It seemed the harvest season had arrived, and a faint fragrance of grain drifted from the fields on either side.
Wang Yu swept his gaze left and right and saw that most of the fields grew the same kind of rice. The plants were emerald green throughout, with grains as large as thumbs at the tips, but only two or three had actually filled out. All the others were completely shriveled.
A small portion of the fields grew fruits and vegetables instead, though these also seemed much larger than those in the outside world.
Most of these fields were separated by simple fences or hedges, with people in all sorts of clothing busily working inside. The houses built among the fields were small as well, simple courtyard homes made up of two or three stone rooms.
As Wang Yu followed the old man in green robes past a field and saw clearly what two people were busy doing, the corners of his mouth twitched twice.
One was dressed as a scholar, yet held a net bag in one hand and a slender black sword in the other. He rapidly stabbed at something among the rice plants, skewering an unknown black insect with every thrust before flicking it into the net bag in his other hand.
In another field nearby, a brawny, imposing warrior wore gleaming half-body armor, but held a thick bronze hoe, laboriously digging the earth stroke after stroke.
Every time the hoe struck the ground, it gave a muffled clang, as though he were chiseling stone.
The three continued down the main road between the fields. Along the way, they also saw a monk with a bronze bowl floating above his head, continuously pouring water, and a young woman as lovely as a flower wielding an enormous sickle