Plucking Grapes

The white hair on Winston's head had turned as hot as withered grass under the sun, and his tanned skin was also radiating a scalding temperature. When he heard Bai Qingqing's gentle voice, it was as though he found an oasis in the desert, dispelling all the heat from his body.

He came out from the fields and fixed the net properly, rubbing his mud-stained hands before taking the watermelon from Bai Qingqing's hands carefully.

"Thank you," Winston said in his deep and slightly raspy voice with his head lowered.

With the animal skin firmly wrapped around her, Bai Qingqing kept fanning herself with her hand. "It's so hot. There isn't a problem with the rice, is there?"