The season of planting in Kunming is usually not lacking in rain. The rainy season has arrived, and it is underground for two days. Stop, go down; down, stop. The air is damp and the clothes can’t be done that day. The grass grows very strong. Various fungi have come out. Greenhead, bovine dry, chanterelle… The soil in the rice fields is soaked in rain, and each field looks very creamy and delicate. Clouds are stuck on the thin water that accumulates. People wear buckets and insert the newly pulled seedlings into the soft mud… But occasionally there are such years and months, the rainy season is late, lack of water, and can not be planted. This is the case this year. Because there is usually no shortage of rain, the farmers here are not prepared for the keel waterwheel. They used a bucket to pull the ropes on both sides, pouring turbid mud from the creek into the fields of nursery. But this little water can only keep the seedlings from dying, and can’t rely on it. The seedlings have grown too long, and they will not work if they are not inserted. However, the rice fields are dry. The flat surface was flattened, and a thin shell was formed in the sun, which was split into a slit. How many people look up at the sky and how many times a day. However, the sky is terrible. The color of the sky reflects the eyes of the people. Rain, why don’t you still have it! Rain, rain!
Wang Er also looked up at the sky. Looking at Dad and Mom, he saw their eyes blue. The eyes of Wang’s eyes are also blue. He looked down at the ground, and he saw a trace of a lion crawling over the mud on the rice field. Wang Er thought of an idea: ask for rain. Wang Er saw the children in the neighboring village asking for rain yesterday. He thought about it: We also asked for rain.
He called the children in the village together, found a set of small drums, and set off.
A total of a dozen children, the big ten years old, the youngest is only six years old. This is a skinny, awkward, somewhat dirty, but it is a sacred team. They wore wicker hats on their heads and knocked on the beatless, monotonous little gongs: winter and winter, winter and winter… they walked very slowly. After walking for a while, knocking on the look of the child, they sang: the little child cried and mourned, and the seedlings could not be planted. It’s raining in the old world, and the storm is coming together.
The tone is very simple, just to pronounce the words in Kunming. Their voices are bitter and pious. None of these children have ever read a book. Some of them have vaguely heard that there is a Jade Emperor, and there is a Dragon King, and the Dragon King is raining. But most children don’t even know Jade Emperor and Dragon King. They only know the sky, and the sky is impermanent. It is sometimes good for people, sometimes it is ruthless, and its heart is very embarrassing. They want to use their voices to touch the sky and let it rain.
(This place is very different from other places. They use their children for rain. So they can find a set of small drums. Maybe the adults think that the day will also pamper the children, and they will be soft because of the child’s pleading.)
They wore wicker circles, knocked on the little drums, sang and walked down the streets of Kunming.
The little child cried and mourned, and the seedlings could not be planted. It’s raining in the old world, and the storm is coming together.
Pedestrians crossing the road slowed down, or simply stopped to look at this young, awkward team. Their eyes are also blue.
The village of Wanger is in the north of Baima Temple. From Daximen, they walked through Huashan West Road and Jinbi Road, and walked back from the road in the east of the city.
They are very tired, they are still very small. Just sizzling hot peppers, eating two bowls of gluten rice, they all climbed onto the bed and slept. I fell asleep after asleep.
In the middle of the night, Wang Er called a fried thunder to wake up. Then he heard the sound of the roof sill. After a while, he realized that it was raining! He shouted loudly: “Dad! Mom! It’s raining!”
His father and his mother are all up. They went outside to see the rain. They are coming into the house. They are dressed in robes and rags. Water is dripping on the buckets and coats. “It’s raining!”
Mom put the oil lamp up, and all the houses were light. The lights are reflected in the eyes of the mother. My mother’s eyes are so dark and bright. Dad burned a leaf of smoke, and the fire of the leaf smoke reflected on Dad’s face and reflected in his eyes.
The next day, transplanted!
All the men, women and children in the village have come out, and people are everywhere.
Wang Er believes that this rain is what they ask for.