"The horse's head lunged—grab the reins!" someone yelled as I clawed at the plow. "Don't you choke the animal!" Liu shouted from the furrow behind me. "Let go or you'll throw us both!" Zhang Dog cursed, running up with a bundle of rope. "I can hold it," I said, teeth set. My hands slipped on the raw wood. Mud sprayed my calves. "City girl, what did your mother teach you?" an old woman called from the path. "You wreck the rows, you'll owe the whole week." "I can plant a baby, not a whole field," I snapped. "Don't sass!" Guo Yuan barked, lungs burning from the slope. "You're not in the hospital anymore." "Good," I said. "Because in a hospital I don't get yelled at for breaking a plow." The horse bucked. The plow bit a deep groove. The handle jarred my shoulder. The world narrowed to the rope, the animal, the dirt. My lungs burned with work I had never done, with muscles that remembered a lifetime I hadn't lived. "Pull left!" Liu grabbed the reins. "Pull now!" I pivoted my weight. The plow tilted. Metal screeched. A wheel caught a stone and the whole contraption tilted. The shaft slammed into my thigh. Pain stabbed. I smelled sweat and grass and the sharp tang of manure. "Watch her!" Zhang Dog shouted. "Move!" Someone's hand locked on the back of my jacket and jerked. I caught my balance. The plow