NOVGO.NET Chapter 514 - 316: Mai Lang Festival
Chapter 514: Chapter 316: Mai Lang Festival
The autumn sun was mildly warm, and the wheels rolled steadily on the main road in front of the warehouse.
The entire grain road was congested with loaded convoys, the sounds of hooves and shouts rose and fell, yet it was not chaotic.
At the front of the queue, there was a temporary registration point where dozens of clerks swiftly recorded the bags of grain into ledgers, attaching numbered cloth tags.
Each number corresponded to a village, a field, a laborer’s name.
Green stood in front of the granary, loudly directing the logistics: “The northern area of Warehouse Four is full, move to Warehouse Five. Group Three should use the west slope… Make sure they write the numbers clearly.”
He personally checked whether the cloth tags were securely attached, clearly written, and correctly categorized, and even confirmed whether moisture-proof mats were laid at each warehouse entrance before leaving.
Just then, a clear voice came from the bottom of the slope: “Green.”
Green paused, then immediately turned around and stepped quickly to meet the person.
“Lord,” he bowed respectfully, showing a rare sign of relief on his face, “The progress of the autumn harvest is smooth, we have already stored 40%, and it is estimated that more than 70% of the storage tasks can be completed today.”
Louis dismounted, looking around at the busy yet orderly road by the warehouse: “Well done.”
“This way, my lord, please.” Green immediately led the way, guiding him through the long corridor of the warehouse while briefly reporting.
“The three newly built warehouses are now in use, the fourth and fifth have adjustable temperature structures, combined with the ventilated drying system and sealed bags, they can store main grains for at least two seasons, keeping the spoilage rate below 20%.
The ventilation system is maintained day and night by the workshop craftsmen, ensuring inspections twice daily.”
They walked along the second-floor corridor, the sacks of grain within the warehouse piled up like a mountain, extending beyond sight.
Sunlight streamed through the exhaust vents at the top, with dust particles floating in the beams of light, as if the entire warehouse was permeated with the scent of harvest.
“Once storage is complete, we will conduct a unified count and make a public announcement.” Green glanced sideways at Louis, “This year’s numbers are enough to astonish the entire Northern Territory.”
Louis nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the busy porters, registrars, and patrolling knights within the warehouse, smiling: “Then I look forward to the final results of this autumn harvest.”
His tone was relaxed, yet it seemed like an acknowledgment of the entire Mai Lang Territory.
Then Louis turned his tone: “The preparations for the celebration… are they all in place?”
Green’s expression turned serious, immediately responding: “In response to the lord, all supplies are in place.
The wine for tonight’s harvest celebration has been transported from the main city to Mai Lang, with a special selection of 800 bottles of Mountain Grape Wine and 300 vats of Red Wheat Wine. The meats include cured beef and mutton, smoked ham, and salted fish, totaling over 600 pounds.
Ninety-six pots have been set up for hot soupe, with more than two hundred chefs rotating shifts to prepare, ensuring there is no shortage of food during the entire feast.
Additionally, medals, lists, and public announcements have been printed and will be sent to the venue setup points in advance.”
“Well done.” Louis interrupted him, but with a little smile, “You have indeed worked hard this year. Tomorrow night, let’s celebrate together.”
Green’s expression shifted, bowing his head to respond: “I will comply with orders.”
……
By the next evening, the originally wild grass-covered clearing in the center of the valley had long been compacted and leveled, the entire ground shining with a pale golden color like dried oat flakes.
The main stage stood among it, a temporary high platform with a sheaf of wheat and sun pattern flag symbolizing the Mai Lang Territory hanging from high pillars at its four corners, fluttering in the wind.
Below the stage, laborers and craftsmen were busy with the final arrangements.
Several Red Tide Knights also removed their shoulder armor, rolling up their sleeves to help lift the wooden seating frames.
Under Louis’s influence, they did not see this ceremony as a commoner’s affair, but instinctively participated, happy to be involved.
This was a festival belonging to the entire territory.
Green held a heavy ceremony schedule book in one hand, continuously annotating and directing with the other.
And he had to ensure that this celebration of tens of thousands went off without a hitch.
Someone whispered: “This supervisor hasn’t closed his eyes since last night, and started moving between venues early this morning.”
Another village woman responded, “It’s really hard on him, I heard it was the lord’s order for him to personally oversee the entire process.”
Meanwhile, more villagers quietly discussed the as-yet-unseen figure:
“Do you think… tonight, the lord will personally speak on stage?”
“Ah, what he said last year was so moving.”
“We harvested nearly two hundred thousand tons of grain this year!” The old farmer’s eyes gleamed, “If he could personally talk about next year’s plans, it would be even more reassuring.”
On the other side of the low slope in the valley, cooking smoke and the aroma of soup intertwined into a flowing golden line.
Beef stew pots, salted mutton soup pots, mushroom mixed stew pots…
Pots, each two meters in diameter, had been uniformly transported to the “hot soup zone” built with wooden sheds.
Signs hanging from the shed roofs clearly divided into sections like “Green Wheat Vegetable Pot,” “Elderly Warming Soup,” and “Knight Special.”
At the edges of the pots were bubbling hot thick soups, the aroma was tempting, making people swallow unconsciously.
Children carrying firewood shuttled back and forth, some moving carbon, others running errands, chattering like a nest of hamsters scattered, yet quickly took their places under the scolding of the village women.
Housewives rolled up their sleeves, skillfully stirring the bottom of the pots, sprinkling salt, sauce, and grass root powder, as the soup gradually took on a thick golden oily sheen.
Through the crowd, a slightly hunched figure squeezed between the soup sheds.
It was Mike, walking along and constantly muttering instructions.
“Remember, the first round should deliver soup to the elderly and children,” he said to a girl by a stew pot, “The second round is for the young and strong, the workers can wait, but the elderly and children can’t go hungry.”