Morning shadows from the peach tree stretched across the bamboo fence. Eight-year-old Tao and Ahe knelt in the little garden and planted four seedlings. Smoke still curled above the tiled cottage behind them, but Ahe was already dreaming of golden grain in autumn.

He fetched a bamboo stick and marked the height of a leaf tip with a speck of mud. A little later, he measured again. After a drink of water, he tried once more. The mud mark and the leaf tip kept meeting in exactly the same place.

Why are they still so short? Ahe wondered, his thick eyebrows gathering. Tao crouched beside him. Perhaps we haven't waited long enough? A breeze stirred their clothes. The seedlings only gave a gentle nod.