act31side

The harvest this year has already been poor... hopefully nothing happens to the summer harvest.

The young Tianshi bows deeply, then puts rice grains into the pile.

The pile is a lot smaller this year...

In good years, there wouldn't even be enough room to put all the grains we brought. We'd bring bags and pile them up on the sides of the altar, something we did gladly.

Young kids climbed the pile for fun. The adults didn't stop them, because it was believed that the higher the kids climbed, the higher the crops would grow the next year.

What happens to the grain? Is it made into porridge?

No, it's brewed into alcohol, which everyone shares at next year's festival.

Rice from the year before is used to make yeast for next year's drink, year after year. It's our commitment to ourselves.

He Sheng bows. The Xiangzhang gives him a bowl of grain alcohol; He Sheng takes it with both hands and gulps it down.

Good work this year, Xiaohe.

Thank you, Xiangzhang.

Good boy.

Zuo Le carefully sets his grains on the pile and bows deeply, following the example of the others.

May wind and rain favor Dahuang, and peace ever favor Yan.

The fiery wine flows down his throat. The scent of grain fills his sense, while a bout of giddiness rushes up his spine.

Bang!

A thunderous clash of the drum rings from behind the Shennong shrine, thicker than heavier than the bell just now. The farmers stop to listen to the twelve drum beats that announce the hour of noon.

The first beat brings the spring rain and cracks the frozen earth.

The second beat cracks like spring thunder and causes brown branches to sprout green again.

The twelfth beat covers the rich earth with prosperous snow.

The farmer raises his stick and delivers the final beat—

Bang!

Harvest—!

Harvest!

Firecrackers like strings of red peppers are lit, exploding in joyful golden light and assaulting the eardrums.

The sound of firecrackers is soon replaced by engines rumbling, driving into the fields that stretch as far as the eye can see.

The fields are like golden cakes and farmers like frosting, starting on the edges and creating joyful tracks.

As tires leave their trails in the mud, the harvesters spew golden waves from their rears, tiny particles mixed with the occasional clump of grass and dirt.

Kaoliang liquor? Just bought it at the fair.

Laoshi will have your head if she finds out you're drinking on the job.

All we're doing is watching the water levels and keeping track of a few numbers. I could have three bottles in me and still catch any unusual data with one glance—

Hey, am I actually drunk? Cross-check that Originium level in the silt for me.

What the...?

Close the gate—

BOOM—

A crack of summer thunder overhead causes the clouds to tremble.

The farmers standing on the levees look up at the sound. All they see is the sun over their heads, its rays reflecting off the water in the paddies.

Why did you follow me? Shouldn't you be playing the flute for the opera?

You were the one who sneaked out.

Why do you always come here with food by yourself during the Shennong Festival? Did you come to visit the mute uncle?

Who is he? Why doesn't he live with the others?

He has an illness that he's afraid he could pass onto others. That's why he moved here on his own.

Oh...

The others are all afraid of him. Aren't you, Grain Buds?

Well, a little...

I saw him when I was looking for Mianmian a few days ago. He wasn't as scary as people say. It's just the way he looks, and the axe he carries.

But I can tell he's not a bad man. When he's angry, he glares at me the same way Xiaohe glares at the students who don't do their homework.

You're a smart kid.

Stray stockbeast foals become aggressive and distrustful.

But it doesn't take long for them start acting like the normal when they've spent some time eating and playing with other stockbeasts.

Maybe that uncle will be happier if he has someone talking to him. It's sad that he has to be in this place by himself.

There are so many Tianshis in Dahuang. Can't any of them cure his illness?

Someday, maybe.

Shu... does his illness have something to do with the monsters in the legends?

Why do you ask?

There's this dream I've had more than once.

It takes place right here on this levee, and sometimes I see that mute uncle standing on it.

In the dream, the weather gets really bad, sometimes very dry, sometimes raining heavily, and the wind brings strange things from the other side of the river...

All the seedlings in the fields die, and the granaries run out of grain...

Have you... ever told this to anyone?

Whoa! Thunder?

Run, Grain Buds. Hurry back.

Rain...?

Rain... not that unusual this season, is it?

Something's not right with the skies...

Who cares? *hic* The Tianshis didn't say anything. Can't be Catastrophe—

Just disappointing that a day like this is spoiled by rain.

The water in the paddies looks muddy...

No!

What's the matter? Where are you going?

The actors are still singing on stage. Thunder rumbles with the drums, and massive raindrops fall on the ground like the drumsticks falling on the drums.

Dark clouds gather rapidly like spilled ink, lightning flashing as they clash with one another to form what looks like an enormous, black monstrosity.

A torrent spills from the clouds. The dust stirred in the fields is quickly drowned under the deluge.

A small cluster of Originium bloom in the fields.

The rice stalks look down towards this tiny black flower.