level_act31side_02_beg

Another lost harvest.

Sow the seeds, raise the seedlings, only to see it all taken away by Catastrophe.

We took our land back from the Feranmuts. Why, then, do so many people continue to suffer?

Is there a land not afflicted by Catastrophe? Wind, frost, rain and snow we can handle, but Catastrophe and Originium are a whole different matter. People they touch fall ill; crops they touch die.

Farmers look for the right soil to plant their crops. If this land is not fit for humans, who 'planted' us here in the first place?

We must find a way. Man must eat.

Let the wild plains, rivers and mountains come! Harsh is the east wind, the frozen moon, heavens fickle, raging thunder♪

May the scent of rice fill Heaven and earth, north and south, and fear neither drought nor flood! If only I was the wind and spring rain, bringing spring to the people♪

Plow the great plains and soak them with blood, sweat, and tears! Trample a thousand li flat, and turn them into fields of gold♪

The scorching sun of the sixth month has turned the city into an oven. The occasional wind brings the pleasant scent of rice and warms the heart.

This year's opera is particularly popular. The space in front of the stage is filled with people, heads bobbing up and down as they stand on tip-toes, trying to get a better view while unconsciously humming along.

Zuo Le watches the stage from afar. The actors are dressed in fashions of the past, their motions theatrically exaggerated, belting out verses in a regional dialect that he does not fully understand.

What's it about?

The story of Shennong putting the land of Dahuang to the plow for the first time.

The three-act opera is an essential part of the annual Shennong Festival. This is the second act, Signs of Heaven.

Why isn't it in the local dialect?

The first Tianshis here came from all over Yan. No one remembers exactly where they came from today.

When the opera was written, the characters were assigned a regional dialect based on their traits, and things have stayed that way.

What about the people lined up over there?

They're there to greet Shennong.

Legend has it that Shennong returns to Dahuang every summer to check on the harvest.

As one of the rare unpolluted regions, Dahuang has long been Yan's breadbasket.

It began a thousand years ago, when a group of farmers settled here and began cultivating the land.

Until Catastrophe found them...

The song from the stage grows high and piercing, drumsticks raining upon tiny drums in an increasing frenzy.

An actor circles the stage, wearing simple clothes and carrying a basket filled with rice grains.

Is that actor playing Shennong?

A Catastrophe the likes of which had never been seen struck Dahuang. The land was severely polluted, and monsters ravaged the farms.

Generations of hard work, reduced to nothing.

Cultivating the land is hard. Finding land that can be cultivated is even harder. Shennong learned of what happened here, and decided to try to save this hard-won soil.

She settled here with a group of farmers and Tianshis, studying how to cleanse the pollution in the soil, and developing new breeds of crops that could adapt to the environment, generation after generation.

The drumming grows deeper and heavier, and the song becomes broad and bold. A crash of the gong, then a screaming song sweeps the stage.

Onstage, Shennong turns around, disappearing into the falling white snow made from rice flowers and reed flowers, until the whole stage is covered in white.

The flute heralds a green bud sprouting from the snow. As the flute plays a winding melody, Zuo Le stretches out his hand and catches a rice flower floating from the stage.

What's the story here?

Shennong passed away on a journey to the north, in search of new species.

Her body was never found, only a basket and pouch filled with rice grains. They were brought back to Dahuang and buried in a cenotaph.

Some say that in the summer of the year of Shennong's death, she was seen descending from the sky as the last rice was harvested, touching the harvested crops with gladness, and sowing new seeds in the fields.

Since then, Dahuang has held an annual festival to welcome Shennong and pray for a good harvest.

Is Shennong a figure of legend?

Absolutely not! While there are elements of myth in the stories associated with her, there is no doubt that Shennong did, in fact, exist.

There are records of her existence in the Tianshi Bureaus' publications. She was the founder of Yanese agricultural theory, the first to summarize it in a systematic manner, and responsible for determining the patterns of the twenty-four Jieqi solar terms.

Surely it's not just the Tianshi Bureaus that kept such records? It should be common knowledge in Yan... I'm surprised you had to ask.

Shu, the Sixth, measured the signs of heaven and laid out the twenty-four Jieqi... she appeared in Dahuang at the time of a great famine, and has faithfully served the city for a thousand years since.

I didn't realize there was one like that among the proxies...

Xiaohe! You're early today. Is Grain Buds not with you? And who's this young man over here?

Uncle Wang, I'm not—

Ah, I shouldn't get into young folks' business. How's the harvest going for your research crops?

Pretty good!

We're at a key juncture. We might see results in another couple of seasons.

Good, good! Nice to have something to show for, after working hard all year round.

Well, have fun. I'll get the reaper ready.

You...

That was a lie, wasn't it?

Don't ask.

Where did Grain Buds go?

She's supposed to be playing the flute for the show...

It's me.

I brought some fresh-baked cookies.

I thought I would use rough cane sugar, but nobody uses that anymore. These were made from the white sugar they sell in shops. Try one.

These fruits are a new variety, much sweeter than the sour stuff we had to eat in the past. I brought a few of each type because I'm not sure what you like.

How are you feeling? Still dizzy?

I came to see you...

And them.

Do you hear the music? They're holding the annual festival to welcome Shennong.

How lonely it must be here, with everybody celebrating in town.

A few pine trees line the river bank.

Some are already centuries old, while others seem to have been planted recently. The summer is high, and the entire forest smells of pine resin under the sun.

Shu reaches out to touch one of the pines. A wooden placard dangles off the branches, tied to a red ribbon. A few bugs could be seen climbing on the bark, while fowlbeasts cry in the canopy.

The summer has brought a few Catastrophes. The weather is rough this year.

I'll instruct the Tianshis to be conscientious. Don't worry about it.

The harvest isn't great, but things aren't that bad.

We've been doing this for many years. We've always had enough food to get by.

The man stares at the river with his mouth open, but says nothing.

We have a lot of visitors from outside. Some know the truth. I'm helping. Don't worry.

We... we didn't manage to protect it all.

....*sobs*...

(Mumbled sobbing)

The man sobs into his hands.

It'll get better. There'll be a way.

The extraordinary Catastrophe... the past... the sacrifice and death, it won't go to waste.

Do you remember?

We've all seen seeds take root and sprout.

(Mumbled sobbing)

I'll take care of them.

But you... you can...

Sound of footsteps. They fall slowly and lightly on the fallen pine leaves, clearly trying to hide the sound.

But the man's ears twitch, and he opens his half-closed, cloudy eyes.

He sees a blurry figure, two little hair buns on her head, and a bamboo flute on her belt.

He moves his lips as if to say something, then falls silent again. He looks around blankly, then turns around, picks up his axe, and walks into the woods.

...*sigh*

Come out, Grain Buds.

An elderly woman takes the stage, carrying a bundle of rice stalks in her arms. She separates them into three bunches, and plants them in the grains in the middle of the shrine to Shennong.

She raises a clay bowl full of wine to her brow, then pours the contents on the ground.

The farmers bang the bell three times, shrouding all of Dahuang in the ringing. Even the earth seems to tremble.

The farmers below bow while reciting quiet prayers. They go up to the stage one by one, taking out a few seeds and placing them in the grain pile.

Every farmer brings a few seeds, which can be of any crop.

The grain is piled high so that Shennong can see the way back, so that wind and rain may favor Dahuang, so that Yan will not go hungry.

You didn't bring any, did you? I have some extras here. Put them in after you bow.

Duo xie le.

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.