"The blazing red sun burned like fire; half the grain in the wild fields withered and scorched.
The farmers' hearts boiled like scalding water, while noble sons and princely grandsons waved their fans."
In the sweltering summer heat, Zhang Xing sat in the shade beside the harbor on one side of the embankment, visibly radiating Ice True Qi. Holding a bowl of iced water, he recited this opening verse with no conviction whatsoever.
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 felt it hadn't rained for many days, you recited those lines while leaning on your hoe, digging irrigation ditches yourself. Who among us, high or low, didn't admire your concern for the people's livelihood? The day before yesterday, you summoned some old farmers in Jiangling and asked about the drought. They all said it wasn't much of a disaster yet, but the ditches neglected during the war needed clearing promptly to prepare for drought. You issued orders to repair the ditches and recited that poem again, and everyone felt you were pitying those doing the labor... now everything's settled, everything that can be done has been done, and it may yet rain. We're also about to cross the river on other business. How can you still say this?"
Zhang Xing nodded. "Chief Xie is absolutely right. Then I'll switch to another poem."
Most of those around him breathed a sigh of relief.
"Hoeing grain beneath the midday sun, sweat dripped