was filled with sorrow and couldn't help sobbing, "Grandpa Willow is dead."

The old woman's sobbing aroused the desolation and sadness suppressed in everyone's hearts. In an instant, the eyes of men, women, old and young were all red, and sobbing became one.

In the hearts of the people of Liujia Village, the old willow tree is more like a close relative who has accompanied them in their growth. The bond between them and the old willow tree, especially the elderly, may not be clearly explained, but it is unforgettable.