Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 272 Autumn Harvest
On an early autumn afternoon, the sunlight gently falls on the valley, and the air is filled with the aroma of ripe green wheat, along with a hint of damp earth and the lingering scent of cooking smoke.

Some of the summer greenery still lingers in the distance, but in many other places it has turned golden.

Louis and Emily rode together in an elaborately decorated carriage, its body reinforced with cold iron and adorned with dark red patterns and the Red Tide emblem, steadily making their way along the newly paved dirt road.

On either side of the carriage, several squads of Red Tide cavalry escorted it. Each knight had a standard military sword at his waist, his cloak fluttering, his expression solemn, and his steps synchronized with the hooves of his horse. This was a well-trained and elite iron army.

Banners unfurled in the wind, and the crimson sun blazed across the wilderness.

As the carriage crossed a gentle slope, the entire valley unfolded before their eyes.

Vast wheat fields undulated in the sunlight.

The green wheat was ripe, its ears heavy and bowing their heads, swaying in the wind like waves of gold surging forth.

Beside the potato field, a group of workers were wielding picks, turning over the thick tubers, and stacks of coarse cloth bags were piled up, stretching all the way to the wooden barn not far away.

The greenhouse area presents a completely different scene.

The geothermal greenhouses are neatly arranged, gleaming pale white in the sunlight, like rows of silver waves stretching to the horizon.

Farmers pushed wheelbarrows full of freshly harvested wheat and vegetable leaves out of the shed.

The sounds of sickles slicing through wheat stalks, the thumping of flails threshing wheat, children playing and laughing on the field ridges—all these different sounds mingled together on the road.

The carriage creaked as it rolled over the gravel road, but the sound was drowned out by the busy yet orderly noise.

Emily was leaning against the car window, chatting quietly with Louis, occasionally trembling with amusement at Louis's jokes about the capital.

But as the carriage slowly turned the hill and the entire valley of wheat fields came into view, she suddenly stopped.

She looked at the endless expanse of green wheat, its golden light trembling slightly in the sunlight, as if a wind were truly blowing from the ground, causing the entire field to ripple with waves.

She was silent for a moment, a complex light appearing in her eyes, even the corners of her eyes were tinged with red.

"The North..." she began softly, as if afraid to shatter the miracle before her eyes, "When has there ever been such a sight?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but just watched quietly, her fingertips gripping the windowsill tightly.

She knew Louise would do it, but when that hope was presented to her so vividly, the shock still washed over her like a tidal wave.

"He did it," she thought silently, a warmth rising in her heart. "He really did it."

Emily turned to look at the man beside her. Louis was leaning against the side of the carriage, his elbows resting on the windowsill, his cloak half-undone. He seemed much more relaxed than he usually was in the government hall or on the battlefield.

Yet her expression still revealed the familiar determination, the kind of trust that would make people entrust their lives to her, the sense of responsibility in her bones, which she couldn't hide.

Louis seemed to notice her gaze, tilted his head to look at her, and smiled.

"Are you stunned?" he said, a hint of teasing in his eyes. "This should be enough for you to eat, right?"

Emily chuckled, ignored him, took a deep breath, turned back, and her gaze fell once more on the window.

I never expected there to be so much grain, spreading it inch by inch across the northern lands.

The carriage continued its slow journey, entering the main road that ran through the valley.

Upon seeing the sun flag and hearing the sound of horses' hooves, the farmers along the road straightened up.

"The lord has arrived!" someone shouted, their voice filled with barely concealed excitement.

The shouts seemed to ignite a heatwave along the entire road.

"My Lord! My Lord!"

Cheers spread like a tidal wave, surging outwards along the avenue.

They were once homeless people, refugees fleeing famine, and the lowest rungs of the North struggling to survive in the snow and ice. Now they have land, shelter, and a decent job to support their families.

The fields they created themselves, those heavy waves of wheat, filled them with the same pride they felt for their own children growing up.

The "Lord" they were calling out to was sitting in that carriage, his back view firm and steady, much like the foundation upon which everything they now depended.

Emily gazed out the window, gripped Louis's hand tightly, and felt a surge of warmth in her heart.

In the distance, a newly built wooden barn stands tall, next to a notice board with a "Harvest Announcement" and a mobilization notice.

The carriage came to a steady stop in front of the granary and the government building amidst the wheat fields.

The new Wheat Fields Government Building is built on a high point in the middle of the valley, with a wide view of the surrounding wheat fields and barns.

The outer wall of the government building still bears traces of the newly laid stones not being completely weathered, and the bluish-gray stone patterns reflect a faint light in the sunlight.

The hall is not luxurious, but it is spacious and sturdy.

The long table is made of raw wood planks from a local workshop. Although it is not exquisite, it is neatly arranged and piled with stacks of farming records, field distribution maps, and plans for granary expansion.

Agricultural official Mick, supervisor Green, village chiefs, workshop leaders, and the captain of the knights were all present.

Each person had a sketchbook and pen wrapped in oil paper in front of them, their expressions tense, as if this was not just a harvest, but a battle.

Just then, footsteps were heard at the entrance of the hall.

A Crimson Tide Knight was the first to push open the door and enter, bowed, and then stepped back inside.

He didn't say anything, but simply glanced around the hall.

Everyone immediately stood up and almost in unison shouted, "Your Lordship has worked hard!"

Louis looked at them, his gaze sweeping over the familiar faces, and without putting on airs, simply nodded.

"You've all worked hard too," he said, his tone calm and even slightly casual.

After saying that, he walked to the head of the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, propping his elbow on the edge of the table. His tone changed, becoming crisp and decisive: "Let's begin. During spring planting, we fought against the frozen ground. Now we must win this battle for the harvest."

As the words fell, only the soft sound of pen nibs tracing lines on paper remained in the hall.

Louis bent down and drew a few lines on the map, his tone as steady as an iron nail driven into a wooden board: "From today onwards, the three-shift farming system will continue, with the early-plowing village, the midday-plowing village, and the night-plowing village taking turns in order, without interruption for a single day."

Every evening, a progress list is published. If a village falls behind, it must send people to fill in; no shirking is allowed. Open-field wheat is harvested first, and must be completed before the first frost. Greenhouse crops must be left with a planting window for the next round of planting.

He looked up and glanced at the several grain escort captains, saying, "Starting tonight, checkpoints will be set up along the main roads, granaries, and grain transport routes. Knights will patrol in shifts at night, and torches will be prepared on the high platform at the valley entrance to signal any incidents."

He then turned to Green, his voice lower but carrying more weight: "The entire harvest will be incorporated into the Red Tide winter storage system. We must survive this winter. All grain flows must be made public."

Louis continued, “Each village posted a list of items and labeled the grain bags with codes, ensuring that ‘every bag of grain could be seen as being stored.’”

His tone was calm, yet it cut straight to the heart of the matter, leaving no room for ambiguity.

"The grain warehouse reinforcement project will proceed as scheduled, and the expansion will begin today. The drying room must be lit in advance to prevent rain and snow from damaging the wheat."

Emily sat quietly to the side of the head of the table, watching Louis. This wasn't the first time she had seen him chair a political meeting.

But every time she looked at him, she couldn't help but take a closer look at the man.

He wasn't wearing armor or a cloak, just a simple, neat dark gray long robe with the cuffs neatly tied.

But as soon as he stepped into the government hall, the originally slightly noisy room fell silent, like a bow being pulled taut.

There was no intimidation, nor any superfluous words, but his very presence was enough to command awe.

He stood there, calmly flipping through the wheat field drawings, granary registers, and worker rosters.

Emily gazed at his profile, a feeling quietly rising within her.

It's not admiration, nor gratitude, but a heartfelt appreciation.

He always manages to keep the situation under control at the most crucial moments, which puts people at ease.

After Louis finished speaking, everyone in the meeting room stood up in response, promising to complete their tasks.

He nodded, stood up, looked around at everyone, and said in a low voice, yet his words warmed everyone's hearts: "Go! Let the songs of harvest resound throughout the entire Wheat Valley!"

Just then, the clock outside rang, as if in response.

The crowd filed out, some immediately going to mobilize manpower, others hurrying back to the village on horseback.

…………

On the morning of the second day after arriving at the Wheatfield Territory, Louis personally arranged this "harvest ceremony".

In such a long and arduous battle for victory, orders and systems alone are far from sufficient.

Most of the people in Mai Lang Territory were once famine refugees, survivors of dilapidated villages, or people dragged into ruins by old wars.

They need the great sun to give them a mental boost.

Sunlight spilled onto the wheat field on the high ground in the center of the valley, creating rolling golden waves that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Along the edge of the field, hundreds of village representatives had gathered in a circle, their clothes neat and their eyes filled with excitement and respect.

Colorful cloth flags were planted in the fields, fluttering in the wind, like festive decorations specially prepared for this day.

The elderly agricultural official, holding a sickle made of cold iron in both hands, walked to the center of the field and respectfully presented it to Louis.

The blade gleamed silver in the sunlight, cold and sharp, yet devoid of any killing intent.

Louis took the sickle, said nothing, and silently rolled up his sleeves before walking to the wheat field.

Everyone held their breath, and with a flick of his wrist, the cold iron sickle swung down swiftly, and the first golden ear of wheat immediately fell to the ground.

Immediately afterwards, the entire stadium erupted in thunderous cheers.

"Long live the lord!"

"May the wheat fields yield a bountiful harvest!"

Cheers rose and fell, surging like a tide from the fields to the distant valley.

Louis rose, his gaze slowly sweeping over the crowd. His voice, though not loud, was clear and forceful: "During spring planting, we declared war on the frozen ground. Today's harvest is not my victory, but a victory won by your own hands! Let this golden wave tell the entire North that hunger is no longer a fate!"

His voice carried far on the wind, spreading across the fertile land along with the shadows of the clouds in the sky.

After the ceremony, the villagers were all in high spirits, as if they had been set ablaze, and returned to their own villages, eagerly recounting the scene of Louis cutting wheat with a knife.

"Let me tell you, with one swing of that knife, the wheat fell down as if it obeyed!"

"The lord's golden sickle for harvesting wheat! Clean and efficient, without a single wasted word, it stands there like a mountain! No, it's like a god descended to earth!"

"Listen to the statement, 'Hunger is no longer a fate'! Who can say something like that?!"

Thus, the harvest ceremony became a legend in the valley within half a day.

The story spread like wildfire, from one person to ten, from ten to a hundred, from a hundred to a thousand, from a thousand to ten thousand… The storyteller kept adding details, and what was originally just an ordinary ceremony became like a miracle, inspiring the entire Mai Lang Territory to work harder.

Everyone was thinking, "If even the lord is personally going to the fields, how can we not do it?"

The sickles rose and fell, the sound of slicing wheat echoing through the valley like the rise and fall of war drums.

Horse-drawn carts came and went, carving dirt roads along the field ridges, delivering loads of wheat sheaves to temporary granaries.

Women wrapped their heads and sleeves, bending over to cut wheat in the fields, humming long-lost harvest tunes; children rolled and played among the wheat stacks, their laughter ringing out.

The elderly were also busy, peeling, bundling, and drying wheat at the edge of the drying ground. Even just sitting on the side helping to watch the fire and hand out water made them feel exceptionally at ease.

Over at the geothermal greenhouse, female workers carefully cut bunches of greenhouse melons and vegetables, their sweat glistening in the sunlight.

The boys carried straw baskets and sacks on their shoulders, their steps never faltering, their faces beaming with a joy brighter than the sunshine.

Louis rode through the valley, inspecting every wheat field, greenhouse, and drying yard.

For example, he noticed that Dongpo's side was moving a bit slowly, so he immediately turned his horse around and dispatched men to the neighboring villages: "Ten men in the second group, go and help immediately. That area must be cleared before sunset!"

He then went to the temporary barn, personally inspected several bags of freshly stored wheat, rubbed them between his fingers to check their moisture content, and then squatted down to check the ventilation ducts and rodent traps.

Beside the drying oven, he took off his gloves, personally tested the oven temperature with his hand, and then turned to instruct the craftsmen: "The heat is too hot, burn it for another 15 minutes, don't let the green wheat smolder."

He only said one thing to the grain protection team: "Add more people to patrol tonight, and not a single grain can be wasted."

Wherever they go, they have to offer suggestions to make their presence felt.

As the sun began to set, the entire wheat field had become a roaring harvest machine.

The sounds of sickles cutting wheat, wheels rolling on the ground, laughter, and shouts intertwined to create an autumnal melody.

Louis stood on the edge of the field, gazing at the entire valley: the wheat fields were like waves, the crowds like tides, the barns like fortresses, children were tumbling on the haystacks, and the smell of smoke and the aroma of wheat mingled with the sunlight in the wind.

And so, this golden season of early autumn slowly came to an end amidst the swinging of sickles.

Every inch of the valley was carefully harvested, every bag of grain was accurately recorded, and every truckload of harvest was safely stored.

The once empty warehouse is now packed full, with even the ventilation aisles being cleared out to pile up sacks.

Green had to relocate the new barns three times, and even erect new rows of grain tents at the mouth of the valley.

"We overcharged," he muttered somewhat absentmindedly, yet he laughed like a child.

This season's wheat fields not only filled the warehouses, but also brought a long-lost sense of peace to everyone's hearts.

(End of this chapter)