Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 317 Wheat Wave Celebration
The autumn sun was warm, and cars rolled along Cangqian Avenue.

The entire grain route was packed with fully loaded convoys, with the sounds of horses' hooves and shouts rising and falling, yet it was not chaotic.

A temporary registration point was set up at the front of the procession, where dozens of clerks quickly wrote down the bags of grain into the ledger and affixed numbered cloth labels.

Each number corresponds to a village, a field, and the name of a job.

Standing in front of the granary, Green loudly directed the operation: "The north section of the fourth granary is full, move to the fifth granary. Group three, enter from the west ramp... Have them write the numbers clearly."

He personally checked whether the labels were securely fixed, clearly written, and correctly categorized. He even personally confirmed whether each warehouse entrance was covered with a moisture-proof cloth before leaving.

Just then, a clear voice came from down the slope: "Green."

Green paused, then immediately turned and stepped off the stage, quickly walking forward to meet him.

"My lord." He bowed and greeted them, a rare hint of relief on his face. "The autumn harvest is progressing smoothly. Forty percent of the grain has already been stored, and we expect to complete more than seventy percent of the storage task today."

Louis dismounted and looked around at the busy but orderly warehouse: "Well done."

"This way, sir." Green immediately led the way, passing through the warehouse corridor, while giving a brief report.

"The three newly built warehouses have been put into use. The fourth and fifth warehouses are temperature-adjustable structures. Combined with a blower drying system and sealed grain bags, they can store staple grains for at least two seasons, with the spoilage rate controlled below 20%."

The blower system is maintained day and night by the workshop's craftsmen, with inspections conducted twice daily.

They walked along the second-floor corridor inwards, where the stacks of grain sacks inside the warehouse stretched as far as the eye could see.

Sunlight streamed through the ventilation windows at the top, and dust particles floated in the beams of light, as if the entire warehouse was filled with the scent of harvest.

“Once the warehousing is complete, we will conduct a unified inventory and post a public notice.” Green glanced at Louis. “This year’s figures will be enough to shock the entire Northern Territory.”

Louis nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the busy porters, registrars, and patrolling knights inside the warehouse, and smiled, "Then I eagerly await the final results of this autumn harvest."

His tone was relaxed, but it sounded like an endorsement of the entire Wheat Wave Territory.

Then Louis changed his tone: "Is everything... ready for the celebration?"

Green's expression turned serious, and he immediately replied, "My lord, all the supplies have arrived."

The wines and spirits for tonight's harvest celebration have been transported from the main city to Mailang, including 800 bottles of specially selected mountain grape wine and 300 jars of red barley wine. The meats include cured beef and mutton, smoked ham, and salted dried fish, totaling over 600 catties.

Ninety-six hot soup pots have been set up, and more than two hundred cooks are in charge of the main cooking, taking turns to prepare ingredients to ensure that the feast is uninterrupted.

In addition, medals, lists, and public notices have been printed and will be delivered to the venue setup points in advance.

“Well done.” Louis interrupted him, but with a hint of a smile. “You’ve all had a tough year. Let’s celebrate together tomorrow night.”

Green's expression changed, and he bowed his head, replying, "As you command."

…………

By the evening of the second day, the open space in the center of the valley, which had been overgrown with weeds, had been compacted and leveled, and the entire ground shone with a light golden luster, like dried oatmeal.

The main platform stands in the middle; it is a temporary high platform with golden flags with wheat ears and suns, the symbol of the Wheat Waves, hanging on the four corner pillars, fluttering in the wind.

The migrant workers and craftsmen below the stage are busy with the final touches.

Several Red Tide Knights also removed their shoulder armor, rolled up their sleeves, and were helping to lift the wooden frame.

Under Louis's influence, they did not regard the ceremony as a matter for ordinary people, but rather instinctively participated in it and were happy to participate.

This is a festival that belongs to the entire territory.

With one hand holding the heavy ritual program book, Green continuously drew circles and made annotations with his pen in the other.

He wanted to ensure that the celebration of tens of thousands of people would proceed without a single mistake.

Someone whispered, "This supervisor hasn't slept a wink since last night, and he started moving locations first thing this morning."

Another village woman chimed in, "It must be really tough. I heard that the lord ordered him to personally oversee the entire process."

Meanwhile, many villagers were quietly discussing the figure that had yet to appear:
"Do you think... the lord will personally take the stage and give a speech tonight?"

“Oh my, what he said last year was so touching.”

"We harvested nearly 200,000 tons of grain this year!" The old farmer's eyes shone. "It would be even more reassuring if he could tell us about the plans for next year."

On the other side of the valley, on the low slopes, cooking smoke and the aroma of soup intertwined to form a flowing golden thread.

Stewed beef, salted mutton soup, mushroom and offal stew...

Large iron pots, each two meters in diameter, were transported to the "hot soup area," which was constructed from wooden sheds.

Signs and labels hang from the ceiling, clearly indicating the different types of food such as "Green Wheat Vegetable Hot Pot," "Elderly Warm Soup," and "Exclusive for Knights."

Beside the pot, a rich broth was bubbling away, its aroma so enticing that it made one's mouth water.

The children carried firewood and moved back and forth, some carrying charcoal, some running errands and delivering messages, making a racket like a group of hamsters scattering their nest, but quickly returning to their places at the scolding of the women.

The housewives rolled up their sleeves and skillfully stirred the bottom of the pot, sprinkling in seasonings such as salt, soy sauce, and herb powder, until the soup gradually turned a thick, golden sheen.

Pushing through the crowd, a slightly hunched figure squeezed into the soup stalls.

It was Mick, who kept giving instructions as he walked.

“I remember, the first round is to deliver soup to the elderly and children first.” 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.”

The girl smiled and nodded: "I understand, Uncle Mick."

He bent down to check the heat again: "Don't let the wind blow too hard, and simmer it over a low flame to bring out the flavor... Don't add salt to the mushroom soup too early, or it will easily turn bitter."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a noise came from the side.

A group of children gathered around the pot, pointing and whispering. A chubby boy secretly reached out with a wooden spoon, scooped up a mouthful of scalding soup, and just as he brought it to his lips, he let out a scream: "Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!"

Mick pulled him aside and patted the back of his head: "You want to sneak a sip before it's even ripe?"

The boy was so frightened that he nodded repeatedly, covered his mouth, and ran back into the crowd, causing a burst of laughter from those around him.

"The kids are practically drooling over it," a village woman said with a smile. "No wonder, we didn't see so many pots last year."

Meanwhile, on a distant slope, Ferran stood quietly watching all of this.

As the grandmaster of the most important knightly order in the North, he attended countless banquets throughout his life.

If he wanted, he could practically enter and leave the nobles' ballrooms every night just by virtue of his title and reputation.

He had never seen such a scene before, and it surprised everyone.

There were no ornate crystal chandeliers, nor an elegant band.

Instead, there is the sound of bubbling broth, the warmth of a mother seasoning the soup, children running errands, and elderly people sitting on straw mats waiting for a bowl of hot soup.

It wasn't the capital city, nor a royal celebration, nor a noble banquet.

It is a celebration that belongs to the people.

And such a large gathering, is it really organized in a newly conquered territory in the North?

As night slowly fell, the temperature in the valley suddenly dropped, and the chill of the autumn night seemed to come from the distant mountains.

But at that very moment, a blazing light suddenly pierced the darkness.

"Ignite!" came Green's brief command.

The three straw fire towers were lit at the same time, and the flames shot straight up along the entwined straw stalks, instantly turning the entire square into a warm golden-red world.

Flames surged, reflecting the shimmering patterns of the wheat flag, and the deployed blowers started up at the same moment.

With a whoosh, it exhaled bursts of heat like white mist, completely dispelling the chill.

In an instant, a warm, dawn-like light enveloped the surrounding area, transforming the valley into a temple of harvest.

Immediately following, the drums sounded: "Boom! Boom boom!"

Dozens of Red Tide drummers simultaneously struck their drumsticks, the rhythm gradually quickening, echoing throughout the valley.

This proves that the banquet has officially begun and the crowd has started to move.

The elderly man walked slowly forward, the child skipped and ran forward, and the housewife held the child's hand.

Young men and women sat in twos and threes at the back, their laughter, anticipation, and shouts blending together with the sound of drums.

The elderly farmers who had come from distant villages were wrapped in blankets, dressed simply, but their eyes shone brightly. "The first ten village teams, prepare to enter." With a command from Green, the ceremony officially began.

As the drumbeats changed, representatives from ten villages and communities lined up and entered the venue to receive awards.

Each person held a wooden staff decorated with wheat ears aloft, and wore a representative shawl sewn by the village's female workers, either with a base of green wheat or decorated with red edges, exuding a simple solemnity amidst the roughness.

“This is not just my honor,” one of the men, nearing fifty, said in a trembling voice, “it was earned by our village community with every hoe stroke and every drop of sweat!”

A burst of applause and laughter erupted around them, and shouts from the villagers rose and fell.

"Thirteen Villages! Thirteen Villages!"

"Our fourth village isn't bad either!"

"Next year, our village, No. 21, will be number one!"

On stage, the villagers were too nervous to speak, but off stage, the atmosphere was as lively as a flash flood.

Amidst the commotion, a familiar figure in a red and black cloak slowly appeared behind the platform.

Knights stood on either side, their long shadows cast by the flames.

"It's the Lord!"

Suddenly a shout rang out, and the crowd fell silent.

Then came a roar like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami crashing down, drowning out all the rhythm and the sound of fire:

"My lord!!!"

"Louis!!!"

"Our leader has arrived!!!"

After Louis climbed onto the platform, he simply raised his hand and gently pressed his palm down.

The drumbeats gradually ceased, and the valley fell silent, save for the flickering sound of the flames.

"...Gentlemen." Louis's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly throughout the valley using magic. "From last autumn until now, a whole year has passed."

"In this year, we cleared wasteland, dug irrigation ditches, planted vegetables, raised cattle, and harvested wheat together."

Some people plant seedlings by lamplight at night, some carry fertilizer to the fields in the wind and snow, and some slip into irrigation ditches while irrigating the fields...

I couldn't remember all your names, but your hard work is evident in the fields.

Louis paused, his gaze slowly sweeping over the pairs of eyes that were looking at him, some excited, some nervous.

"I am honored to announce this year's total harvest..."

He held up the handwritten sheet of paper in his hand and announced loudly, "Two hundred and seven thousand tons. That's double last year's harvest."

"Wow!!!"

Applause and screams erupted almost instantly. Countless people looked up and raised their arms. Some laughed and cried, while others held their children and cried out loud.

This is the culmination of their year's hard work, their most direct and tangible glory.

But Louis's voice still firmly dominated the room: "This year's rewards will be distributed according to the Farming Ranking and spring farming performance."

Outstanding villages and communities will receive tool supplies, tax reductions, and priority promotion to management positions for outstanding households.

The "King of Farming" will be granted prime private land, and the sons of model workers will receive exemptions from education and conscription.

He looked straight down at the audience, and his last words were the most fervent: "Every single one of you, every drop of sweat, will not be forgotten by the Red Tide, nor by the entire North."

For a moment, the entire valley was silent for half a second, followed by an even more frenzied and extreme shout:
"My lord!!!"

"Long live Louis!!!"

"Red Tide!! Red Tide!! Red Tide!!!"

The firelight illuminated every face, some smiling, some crying, but all were looking up at the person standing on the high platform.

It wasn't because Louis was so strong, but because they knew he would always be like the sun, hanging over their territory.

After the cheers subsided, night fell completely, but the fire tower's light burned ever brighter.

On the south side of the square, in the hot spring area, a long, winding queue of people had already formed.

Each large pot was simmering a different flavored hot soup: green barley and beef soup, salted lamb and mushroom stew, milk-stewed mixed vegetable stew...

The aroma filled the air, constantly tantalizing everyone's appetite.

"Get in line this way! Kids can cut in line, old men, come over here!"

"Add another spoonful! No skimping today, plenty!"

The villagers, holding wooden bowls and pottery cups, laughed and shouted, their sweat and smiles mingling together.

On the other side, more than ten large tables were already filled with stewed beef bones, roasted lamb legs, and freshly baked green wheat biscuits. Red Tide soldiers were responsible for patrolling and maintaining order to ensure that the distribution was orderly.

Initially, not everyone was able to fully open up, such as the citizens who just joined the Red Tide Territory this year.

A middle-aged man stood by the pot, looking at the large chunks of beef rolling around, and hesitated to approach.

"This...this is really for us to eat?" he murmured. "They won't even charge us?"

His elderly mother whispered behind him, "Such a big pot, so much meat, this wine, this rice... We've never seen anything like this served to us commoners before."

“I always feel… it’s too extravagant.” After he said this, he suddenly recalled the scene of his family surviving on moss soup during last year’s snow disaster.

"If it weren't for the lord, we wouldn't even be here this year."

Then, remembering the village chief's words, he shook his head violently, banishing the extravagant thought.

"We can afford it! This isn't free; we earned it with our own sickle and shovel!"

After saying that, he tilted his head back and gulped down the beef soup. It was scalding hot and salty, and he almost cried from the heat.

On the high platform, representatives from the top ten villages and communities are holding a special toasting ceremony.

They filed forward, each carrying a wine bowl, and bowed to present Louis with gifts woven by women from various villages: golden wheat ear crowns, red-edged shawls, woven ribbons... Although the designs were rough, each piece was full of sincerity.

"This was made in our village... It's not fancy, but I hope you'll accept it."

"We're full, and the children are full too."

Louis accepted them all without refusing a single item, for these were all tokens of the villagers' goodwill.

He then shared a glass of barley wine with each person, drinking it all in one gulp.

Another loud cheer erupted from the audience.

Just then, several children excitedly jumped onto the main stage. Though young, they were not timid at all and began to direct and act in a short play called "Lord Louis Feeds Us."

They sang and danced, their movements exaggerated and comical, the lyrics simple yet innocent:

"Lord Louis brought us to farm~ There are mushroom slices in the stewed beef soup~ The children aren't hungry anymore, and the elderly are warm~ The Red Tide Territory is truly a treasure~ Lord Louis has fed us to our hearts' content~!"

The firelight illuminated their joyful faces, and their voices echoed through the valley, mingling with the aroma of hot soup and the lingering scent of wheat fields.

The audience burst into laughter, and even the knight couldn't help but laugh.

Louis watched the children perform with such precision, and a rare relaxed smile appeared on his face.

At first, it was just a few children singing for fun. Someone started singing a line, and then more and more people joined in humming along.

Although the pitch was off and the rhythm was uneven, the lyrics were simple and the melody was catchy, and it gradually spread throughout the entire valley square.

"...The Red Tide Territory is truly a treasure! Lord Louis has given us a good meal!"

In the firelight, some people raised their glasses, some danced, children ran in circles, and old people nodded gently, swaying their shoulders to the beat.

Even the Red Tide Knights were infected, clapping and joining in the rhythm.

This is neither a nobleman's ball nor a church blessing ceremony.

This is a festival that truly belongs to the people, a feast for the land, and a celebration of hard work.

(End of this chapter)