As spring gave way to fall, the rice sown in the planting season had, unbeknownst to all, turned a golden yellow. A gentle breeze blew through the fields, causing the heavy panicles to sway and stir up wave upon wave of golden tides.
This scene would bring a smile to anyone who beheld it. By the fields of the Gai Nation, due to the cease-fire, the able-bodied men sent back home were now looking at their own fields with eyes full of anticipation,
"Another bountiful year! It's about time for His Majesty to mobilize the army," one of them said.
…
"Since you declared a cease-fire, aiming to mobilize the entire nation for digging canals, building trenches, and constructing warpaths, this year marks the fifth consecutive bountiful harvest. Are you planning to continue stockpiling grain?"
