"The scarlet sun blazed like fire; half the grain in the wild fields withered and scorched.
The farmer's heart boiled like water in a pot, while young lords and noble scions waved their fans."
In the blazing summer heat, Zhang Xing sat in the shade beside a harbor on one side of the embankment, visibly radiating Ice True Qi. Holding a bowl of iced water, he recited this opening poem without the slightest persuasive force.
Beside him sat a dozen or so great chiefs and chiefs. Whether it was the chill of his Ice True Qi or the iced water setting their teeth on edge, quite a few of them inwardly shivered.
Finally, Xie Minghe could bear no more. Indeed, he was the only one who dared speak:
"Master Zhang San, five days ago, when you inspected the fields and found that it hadn't rained for many days, you personally dug irrigation channels and leaned on your hoe to recite those lines. Who among your superiors or subordinates could fail to respect your concern for the people's livelihood? The day before yesterday, you summoned several old farmers in Jiangling and asked about the drought. They all said it wasn't a major disaster yet, but the channels neglected during the fighting needed clearing in good time to prepare against drought. You issued orders to repair them, then recited this poem again, and everyone thought you were sympathizing with the laborers... Now everything's settled, we've done all we can, and it might still 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. I'll change poems, then."
Most of those around him breathed easier.
"Hoeing grain beneath the midday sun, sweat dripped onto the soil below.