The buzz about clearing wasteland to plant huangqi brewed for two days.
On the third day, when the first villagers headed up the mountain with sickles, hoes, shovels, and baskets to begin clearing the land, the floodgates of excitement that had been building in the village finally burst open.
Droves of people swarmed to Mr. Zhao's house, begging him to mark out one, two, or even three mu of wasteland for them.
Each of them had a flushed face, with large beads of sweat dripping from their brows.
"Mr. Zhao, mark out my plot first! I want to clear three mu of wasteland."
"I'll take two mu!"
"Mr. Zhao, I only need one mu! Just mark it for me first, before all the good plots are taken!"
Mr. Zhao let them have it. "Where were you all before? Why didn't you come two days ago? Others have already cleared a mu of land, and you're only just showing up now. You're so slow, you couldn't even get to shit while it's still hot!"
"Mr. Zhao, Mr. Zhao, you can't say that."
