Unlike Liaodong in spring, Liaodong in autumn was far more beautiful.
North of Suizhong, fields stretched along both sides of the road. Whenever the wind swept through, the millet ears swayed with it. There were also vast wheat fields, their rolling waves rippling in the breeze.
People labored at the edges of the fields. The men were the main workforce; some held sickles, while those without them made do with the army's long blades. Of the young women, eight or nine out of ten had swollen bellies, yet they still handled whatever work they could manage, such as bundling grain. Small children trailed behind, dragging bamboo baskets as they picked up scattered kernels from the ground. Every so often, they also had to chase away the birds, which had enjoyed a harvest of their own.
Some of the older children had fathers who were soldiers—archers or logistics troops, perhaps—and had brought home discarded bowstrings to make slingshots for them. The children were skilled too. They would pick up small stones, shut one eye, take aim for a few breaths, and then release. In an instant, some unlucky bird in the distance would tumble down, unable to fly again.
The children would immediately scamper over to collect it. Once they had gathered enough, several children would run to the river under the envious gazes of others, pluck and wash the birds, gather some firewood, and roast them for meat. Their mouths would be blackened with soot by the time they finished eating, after which they went back to work, always watching for another chance to shoot birds for meat.
No one paid them any mind. It was good enough that they could find meat for themselves, and there were certainly no animal protection laws. Otherwise, the first person to be executed