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In the golden autumn of October, warm snow fluttered through the sky, a soft white blanket settling over the sea of ripened wheat.
The people cheered. The furrows in an old man’s brow finally smoothed. A mother, who had once planned to sell her child just to survive the winter, now clutched her baby and wept, not in grief but in joy. For the first time, her tears didn’t mean farewell but reunion.
Far away, men who had left home in desperation, ready to trade dignity and conscience for a bite of food, suddenly found themselves with new choices. They saw the bountiful fields, held long-lost letters from family in their hands, and for the first time in years, felt the pull to return home.
A young man in white, face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat, with a seventh rank blade slung across his back, walked the rural roads and village paths.
He had traveled a long, long way. And finally, he could feel it, the change in the air, in the land, and in the people’s hearts.
But he also heard the whispers of powerful landowners plotting in secret to seize all the grain and hoard it. Yet, they hesitated. Pressure from above weighed heavily on the local officials, making them think twice. They wanted to act but didn’t dare.
This pressure came from one...
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