Time passed, and the weather grew ever colder.
Ten days later, the Yellow Sprout Rice was harvested. Chen Mu looked at the five sacks of Yellow Sprout Rice before his Wooden Cabin and sighed.
"If this were the Heaven-Reaching River Lower Courtyard, these five mu of land should have yielded over seventeen hundred jin of Yellow Sprout Rice."
"Look at it now. We should thank the heavens if we get six hundred jin!"
Old Yang, whom he had not seen for quite some time, set down a Black Clay Pot half a man tall. "Be content."
As he spoke, he glanced around before pointing his chin toward the hillside behind Chen Mu.
"Your neighbor there has over eight mu of land and harvested less than five hundred jin!"
Chen Mu could not help clicking his tongue. "Wouldn't that mean he has to pay the Lower Courtyard nearly twenty White Jade Coins just to cover the land rent?"
"Exactly. Half a year's wages from clearing wilderness, and half of it gets handed right back. Tsk, tsk..." Old Yang shook his head and lifted the cotton cloth covering the Black Clay Pot.
A rustling sound of insects crawling drifted out.
Chen Mu immediately took two disgusted steps back.
"It's not like you haven't seen them before. What are you scared of?" Old Yang said irritably. "These little treasures are so cute!"
Chen Mu shuddered. "Not everyone shares your strange hobby, old sir."
Buzz, buzz, buzz...
The gray swarm of insects was like waves rolling over a shoal, surging into the Yellow Sprout Rice Field with a rustle. The withered yellow stalks and leaves were swiftly pulverized and returned to the soil.
"This year's harvest is poor. If you have spare money, you should stockpile more Yellow Sprout Rice," Old Yang advised.
After