Four months passed like a gentle river—steady, fruitful, and full of quiet miracles.
The fields of Eden Village had transformed. Where once only half the crops survived and black bugs swarmed like curses, now every plot stood tall and green. Golden maize swayed heavy with cobs. Beans climbed strong poles. The rare herbs Luo Feng had taught them to plant kept pests away and fed the soil. The new pond shimmered with fish, its bamboo pipe singing clear water day and night. Children no longer looked thin. Elders smiled more. The whole village felt alive in a way no one could remember.
One bright morning, Luo Feng stood at the edge of the largest field and called out, "Today is the day. Time to harvest."
Every soul in the village answered. Men, women, elders, and even the children—all two hundred of them—gathered with sickles, baskets, and joyful hearts. Miya stayed close to Luo Feng's side, her long black hair tied back, cheeks glowing with excitement and something warmer whenever their eyes met. Kael led the younger men. Suki skipped ahead with the other little ones, laughing.
They moved from farm to farm like a single happy wave. Sickles flashed under the sun. Hands worked together—cutting, gathering, laughing. The air filled with the sweet smell of ripe grain and the songs the villagers sang to keep rhythm. Luo Feng moved among them, showing the best way to cut so the stalks could be saved for thatch, praising every full basket, helping the smallest children reach the lower ears of corn.
By noon the last field was done. Every basket overflowed. The harvest was so rich it looked like a dream: mountains of maize, beans, roots, and clusters of fat purple grapes that had grown fat and sweet along the new irrigation ditches.
They carried it all back to the village square in a long, laughing line—children riding on shoulders, adults balancing towering baskets, everyone singing. The pile in the center grew higher than any roof.
Chief Haru stared at the mountain of food, eyes wide with disbelief and worry. "Luo Feng… this harvest is too much. It could feed us for three years, but it will spoil. We have no way to keep it that long. We will lose most of it."
The villagers murmured, suddenly anxious. Luo Feng raised a hand, calm as ever.
"Bring all the grapes to this side," he said, pointing to a clean stretch of ground.
They did, quickly separating the heavy purple clusters. Luo Feng gave each family a generous share of fresh grapes right then—enough to eat tonight and tomorrow, sweet and bursting with juice. Children bit into them with happy cries.
"Keep and store only the harvest we need for this year," he told them. "The rest we will trade at the capital. It will bring gold, tools, clothes, medicine—whatever the village still lacks. We will not waste a single grain."
Then he gathered the adults around the grapes. "And today I will teach you something new—how to make grape wine. It will keep for years, and one day it may become something Eden Village is known for across the kingdom."
He showed them step by step: crushing the grapes in clean wooden barrels (the young people had already built them from spare wood), adding the right wild yeast from the forest herbs he provided, sealing the barrels, and explaining the patient waiting and careful stirring over the coming weeks. The villagers listened with shining eyes, hands moving eagerly as they followed his lead.
By the time the sun dipped low, the work was done. Barrels stood ready for wine. The year's food was safely stored in every home and the communal storehouse. The extra harvest waited in neat piles, protected under woven mats, ready for the journey to the capital whenever Luo Feng said the word.
Night fell soft and starry over Eden Village. The bonfire in the square burned low while everyone shared a simple feast of fresh maize, fish from the pond, and sweet grapes. Laughter floated on the warm air. Miya sat beside Luo Feng, their shoulders touching, her shy smile brighter than the fire.
When the last song faded, the villagers returned to their huts, bellies full and hearts even fuller. Inside Chief Haru's home, the family laid out their mats. Luo Feng lay in his usual corner, listening to the peaceful breathing around him—Miya's soft sighs, Kael's quiet snores, little Suki's happy mumbles.
Outside, the bamboo pipe still sang water into the pond, and the fields rested under moonlight, already promising the next bountiful season.
Sleep came deep and grateful to every soul in Eden Village that night. For the first time in living memory, no one went to bed wondering if tomorrow would bring hunger.
And in the quiet dark, Luo Feng—once a deaf farmer named Haoboi who died in the mud of Churachandpur—smiled to himself. The goddess had thrown him away. The evil God had given him quiet gifts. But here, in this small village, he had finally found where he belonged.