"The blazing red sun burned like fire; half the grain in the fields lay scorched and dry.
The farmer's heart boiled like water in a pot, while noble sons and princes' grandsons waved their fans."
In the blazing summer heat, Zhang Xing sat beneath a tree beside the harbor at one side of the embankment, visibly radiating Ice True Qi. Holding a bowl of iced water, he recited this opening verse without the slightest persuasiveness.
Beside him sat a dozen or so great chiefs and chiefs. Whether chilled by the Ice True Qi or set on edge by the iced water, quite a few of them inwardly shuddered.
In the end, Xie Minghe simply could not bear listening any longer-and indeed, he was the only one who dared speak:
"Master Zhang San, five days ago, when you inspected the fields and thought how long it had been since the last rain, you personally dug irrigation channels and recited those lines while leaning on your hoe. Who among us, high or low, could fail to admire your concern for the people's livelihood? The day before yesterday, in Jiangling, you summoned several old farmers and asked about the drought. They all said it wasn't a major disaster yet, but that the channels neglected during the wars needed clearing promptly to prepare against drought. You issued orders to repair the channels, then recited that poem again, and everyone felt you were pitying those doing the labor... Now everything has been settled, everything we can do has been done, and it may yet rain. We're about to cross the river to attend to other business. How can you still say this?"
Zhang Xing nodded. "Chief Xie is quite right. Then I'll change poems."
Most of those around him breathed a sigh of relief.
"Hoeing