The locusts in the sky seemed endless; the farther forward they went, the more there were.
The Daoist rode leisurely past on his donkey. Only after seeing it with his own eyes did he understand the agony of such a calamity.
They passed through several villages along the road and found them all empty. What had once been idyllic rural homes were now deserted ruins without a trace of human life.
Some had long since been abandoned, dust settling everywhere.
Others had been left only recently. Even the things they had discarded were arranged neatly, as though their owners still hoped that when they returned, everything would still be there. One glance was enough to tell how much reluctance and anguish each household had endured when leaving.
The fields lay utterly barren, everything gnawed clean. After the locust swarm passed, it left behind nothing but blank earth.
After crossing a stretch of wasteland, they climbed onto a high field ridge.
The Daoist's gaze suddenly stopped as he looked below.
Among the barren fields all around, only this patch still had wheat.
It had been sown last October. After winter, the wheat had sprouted with the coming of spring, spreading green across the field and shining with the light of hope.
But now, more than half had withered. Spots of dampness dotted the field, as though someone had desperately tried to save it, yet to no avail.
At that moment, the vast swarm of flying locusts passed overhead, continuously dropping down and diving toward the farmland.
In the blink of an eye, the field was covered in locusts.
"Ho! Hah!"
"Go!"
A gaunt figure stood in the field, beating a gong without pause and shouting himself hoarse, trying to frighten the locusts away.
Trying to stop the flying locusts from landing,