The old village chief's smile froze on his dark face, a faint, barely perceptible twitch flashing through the crisscrossed wrinkles.
His eyes were glued to the scattered raisins, his cracked lips trembling slightly.
Although the villagers behind him maintained polite smiles, their clenched fists and reddened eyes had long betrayed their sorrow.
The oasis where their village was located was small, and the carefully nurtured vineyard was limited in size. Every year, the raisins they produced were marketed as premium products.
To entertain the celebrities this time, fearing the stars who had seen the world would disdain the local specialties from their village, the elders squatted in the sun-drying field, picking one by one the plumpest and most golden raisins.
What they were now serving the guests were premium products even they were usually reluctant to eat, while only the leftover second-grade goods were left for their children to satisfy their cravings.
