Yang Yong stepped back into the fields himself.
The Heavenly Dragon Slash spread out again, its blade light twisting like silver dragons beneath the setting sun as it harvested the crops drooping with ripeness in the most efficient way possible.
He no longer watched any particular plot, nor did he care who was slacking off or who had hidden a few seeds.
He had no time to bother with those little tricks, nor could he be bothered.
As long as they could harvest another ten percent before the deadline, that would count as a gain.
They kept planting for an entire night.
No one slept.
The people from the service area and the convoy alike worked themselves into a frenzy.
The night wind carried the dry rustle of corn leaves, mingled with people's heavy panting and shouts rising one after another.
Harvest, sow, harvest again, sow again.
Like a machine that could not stop.
The fourteen children finally could not hold out in the latter half of the night, curling up on the field ridges and falling asleep one by one.
Long Ya covered them with ragged clothes, then returned to the fields.
Yang Yong did not sleep a wink all night.
At dusk the next day, the last round of corn fell across the rows.
Yang Yong stood knee-deep in shredded stalks, covered in bits of grass and mud.
His expression was calm, but his eyes were faintly bloodshot.
The space inside the Nine Nether Yuanchen White Bone Ring was less than a tenth full.
Less than a tenth.
Yet even that tenth was a stockpile that months of cultivation outside might not have yielded.
The Ideal Grain Seed's propagation rate was too low. Gathering this much outside would have been as hard as reaching the heavens.
He looked