Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 515: Chapter 316: Mai Lang Festival (Part 2)

The girl smiled and nodded: “Got it, Uncle Mike.”

He bent down again to check the heat: “Don’t let the wind blow too hard, keep it simmering gently to bring out the flavor… don’t add salt too early to the mushroom soup, or it might turn bitter.”

Just as he finished speaking, a noise arose from the side.

A group of children gathered around the pot, pointing and talking, when a chubby boy secretly stretched out a wooden spoon, scooped a mouthful of steaming soup, and as soon as it neared his mouth, he let out a scream: “Hot, hot, hot, hot!”

Mike lifted him aside with one hand and patted his head: “Thinking of sneaking a drink before it’s fully cooked?”

The boy nodded repeatedly, scared, and ran back into the crowd, causing a round of laughter.

“The kids are almost crazed with greed,” a village woman laughed, “it’s no wonder, we didn’t have so many pots last year.”

At this moment, far away on a slope, Felan quietly stood watching all this.

As the leader of the most important Knight Order in the Northern Territory, he had attended countless banquets in his life.

If he wished, he could, with his title and reputation, almost nightly enter the ballrooms of the nobility.

But such a scene, he had never seen and it was astonishing.

No luxurious crystal chandeliers, nor any graceful bands.

Instead, there was the bubbling stew, mothers seasoning, children running errands, and elders sitting on grass mats waiting for a bowl of hot soup filled with life.

Not the Imperial Capital, not a royal ceremony, nor a noble gathering.

It was a celebration belonging to the people.

And such a large gathering, is this really organized by a newly developed territory in the Northern Territory?

As dusk slowly descended, the temperature in the valley suddenly dropped, the autumn night’s chill seemed to sweep down from the distant mountains.

But just at this moment, a blazing firelight suddenly pierced the darkness.

“Light the fire!” With Green’s succinct command.

Three wheat column pyres were lit simultaneously, tongues of flame raced up the entwined stalks, instantly turning the entire square into a world of warm golden-red light.

Flames surged, illuminating the pattern on the Mai Lang flag, and the setups, blowers also activated at that moment.

Whooshing this burst out waves of white mist-like heatwaves, dispelling the cold completely.

For a moment, warm colors like morning light enveloped the land, the valley seemed to turn into a temple of harvest.

Drums immediately sounded: “Boom! Boom boom!”

Dozens of Red Tide drummers simultaneously brought down their drumsticks, the rhythm sped up, echoing throughout the valley.

This marked the official start of the banquet as people began to move.

Elders walked slowly, children hopped forward, and housewives held the hands of children.

Young men and women sat in small groups in the rear, laughter, voices of anticipation, shouting, all converging with the drums.

Elderly farmers arriving from distant villages wrapped in blankets, dressed simply, yet their eyes sparkled brightly.

“The front ten village cooperative teams, prepare to enter.” With Green’s command, the ceremony officially began.

Following the drumbeat changes, representatives from ten village cooperatives formed queues to enter and receive commendations.

Each person held aloft a stalk-decorated wooden staff, draped in representative shawls sewn by local women, either with green wheat as the base or decorated with red trim, rough yet carrying a simple solemnity.

“This is not just my honor,” one of the fifty-something men, his voice trembling yet loudly said, “it’s the hoe-by-hoe, sweat drop by sweat drop from our village cooperative!”

A loud burst of applause and laughter echoed around, villagers’ shouts rising and falling.

“Thirteen Villages! Thirteen Villages!”

“We Four Villages are not too shabby either!”

“Next year, the top spot must be ours, Twenty-one Villages!”

On stage, villagers were too nervous to speak, while below the stage was bustling like a mountain flood.

Amid all this clamor, behind the high platform, a familiar red and black cloak slowly appeared.

Knights stood on either side, shadows cast by the fire were long and slender.

“It’s the Lord!”

Suddenly a shout spread, sending the crowd into sudden silence.

Then a shout like a mountain flood and tsunami drowned all rhythm and sounds of flames:

“Lord!!!”

“Louis!!!”

“Our master is here!!!”

And as Louis ascended the high platform, he merely raised his hand, pressing his palm lightly down.

The drumbeats gradually ceased, the valley fell silent, with only the sound of the flames dancing.

“…Everyone,” Louis’ voice was not loud, yet he used magic to make it clearly heard across the valley, “from last autumn, until now, it’s been a full year.

“During this year, we’ve cleared wasteland, dug irrigation channels, planted vegetables, raised cattle, and harvested wheat together.

Some stayed up lighting lamps at night to sow seedlings, some carried fertilizer to the fields in wind and snow, and some slipped into canals during irrigation…

I couldn’t remember each name, but all your efforts are reflected in the fields.”

Louis paused, his gaze slowly swept over eyes looking at him, some excited, some nervous.

“I am honored to announce to you that this year’s total yield…”

He raised the handwritten page, loudly declared: “Two hundred thousand seven thousand tons. Doubling last year’s harvest.”

“Wow!!!”

Applause and screams erupted almost instantly, countless people raised their heads and arms, some laughed through tears, others cried holding children.

This was their year’s sweat, their most direct and substantial glory.

Yet Louis’ voice remained steady and subdued the whole field: “This year’s rewards will be distributed according to the ’Cultivation Chart’ and Spring Sowing performance.

Exemplary village cooperatives will receive tool supplies, tax reductions, excellent households will have priority promotion into management sequences.

The King of Agriculture will be granted high-quality private fields, model workers’ children will receive educational exemptions, military service exemptions.”

He gazed into the crowd, that last sentence was the most passionate: “Each of you, every drop of sweat, Red Tide will not forget, the entire Northern Territory will not forget.”