The southern freight bay of the All-Terrain Rolling Slime Barge slid open with a smooth clockwork click.
Inside the padded iron-oak compartment, cool mist poured out into the boiling hot heat. He carried the crisp, earthy fragrance of fresh green foliage, rich loam, and sweet nectar. Stacked from floor to ceiling were hundreds of woven willow hampers, each filled to the brim with vibrant, emerald-green vine cuttings.
The five thousand citizens of Fengsha stared into the wagon bed in confused awe.
“Vines?” Elder Song murmured, squinting through his weathered eyes as he leaned closer to the hampers. “Lord Lin... Forgive our ignorance, but are these healing herbs? Our fields outside the city walls have baked in the sun for four months. Even coarse desert thistle and dry thorn bushes have withered into gray ash. Can any plant survive in that powdered clay?”
“Elder Song, ordinary grain can’t survive,” Lin Xiao said with a warm, confident smile, lifting a bundle of lush green vines from the nearest hamper. “Standard winter wheat and golden millet are delicate aristocrats. They demand rich compost, gentle soaking rains, and three months of mild weather. If the sun blazes too hot, their leaves burn to a crisp before the ears can even form.”
