In wintertime Yan Prefecture, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but yellow earth and withered grass, lending the land an added air of bleak desolation.
Yet across Yan Prefecture, the enthusiasm for construction burned fiercely. Although many projects had halted for the winter, there was still plenty of work to be done in preparation for next spring's production and construction.
Nor had every project stopped. Simple work such as digging pits and mining still continued. The petty officials, wealthy households, criminal gangs, and others who had previously been arrested all had to work. This was already the northwest; they could hardly be carted all the way to Lingnan. Besides, Yan Prefecture was in dire need of manpower, so naturally these people could not be wasted.
As long as they did not work themselves to death, they would be worked to death. The last sparks of their remaining lives would warm this ancient land beneath their feet and make their final contribution to its people.
At a courtyard beside the official road, wisps of cooking smoke rose from the chimney of a house built from yellow earth mixed with straw and piled stones. Through the open, sunlit doorway, an old man could be seen doing carpentry beside a stove. Two children next to him were playing with the curled wood shavings.
Hearing movement, the old man looked up and saw a great crowd outside, many of them armored soldiers. Among them were several people he recognized—county officials, all now wearing obsequious smiles as they stood behind a straight-backed man wrapped in a fur coat, his face wreathed in a smile.
The old man froze for a moment, rubbed his eyes, then hurried out and dropped with a thud, about to kneel.
"Greetings, sir! Greetings, sir..."
Wang Yan