The ox, probably already exhausted from plowing the field, stubbornly lowered his head and refused to move. The bare-chested old man leaned on the plough behind his beast, seemingly frustrated by the ox's attitude. I heard his bright voice say to the ox, "Oxen plough the fields, dogs watch over the house, monks beg for alms, chickens call at the break of day and women do the weaving. Have you ever heard of an ox that didn't plough the land? This is a truth that has been with us since ancient times. Come on, let's go."
The weary old ox, after hearing the old man's lesson, raised his head as if admitting his mistake. Pulling the plow, he began to move forward.
I noticed the old man's back was just as black as the ox's. Even though the pair had already entered the twilight of their lives, they still managed to noisily plough the rugged land, the earth breaking up like a wave crashing on the shore. Afterward I heard the old man's hoarse yet moving voice sing an old folk song. First he sang a long introductory melody, then came two lines of verse:
The emperor beckons me; he wants me to marry his daughter.
The road to the capital is long and distant; I don't want her.