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電微{137*1444*6978}      A very strange piece of science fiction worth reading patiently he knew that this last lesson would have to be advanced. Another sharp pain in his liver nearly made him faint. Unable to get out of bed, he laboriously approached the window beside the bed. The moon was shining on the paper, so that the little window looked like a door to a world where everything must be silver, like a box of silver and ice-free snow. He raised his head, trembling, and looked out through the hole in the window-paper, and the vision vanished, and he saw in the distance the village where he had spent his life. The village lay in the moonlight as if it had been deserted for a hundred years. The unique flat roofed huts on the Some Random Place Somewhere are no different in shape from the Loess Bales around the village, and the color is the same on a moonlit night, as if the whole village had dissolved into the Loess Slope. Only the old locust tree in front of the village was very clear. The old crow nests among the dry branches of the tree were black, like a few drops of striking ink on the dark silver picture. In fact, the village also had beautiful and warm times, such as the autumn harvest, most of the men and women who work outside have returned. There are voices and laughter in the village. Golden Corn is on the roofs of every house. Children are rolling around among the orange poles in the threshing floor, there for days on end, rocking the boat, dancing the lion. The lions had nothing left but their rattling wooden heads, which had been stripped of paint, and there was no money in the village for a new lion's skin, so they used a few sheets instead and had a good time... but after the 15th, all the young and middle-aged people in the village went out to work to earn a living, and the village suddenly lost its vitality. Only every evening, when a few wisps of smoke rose, perhaps an old man or two appeared at the head of the village, raising their pecan-like faces and looking eagerly at the road leading out of the mountains until the last rays of the sunset hung in the old locust tree. After dark, the village early without lights, dolls and elderly people sleep early, electricity expensive, now to 1.81 degrees. Then a dog barked faintly out of the village, very softly, as if the dog were talking in his sleep. He looked around the village at the yellow soil in the moonlight, and suddenly it seemed to him as if it were motionless water. If only it were water. This year is the fifth drought in a row. If we want to have a harvest, we have to carry water to irrigate the land again. Thinking of the fields, he looked farther away, at the patches of Yamada, like the footprints of a giant in the moonlight. In this long brambles and wormwood on the Stone Mountain, the field can only be so east a small piece of west a small piece of, not to say farm machinery, even livestock are not turned around, can only rely on human planting. Last year some farm machine shop came here to sell a tractor that could work in these palm-sized fields. That thing is really good, but the village people say they are making a joke! Have they thought about how much they can produce with those slaps? Is to embroider like to grow, can grow a year of food rations on the good, encountered such a drought year, may not be able to get back the seed money! Buy 35,000 tractors for a field like this, and use two more than a liter of diesel? Alas, the mountain people's difficulties, how can outsiders know it?