The man immediately said: "But Si Hui will take others by the way, and it may not be faster than me." ”

"Are you sure?"

"Hmm." He looked at him, his eyes determined.

The woman met his gaze, but her gaze slowly moved to the tear mole, which was blood-red, very small but extremely deep, she was in a trance, and couldn't help but stretch out: "It's so beautiful." ”

He turned his face away, the tips of his ears flushed, he had never been so close to such a beautiful woman since he was a child, and changed the topic a little woodenly: "Are you still in the car?" ”

"You've said that, so naturally you have to sit." She withdrew her paw and lifted her foot into the car.

The man packed up his shoeshine belongings, took out a clean towel and wiped it on the back seat, and when he had sat down, he twisted it and walked westward, carefully avoiding the crowd.

At this moment, he didn't know that the bitterness and joy of his life began here, the joys and sorrows were like songs and tears, amazing time, and gentle years.

The sound of summer cicadas is like waves, wave after wave, the fiery red sun burns in the sky, and large areas of golden yellow penetrate the clouds, sprinkled on asphalt roads, concrete floors, and country roads.

The plain yellow dust flipped into the air with the wheels, floating, blowing through the wind, sticking to the blades of grass, accumulating more and more.

The sun was scorching, and even when sitting in the tricycle, the woman was still uncomfortable with the baking, and the white forehead gradually beaded with sweat and wet the hair.

"Take a break." The man put the car in the shade, took out a straw hat from the cloth bag on the side and handed it over: "It's too hot, do you want to wear it?" ”

She took it, put it to the tip of her nose and sniffed it, smelled of sweat, and threw it back with some disgust: "Don't." ”

The man's dark skin hung uncomfortably, he took back his straw hat and put it on, and walked to the canal not far away.

She lifted her foot in the car and stood under the old locust tree, surrounded by rice fields, and not far away there was a river, narrow and long, and she did not know where it led.

Rice seedlings just planted, blown crookedly by the wind, the water at the root of the seedlings is exhausted, scattered on the top of the dead leaves and other debris, a toad out of the water, croaking a few times and then not back, the water surface ripples in circles, cut off by the rice seedlings intermittently.

The woman folded off a few locust leaves, delicately braided them into a wreath, and picked a few unknown flowers from the roadside to decorate them.

The man picked up a bow of water by the river to wash his face, then wiped the hem of his clothes, and caught a glimpse of her weaving garlands, looking attentive and serious.

The wind blew, the branches and leaves swayed, a few locust flowers fell in response to the wind, like rain on her shoulders, the top of her hair, the woman didn't care, until the wreath was finished, put on her head, as soon as she raised her eyes, she saw a figure standing by the river, looking at her, wooden, the hem of the clothes was wrinkled, and there were a lot of water stains on it.

"Got a crush on me?" She raised her eyebrows, put on a wreath of flowers for herself, and seven or eight small pink flowers swaggered in the wind, showing off her last life.

"Let's keep going." The man glanced at it, bent down to roll the tube up to his calf, and walked back to the car.

"Am I good-looking?" The woman faced him, her eyebrows and eyes were crooked, there was a faint coolness in the sweetness, and the red lips were stunning and dazzling.

"Beautiful." The man said honestly, he had never seen such a beautiful girl when he was so big.

"I think so." She lifted her feet and got into the car, not shying away from his praise, and accepting it with peace of mind.