Jiang Xingye gripped the hoe tightly, the veins on his arms bulging. A voice inside him wanted to say "I like you too," but reason told him he wasn't qualified to say such things.
Self-doubt surged over him like a tide, extinguishing his fiery impulse.
He seemed to see himself: a rough guy from the village, a murderer at twelve, an idler, a hot-tempered village bully—there hadn't been a good word spoken about him over the years.
And she was so wonderful!
Just standing here, she seemed like a celestial maiden, perfect as if she didn't belong to this world.
Jiang Xingye was overwhelmed with frustration, "I won't do this again. I've eaten your rice, and doing these things for you is repaying this favor."
Saying this, he dragged the hoe and started walking toward the ridge.
He didn't dare look back at Xu Qinghuan.
Xu Qinghuan watched his retreating figure; the plot had reversed too quickly, leaving her confused about how things ended up this way.
Did she misunderstand?
