After speaking, he gently handed over the reins, his eyes filled with solemnity: "Whether this year's harvest in Mai Lang Territory is good or not depends entirely on this moment."
Louis took the reins, and as he gripped the plow handle, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, the cold air dispersing into a light mist in the steam.
He glanced at the untouched black soil ahead, as if seeing countless fields of Mai Lang, countless meals, countless families being fed.
"...Then let me make a good start for the year," he whispered.
The ox's hooves moved with steady force.
The iron plow slowly broke the soil, turning over a thick layer of earth, revealing a straight, deep brown furrow.
The rising steam coiled with the turning plow blade, like warm mist emerging from the depths of the earth, shimmering in the golden light, resembling the cooking smoke of early summer.
Louis held the plow steadily, moving forward inch by inch.
