The Great Qiu Dynasty held a position of immense importance in the Northern Territories. Though it fell short of Great Yong's present standing in the east, where it was almost revered as a supreme celestial empire, it was still one of the few great nations in the Northern Territories.
Over the years, although Daoist Xue rarely stayed in any one place, he had spent relatively more time in Great Qiu.
That day, Daoist Xue walked along a country path with his luggage backpack on his back. Beneath the lingering heat of autumn's dying embers, the trees along the way rang with the cries of cicadas.
In the distant fields, farmers were harvesting grain. Despite the sweltering weather, their faces brimmed with the joy of a bountiful harvest.
But after watching a little longer, Daoist Xue noticed that worry occasionally surfaced on their faces. Their joy was truly mingled with sorrow.
Perhaps these people were tenant farmers, and the rent was high?
"Daoist Priest, where are you headed-?"
A bare-chested old man called to him from the edge of a field. Though his hair and beard were white and his bronze torso looked rather thin, his voice was full and strong, without a trace of exhaustion from his work.
"I'm merely wandering through, going wherever the road takes me-how is this year's harvest, old sir-?"
Daoist Xue called back, and the old farmer answered from across the field.
"A fine harvest-please wait a moment, Daoist Priest-!"
As he spoke, the old farmer set down his rice stalks and sickle, said something to the people beside him, and hurried over.
Unsure what he wanted, Daoist Xue stopped and waited for him. The old farmer wiped his face with the cloth hanging around his neck. Age had left the flesh of his bare