We followed Big Dumb onto the village's dirt road and saw many villagers emerging from their homes as well, calling to friends and gathering in one direction. Everyone wore delighted expressions. It seemed the "village chief" Big Dumb had mentioned truly held considerable prestige among the locals. Following the villagers onward, we finally spotted an old man surrounded by a large group of children just before the village entrance. This Old Man had to be the village chief.
I did not rush over, merely watching from behind the crowd. The old man known as the village chief looked to be over seventy. He leaned on a crooked wooden cane and was slightly hunched, neither fat nor thin. He wore a weathered gray cloth robe with its hood down, exposing a head of nearly white hair. His eye sockets were deep, his face covered in wrinkles, and his skin had the lead-gray cast peculiar to the elderly. Yet he looked quite healthy, his sunken eyes bright and lively, his gaze seeming to hold the composure and openness unique to old age. The old village chief stood in the middle of a cluster of children, his robe rubbed black and white in patches by the village brats, but he did not appear annoyed in the slightest. Instead, he pulled open the robe's broad front and grabbed out handful after handful of rough sugar lumps to hand to the children. When he smiled, all his wrinkles squeezed together. His voice was strong and booming. "There's enough for everyone, enough for everyone! Don't grab, now. Good children don't grab! Lu An! Look after the kids younger than you."
The village adults silently formed a circle around them. No one stepped forward to steal the children's spotlight; they all watched the youngsters frolic with cheerful