DipNovel Chapter 130 Harvest
Chapter 130 Harvest
Chapter 130 Harvest
Time slipped away quietly amidst the orderly operation of Jiangcheng and the ever-increasing heat of summer.
When the air is no longer filled with the raw smell of wheat straw, but instead with a full, almost sweet, grain fragrance, everyone in Jiangcheng knows that the most crucial part of this pivotal summer, the one that will determine their fate, has finally arrived.
The long-planned summer harvest campaign was launched with a bang, mobilizing the entire city.
At dawn, before the sky was bright, countless people poured out of their simple dwellings and makeshift sheds. Among them were professional agricultural workers, survivors who had accepted the assignment, ordinary residents who had volunteered, and even some teenagers who had been organized.
Everyone, following their pre-assigned areas and tasks, moved silently and swiftly towards the golden sea outside the city walls, like a carefully orchestrated swarm of ants.
The deafening roar of the combine harvesters became the dominant sound across the land. Those combine harvesters, either salvaged from ruins or newly manufactured in Jiangcheng factories, rolled into the wheat fields like steel behemoths.
The sharp blades tumbled, and golden waves of wheat fell down, swallowed into the machine's belly. After threshing and cleaning, the golden wheat grains poured out of the grain outlet like a waterfall into the truck bed that followed.
The efficiency of machines far surpasses that of human labor; wherever they go, they leave behind only neat stubble and dust flying everywhere.
In the corners and edges of the fields that machines couldn't reach, the battlefield was manpower. People wielded sickles, trudging through the wheat rows, their sweat almost instantly evaporated by the scorching sun, leaving only white salt stains on their dark, coarse cloth clothes.
The air was thick with the prickly smell of wheat awns, the scent of dust, and the pungent odor of sweat. No one spoke; only the sharp, slicing sound of sickles cutting through wheat stalks and the ceaseless roar of machinery in the distance could be heard.
This is a race against time; we must get these grains of hope, which are crucial to feeding millions of people for the next year, into storage as quickly as possible.
As Xu Mo pushed open the courtyard gate, he felt a gust of air carrying dust, the scent of wheat, and heat rush towards him.
The streets were much emptier than usual, as most people had already headed out of the city. On a whim, Xu Mo followed the flow of people and strolled out of the city gate.
The scene before him, even for someone as accustomed to the cruelty of the apocalypse and the desolation of ruins, evoked a long-lost, grand sense of awe and a profound sense of production and survival.
As far as the eye can see, there are human figures and waves of wheat.
The golden fields were divided into countless pieces; some had already been harvested, revealing the earth's yellowish-brown color; some were being swallowed up by steel behemoths; and many more were slowly shrinking like the receding tide under the swing of scythes.
On the drying ground, the newly harvested wheat grains were spread out evenly, forming huge golden carpets that reflected dazzling light under the blazing sun. People used wooden paddles and rakes to constantly turn the grains, ensuring that every grain was fully baked by the sun, evaporating the last bit of excess moisture to prevent mold.
The hot wind whipped up tiny wheat husks and dust, forming swirling wisps of golden smoke.
Sure enough, there were birds circling in the sky, but their numbers were not many, and most of them were ordinary-sized birds that had not undergone any mutations.
Perhaps attracted by the overwhelming aroma of grains, they dared not approach the roaring machines and dense crowds, but only dared to hover over the fields that had been harvested and were being dried, trying to find scattered grains of wheat.
"Bang! Bang!"
The crisp sound of gunfire rang out intermittently, not frequently, but more like a warning. It was the patrol team responsible for aerial surveillance, driving light vehicles equipped with protective netting, or standing guard on high towers by the fields, carrying specially made shotguns or rifles.
The bullets weren't aimed at the center of the flock, but rather at the open space in front of it. The startled birds would scatter in all directions, flying towards the more distant wilderness. Occasionally, a particularly stubborn or slightly larger mutant would attempt to swoop down, only to be met with even harsher driving away, or even shot down outright.
Overall, bird disturbances are kept to a very low level and are far from becoming a significant problem.
All this busy, noisy, vibrant, and orderly scene constitutes an extremely precious picture of harvest in the post-apocalyptic world. It is no longer just about pastoral poetry, but about the most naked survival, order, and collective strength. Everyone's face is etched with exhaustion, but deep in their eyes shines a reassuring light—the light of seeing food and seeing hope.
The harvest did not stop in the evening.
Huge searchlights were set up around the fields and drying yards, illuminating the night as brightly as day.
Jiangcheng utilized its precious power reserves to ensure that harvesting and drying could proceed 24 hours a day without interruption.
The roar of the machines carried even further into the night, and the mosquitoes and dust swarming under the lights resembled a golden mist. From the heights of the city walls, the lights outside stretched as far as the eye could see, like a fallen galaxy, reflecting against the cold starlight and moon in the sky.
For several days in a row, Xu Mo watched this spectacular scene of labor, and looking at this busy scene, Xu Mo felt an indescribable sense of comfort.
Finally, with the mobilization and hard work of everyone, the last row of wheat was cut down and the last truckload of wheat grains was delivered to the reinforced storage area.
The hoarse but excited voice of the commander-in-chief came over the loudspeaker, announcing the successful completion of the main summer harvest work and thanking all participants for their efforts. The exhausted people burst into a hoarse cheer.
However, the work was not completely over.
The day after the last batch of wheat was stored, towering flames ignited in the fields surrounding Jiangcheng, where all the harvest had just been given.
This is not a disaster, but the final step in the plan: burning the straw.
Piles and stacks of wheat straw and leftover stubble were systematically set ablaze.
The dry plant fibers instantly burst into flames, tongues of fire licking the sky, thick smoke billowing upwards, forming huge columns of smoke. The heat distorted the distant scenery, and the crackling sounds of burning were incessant.
The purpose of burning is multifaceted. The high-temperature flames effectively kill pests, diseases, and germs lurking in the soil and straw, reducing potential risks for the next season's cultivation. Secondly, the ash from the burning is an excellent potassium fertilizer that can be easily incorporated into the soil to nourish the land. And most importantly, as explained in the broadcast, is to eliminate the final temptation and prevent potential hazards.
In wheat fields, especially among the stubble, there are bound to be some wheat ears or grains that have not been thoroughly cleared away.
These remain an irresistible temptation for birds with a keen sense of smell, especially those mutated birds that may be attracted from afar by the aroma of grains.
If left unattended, these scattered food scraps may attract small flocks of birds, and the activity and calls of these small flocks may attract more birds of their kind from further away.
While bird social structures may temporarily collapse due to the death of a "leader," individual instinctive foraging desires remain strong. Allowing this piecemeal attraction to continue could easily lead to the gradual regrouping of troublesome flocks of birds one day.
This could even give rise to new flocks of birds adapted to "guerrilla warfare" with humans, active outside Jiangcheng.
The most thorough and convenient way is to set fire to all the remaining "bait" and turn the field into a scorched but clean piece of land.
The flames and thick smoke themselves also serve as a strong deterrent and drive away of flying objects in the air.
Xu Mo stood on a slightly elevated earthen slope near the city wall, gazing at the flames spreading like wildfire all around. The firelight reddened his face, and the scorching air, carrying ashes from the vegetation, rushed towards him. The air was filled with the smell of burning, replacing the previous sweet aroma of wheat.
The golden harvest and the charred remains of the fire, the hope of returning to the granary and the eradication of hidden dangers, formed an incredibly stark contrast at this moment.
This is the logic of the apocalypse: cruel and efficient, leaving no room for romantic illusions. Every step towards survival is accompanied by decisive choices and even destruction.
Xu Mo watched the fields gradually die down, leaving only wisps of smoke and embers. He knew that the most thrilling chapter of this summer had turned. The greatest threat to food security had been eliminated, and Jiangcheng had once again passed a critical juncture for survival.
The billowing smoke gradually dissipated, leaving only scorched earth and lingering reflections.
The summer harvest is over, but the challenge of survival never truly ends.
The immense energy of the summer harvest seemed to have exhausted the entire city's spirit in one breath. When the last wisp of smoke from burning straw dissipated, and when the heavy sound of the granary doors closing marked the end of this battle, Jiangcheng fell into a peculiar, weary yet satisfied tranquility.
The streets were sparsely populated, and the pedestrians walked with a languid pace. The breakfast stalls, which were usually bustling with shouts, were now deserted; the owners were simply fanning themselves slowly, and the steam rising from the pots seemed less intense than usual, exuding an air of nonchalant indifference.
The teahouses and taverns were no longer bustling with activity; the occasional customers were talking in hushed tones and yawning.
Even the patrolling soldiers and security personnel, though still holding their posts, looked less tense and more relaxed.
The entire Jiangcheng shelter was like a machine that had been running at high speed for too long and had finally completed its core mission. With the mission accomplished, the machine temporarily slowed down, emitting a low hum, as it underwent necessary cooling and respite.
Amid the pervasive atmosphere of lethargy throughout the city, Xu Mo made another trip to the Hunter's Guild.
The usually bustling and crowded mission hall, resembling a marketplace, was now considerably quieter. The huge electronic screen still scrolled through the mission list, but far fewer people were stopping to watch or engage in heated discussions.
Several guild staff members who were stationed there huddled together, chatting quietly and occasionally letting out light laughter. Only a few hunters who seemed restless were still carefully browsing the bulletin board, perhaps hoping to take advantage of everyone's break to snatch some easy and well-paid catches.
Xu Mo looked around and found that the task list hadn't changed much.
The zombie clearing task is still available, but its priority seems to have dropped slightly; most of the summer harvest-related bird control and patrol tasks have been removed or are marked as "completed"; some new daily tasks related to city facility maintenance and material transfer have been added, with mediocre rewards.
Clearly, after the tough battle of the summer harvest, neither the government nor the public has the energy to push for new, high-intensity external actions.
Looking at the somewhat deserted scene, Xu Mo also felt a little bored and turned to leave the guild hall.
The afternoon sun grew increasingly scorching, its blinding rays striking the bluestone pavement and the earthen walls, reflecting a blinding light.
The air became scorching and stagnant, as if a single spark could ignite it. The pedestrians who occasionally brushed past each other on the road were all wearing straw hats or bamboo hats, or had their heads and faces wrapped in wet towels, and they were all hurrying along.
Xu Mo turned into the outer city's general merchandise market. It was more dilapidated and chaotic than the inner city streets, but it was also more down-to-earth, and you could always find some strange and unusual things there. Xu Mo spent a few contribution points to buy an old mercury thermometer from a stall owner.
The glass tube of this thermometer is a bit blurry, but the scale is still clear.
After returning home, Xu Mo hung the thermometer under a shady and well-ventilated eave near the market, waited a few minutes, and then took it down to check.
The red liquid column remained steadily at the 36℃ mark.
Thirty-six degrees? Xu Mo raised an eyebrow. This temperature might not be considered extreme in the height of summer during the golden age of China. But summer has only just begun, and it's far from its hottest phase. Based on this trend, the temperature has a lot of room to rise further, and breaking forty degrees Celsius is probably not difficult.
The climate in the post-apocalyptic world is already abnormal, with frequent extreme weather events. Many people still vividly remember the bitter cold of last winter, and it seems that this year's scorching heat will certainly not "disappoint" either.
Just as Xu Mo was holding the thermometer, pondering whether he needed to prepare some heatstroke prevention measures, his gaze was drawn to a scene in a residential area near the market.
In front of many houses, there were piles of freshly dug soil, forming mounds of varying sizes.
Some houses had small mounds of earth, as if the project had just begun; others had already been piled into small hills, with people constantly using baskets or carts to haul more soil from inside the house or deep in the yard and dump it on top.
"What are they digging? A foundation? A treasure pit?" Xu Mo asked, somewhat puzzled. Judging from the scale and extent of their activity, it didn't seem to be an isolated incident.
Approaching a house where people were carrying soil out, the male head of the household was a man in his thirties, shirtless, with tanned skin. He was laboriously dumping a basket of soil onto a mound of earth outside the door, making a dull sound.
"Big brother, what are you busy with? What are you digging for?" Xu Mo asked politely.
The man straightened up, wiped the sweat from his face, and, panting heavily, said quite talkatively, "Hey, digging a cellar! What else could we be digging?"
"A cellar?" Xu Mo glanced at the low bungalow behind the other person.
"Yeah, right!" The man picked up the tattered towel hanging around his neck and wiped his sweat, explaining, "This damn weather gets weirder every year! In winter, it can freeze your chin off, and in summer, it can bake you alive. What do we do without air conditioning? We have to figure it out ourselves!"
He pointed to the ground beneath his feet: "Our old methods work! It's cool underground! Dig deep, several meters below the surface, and it's warm in winter and cool in summer! In summer, hiding inside is ten times more effective than fanning yourself on the ground! In winter, you can store some vegetables that won't freeze, or use it as a shelter—it's much better than freezing on the ground!"
An elderly man nearby, who was also clearing a mound of dirt in front of his house, chimed in, "That's right, that's right. My son works in the logistics department, and I heard that the research institute is recommending its use. They say it's called passive cooling—it doesn't use electricity, just takes a bit of effort. We ordinary people may not have much else, but we certainly have plenty of strength. Dig! Dig yourself a comfortable nest!"
The man chuckled, "Besides, the soil we dig up isn't wasted. We mix it with some water and chopped wheat straw to make adobe bricks, which, once dried, can be used to build walls and repair houses. They're sturdy and insulated—a win-win situation!"
Xu Mo suddenly realized that the people at the bottom of Jiangcheng, facing limited resources and frequent extreme weather events, had spontaneously adopted the most primitive yet practical survival wisdom. They utilized the soil's enormous thermal inertia to create a relatively constant-temperature underground space to combat drastic temperature changes on the surface.
This method may seem outdated, but in a world where electricity has become a strategic resource and cannot be universally distributed, it is a highly cost-effective option.
Looking at the busy figures, the ever-growing mound of earth in front of the door, and the faint sounds of digging coming from deep underground, Xu Mo seemed to be lost in thought.
Sometimes, technological regression can lead people back to a more fundamental way of life that relies more on the laws of nature.
Xu Mo put the thermometer, which showed 36°C, into his pocket and turned to leave.
Perhaps I should consider digging down in some corner of my little courtyard?
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