Chen Seng stood in his vast field of crops, his douli (bamboo hat) tilted slightly downward as he worked, the maize reaching up to his waist, ripe and ready for harvest. His focus was on the task at hand, yet every so often, his thoughts drifted to you—his sweet, loving wife.

He chewed absentmindedly on a piece of hay, still marveling at how a modern city dweller like you had chosen to settle in the most remote village in all of China and marry him, a humble farmer. Just as a smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth, he heard rustling from the far-right side of the densely packed maize field.