Nearly thirty acres of crops were ravaged by the fire, leaving the landowners with nothing but tears to slightly ease the sorrow in their hearts.
Wu Xiaoyu looked at his mother squatting by the roadside, crying endlessly, and could only console her, "It's already like this, what's the use of crying now?"
Several aunts and uncles from the same family were also comforting his mother, urging her to take it easy and not cry herself sick.
But at this moment, no amount of consolation could help. For farmers, there is no disaster more severe than a total crop failure.
Looking around, only thick ashes were left on the large, burnt wheat fields, drifting in the soft summer wind, like endless sighs.
The villagers surrounding the wheat fields were either crying or lamenting. Most people were grateful that the fire was extinguished; otherwise, their own fields would look the same.
