James rose early, arriving at the fields an hour ahead of schedule, fearing that the dignitaries might have advanced the time, potentially leading to his untimely demise for being late.
Fortunately, his concerns were unfounded. However, he was not alone in his fears; numerous farmers, clutching boxes, stood, squatted, or sat by the fields, looking lost, helpless, or contemplative, awaiting the arrival of the city lord's envoy.
Laurel arrived early as well. James approached him, box in hand, and squatted beside him. "Laurel, have you deciphered the diagram inside?"
"More or less," Laurel replied, holding his box without apparent nervousness.
"And what does the diagram indicate?" James inquired.
"What else could it mean? After applying it once, wait seven days, harvest the wheat, then apply it again," Laurel explained.
"But how can wheat mature in just seven days?" James asked, puzzled.
Laurel, the robust, wild, short famer, looked at James as if he were a fool. "It means the potion's effect is to make the wheat mature in seven days. Are you fucking daft? Isn't that goddamn obvious?"
James was stunned for a few seconds before exclaiming in disbelief, "Really?!"
His voice, young and vibrant, became high-pitched and distorted, reflecting his tumultuous emotions.
Other farmers turned their gaze towards him, causing him to awkwardly touch his head, unable to contain his excitement, he continued to press Laurel for confirmation, "Laurel, is it really so? Can it truly—"
"Shut up, you're too damn loud," Laurel snapped irritably, indicative of the fact that, just like there are simple and pure farmers like James, there are also coarse and fierce ones... in greater numbers, "Don't bother me, we're not that close."
"... Ah, okay," James could only respond awkwardly, then respectfully distanced himself from Laurel.
He was puzzled; they had chatted quite a bit yesterday and on the way here, and Laurel hadn't been so impatient. It was only when the box was mentioned that Laurel became noticeably upset.
An hour passed quickly for the farmers, and the city lord's representative arrived on time. He observed the scattered farmers across the vast fields, neither posturing nor wasting words, which the farmers found astonishing.
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His family was not poor, but they lived a life of mere subsistence. Generations of farming had not accumulated any wealth for his lineage, and more arduous work had not led to increased compensation. Instead, taxes depended solely on the whims of the current lord. If it weren't for the somewhat visionary and capable Count Watson of this generation, James' life would be much harder.
But if he had this piece of farmland...
Could he not buy a better pipe for his father, a brand-new coat for his elder brother, and perhaps... perhaps even a pair of pretty shoes for Susan?
The young man gripped his hoe tightly, feeling an endless surge of strength within him.
His eyes shone brightly, as if harboring a brilliant and undying hope.
*
For these expert farmers, summoned from all over the Watson domain by the Count, completing the sowing in a single day was a trivial task. Filled with hope, James even considered cultivating another plot of land.
However, he dared not overstep his bounds. After the sowing and watering were done, he could only leave the field, looking back every three steps.
Today, he arrived at the calculated time for the second watering, only to find someone had already arrived early, squatting at the edge of the field.
"...Laurel?"
James paused, then approached with joy to greet her, "Laurel! How is your plot? Laurel... Laurel?"
Receiving no response, James was puzzled and then realized that she seemed reluctant to communicate with him, so he resignedly headed towards his own cultivated land.
And as he walked... James understood why Laurel was silent and squatting there like a statue.
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