Last night, all of Wheatwave Valley had been immersed in a celebration that truly belonged to those who had reaped the harvest.
Each village community lit bonfires in its threshing yard or village square, set out long tables, slaughtered chickens and sheep, and simmered bubbling pots of hot soup. Great chunks of meat and brimming bowls of wine passed around without end.
The liveliest place was the Main Celebration Ground in the center of the valley, where more than a dozen of the best-performing village communities held a joint feast. Dozens of pots of food were served at once, their fragrance drifting far on the night wind.
Firelight illuminated smiling faces beneath the night sky as the Spring Plowing Performance List was read out and the awards were announced one by one.
"This year's Plowing King is Hall Sawn of the Thirteenth Village Community!"
Cheers shook the sky. Flushed red, Hall Sawn stepped onto the platform and accepted the land deed bearing the Red Tide Fief's seal with trembling hands.
It granted him permanent ownership of a prime private field, along with the use of a new iron plow and two draft oxen.
For this, he had risen before dawn and worked into the night, becoming the most diligent man in all of Wheatwave Fief. Tonight, every effort had proved worthwhile. His fate had changed because of it.
"The Top Ten Households are as follows-Loy, Kayla, Bessie..."
Behind every name lay a village community's year of grueling effort.
Excited villagers pushed their friends and relatives onto the platform to collect their awards. Children tugged at their parents' clothes and shouted, "That's my father!"
Some elderly villagers accepted their certificates with trembling hands, only to be hoisted high by the younger people before they could return to their seats.
The prizes