Chapter 210 - 129: Harvest

Chapter 210: Chapter 129: Harvest

Time passed quietly in Jiang City, marked by its orderly operations and the ever-rising summer heat.

When not a single whiff of green wheat stalks remained in the air, replaced by the full-bodied, almost cloyingly sweet fragrance of grain, everyone in Jiang City knew—the most crucial phase of this fateful summer had finally arrived.

The long-awaited summer harvest campaign kicked off with a bang under the order for a city-wide mobilization.

In the early morning, before the sky had brightened, countless people poured out from simple dwellings and temporary work sheds. Among them were professional agricultural workers, survivors who had accepted assignments, ordinary residents who had volunteered, and even some organized groups of older children.

Everyone moved according to their pre-assigned areas and tasks, flowing silently and swiftly toward the golden ocean outside the city walls like a meticulously choreographed ant colony.

The great roar of the harvesters became the main theme of the land. Combine harvesters, repaired from the ruins or newly manufactured in Jiang City’s factories, rolled into the wheat fields like iron behemoths.

Sharp cutting blades churned, felling swathes of golden wheat. The stalks were swallowed into the bellies of the machines, where they were threshed and cleaned. Then, a waterfall of gleaming golden grains poured from the unloading augers into the beds of the trucks following close behind.

The efficiency of the machines was far beyond what manual labor could achieve. In their wake, they left only neat rows of stubble and a sky filled with flying chaff and dust.

The edges of the fields and corners unreachable by the machines became the battlefield for manual harvesting. People swung their sickles, trudging through the rows of wheat. Sweat evaporated almost the instant it appeared under the vicious sun, leaving only white, salt-rimmed stains on their dark, coarse-cloth clothes.

The air was thick with the itch of wheat awns, the smell of dust, and the pungent odor of sweat. No one spoke. There was only the SWISH-SWISH of sickles cutting through stalks and the ceaseless roar of the machines in the distance.

This was a race against time. They had to get these grains of hope—the food that would sustain a million people for the next year—into the granaries as quickly as possible.

When Xu Mo pushed open his courtyard gate, a gust of air carrying dust, the fragrance of wheat, and a wave of heat washed over him.

The streets were much emptier than usual; most people had already headed outside the city. On a whim, Xu Mo followed the direction of the crowd and strolled out of the city gates.

The scene before him, even for someone like him who was accustomed to the cruelty and desolate silence of the apocalypse, was a profound and long-forgotten shock—the grand spectacle of production and survival.

As far as the eye could see, there were only figures of people and waves of wheat.

The golden fields were divided into countless plots. Some had already been harvested, revealing the earth’s tawny soil. Others were currently being devoured by the iron behemoths. Most, however, were slowly receding under the swing of sickles, like an ebbing tide.

On the drying grounds, the newly harvested grains were spread out evenly, forming immense golden carpets that reflected a dazzling light under the scorching sun. People used wooden shovels and rakes to turn the grain constantly, ensuring every kernel was thoroughly baked by the sun to evaporate the last trace of excess moisture and prevent mold.

The hot wind kicked up tiny husks and dust, forming swirling wisps of golden smoke.

Sure enough, birds circled in the sky, but there weren’t many of them, and most were of ordinary, unmutated size.

Perhaps drawn by the overwhelming aroma of grain, they didn’t dare approach the roaring machines and dense crowds. They only circled over the more distant, already harvested and drying fields, trying to find scattered kernels.

"BANG! BANG!"

Crisp gunshots rang out sporadically, not in a dense volley, but more like warnings. It was the air patrol team, responsible for security from above. They drove light vehicles fitted with protective mesh or stood watch in high towers at the fields’ edge, holding special shotguns or rifles.

The bullets weren’t aimed at the center of the flocks but at the open ground in front of them. The startled birds would scatter and fly off toward the more distant wilderness. Occasionally, a particularly stubborn or slightly larger mutated individual would attempt to dive, only to be met with a harsher deterrent, or even shot down directly.

Overall, the nuisance from the birds was kept to a minimum and was far from becoming a serious threat.

This whole scene—bustling, noisy, scorching, yet orderly—formed an incredibly precious portrait of a harvest in the post-apocalyptic world. It was no longer just about pastoral poetry; it was about the rawest form of survival, order, and collective strength. Exhaustion was written on everyone’s face, but deep in their eyes shone a steady light—the light of seeing food, of seeing hope.

As evening fell, the harvest did not stop.

Huge searchlights were set up around the fields and drying grounds, illuminating the night as bright as day.

Jiang City had tapped into its precious power reserves to ensure the harvesting and drying could continue twenty-four hours a day without interruption.

The roar of the machinery carried even farther in the night. Under the lights, swarms of insects and dust motes resembled a golden haze. Viewed from the top of the city walls, the lights outside stretched on and on, like a fallen river of stars, complementing the cool, distant stars and moon in the sky.

For several days in a row, Xu Mo watched this spectacular scene of labor. Seeing this bustling picture filled his heart with an indescribable sense of contentment.

Finally, after the full mobilization and struggle of the entire city, the last row of wheat was cut down, and the last truckload of grain was delivered to the fortified storage area.

The command director’s hoarse but excited voice came over the broadcast, announcing the successful completion of the main summer harvest work and thanking all participants for their efforts. The utterly exhausted people erupted in a wave of raspy cheers.