Chapter 535

On the twenty-night day of late autumn (October 18), sunlight gently draped over the vast experimental fields like a golden veil. Under the caress of the breeze, the Spirit Rice danced gracefully like a group of joyful little sprites, their colorful brilliance reflecting off one another to form a dreamy, intoxicating ocean from which one could not bear to look away. By the edge of the field, a waterwheel turned leisurely like an elderly person, emitting a steady creaking sound. Though somewhat monotonous, this sound resembled an ancient, melodious ballad, adding a unique rhythm to the tranquil pastoral scenery. The rotation of the waterwheel caused the stream to flow slowly, sparkling with silver droplets under the sunlight like fallen stars from the night sky.