He opened his mouth, wanting to say something more, but in the end, he merely picked up his bowl of now-lukewarm clear soup, silently finished it, and gently set the empty bowl aside. "I truly admire you all..."
Besides the food prepared by the chefs, the villagers had also volunteered to put on performances.
A bonfire blazed in the middle of the open ground, its light illuminating the seated crowd as a cheerful atmosphere filled the night.
A child named Piso was pushed onto the stage by a middle-aged man who was presumably his father, who encouraged him:
"Piso, don't forget what your teacher taught you!"
"Now's your time to shine!"
Then, spreading his arms, he said to the people around him:
"Everyone! Since we're all in high spirits today, let my son recite a poem to entertain you!"
Under everyone's gaze, the little boy named Piso turned red.
He looked no more than seven or eight, dressed in coarse clothes washed pale from wear, with his hands and feet seeming not to know where to go.
His round eyes kept blinking nervously.
His father vigorously patted his shoulder from beside him, his face full of expectation and encouragement.
"Come on, Piso, don't be afraid! Just like you do at school!" a villager called out kindly.
Piso took a deep breath, clenched his little fists tightly, and closed his eyes as if trying to squeeze all the nervousness out of himself.
Then he abruptly opened his eyes and began reciting haltingly in a tone almost like he was memorizing a textbook:
"Uh... g-golden wheat fields... in, in the wind... like ocean waves... rolling..."
The first line came out a little too high-pitched and shaky.
A few kind chuckles and encouraging claps rose from the crowd.
"...The stars in the sky...