On a visit to her village home, Hongmiao pulls out a pile of hundred-yuan bills from her wallet. Her father has been sick, and she wants to help. Her parents ask Hongmiao to keep some money for herself in Beijing, the big city where she works and lives, and praise her for being quick-minded and courageous. What the family might or might not know—it’s ambiguous in the film—is that Hongmiao is a sex worker.
Wheat Harvest depicts a complex picture of Hongmiao and brings the underground economy of sex work—which is illegal in China—to the fore. Through filmmaker Tong Xu’s lens, the mundaneness and rawness of life are inseparable. In one scene, Hongmiao watches TV in her small rented room and answers a phone call. In another, she sits in the dark, narrow space of the brothel listening to a fellow sex worker complain about last night’s customer.
Hongmiao laughs as much as she curses and sings as often as she smokes. During the wheat harvest in the fall, she visits home again and aids her family, both physically and financially. Migrant, sex worker, daughter—Hongmiao is all of these.
