132 The Crowd

“Could it be because of the hive?” Dana asked.

“I don’t know. But...” Upton looked carefully all around before continuing. “Apart from the hive, there is absolutely nothing else different from before.”

“I heard Los moved it here.”

“Yes.”

After Upton and his sons discovered that the buckwheat had produced an astonishing abundance of seed, they immediately connected it with the hive Los had recently moved to the neighboring plot.

It was easy enough to understand.

Put simply, by consecutively posting two hugely popular threads—“Treating Farm Oxen” and “Becoming a Cowherd”—Wu Qingchen, also known as Los, had successfully gained considerable fame and attention on the sprawling forum that was Akeley Village.

The discussion was still running hot. Every move Wu Qingchen, or Los, made drew the attention of the Akeley forum. He had not posted twice in a day for quite some time; naturally, this equally remarkable act of his—moving the hive—had become another hot topic among his followers.

“All right. We’ve already wasted far too much time.” Upton hoisted the plow once more. “We’d better get to the common land. Though it’s probably too late to escape the rod.”

“All right, Father.” Dana finished gathering the tools and was about to set out when he suddenly noticed the buckwheat stalk that Dubin had accidentally torn off while falling into Hansel’s plot. Upton had tucked it inside his tunic.

“Er...” Dana looked puzzled. “Father, weren’t we going to throw that away?”

“No. We’re not throwing it away.” Upton shook his head.

“What are you keeping it for? If Hansel finds out—oh!” Dana’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Of course! With such good news, Hansel won’t blame Dubin. He might even thank us!”

“No, that’s not it!” Upton continued shaking his head.

“Perhaps we could take it to the steward?” Dubin suggested timidly. “With this as proof, the steward probably won’t beat us.”

“No!” Upton shook his head again. “I’ll tell Hansel about the buckwheat stalks, and I’ll tell the steward as well. But this stalk—I would rather be cursed by Hansel, and I would rather let the steward beat me black and blue, than leave it behind! This is the Lucky Grain, a blessing bestowed upon us by the Sovereign. What does a beating matter compared with that?”

As they spoke, neither Upton, Dana, nor Dubin had the slightest doubt that they were the first people in all of Akeley Village to discover the buckwheat’s astonishing rate of seed production.

In a backward agricultural society where the overwhelming majority of actions and labors ultimately served the single goal of producing food, the moment someone discovered that the staple crop had produced far more seed than imaginable, the news would spread through the entire village like wildfire.

A little over ten minutes later, at the corvée mustering ground—

“What? The Hansels’ plot, old William’s plot, and many others—every buckwheat stalk is laden with grain?”

Steward O’Connor could not restrain his laughter.

“Upton, Upton, you’re a fine one.” Laughing loudly, O’Connor pointed at the father and his two sons across from him. “Among all the people trying to avoid a beating, your story is by far the most carefully contrived.”

By the time their conversation took place, the fourth bell—or perhaps the final bell—had long since rung.

The place where the villagers gathered for their service had become deserted. Only the clerk, the steward, and a few scattered guards stood by, waiting to be called upon.

“But—”

Seeing O’Connor wave for a guard to bring over the rod, Dubin hurriedly summoned his courage and edged closer, explaining timidly, “Ours is really true...”

“All right, all right. Come here.” O’Connor waved impatiently. “One at a time. Don’t worry. Since you’ve given me a good laugh, I’ll go easy on you.”

Thwack, thwack, thwack!

“Steward!”

After the three liars had received their beating, they hurried toward the common land assigned to them. The guard who had handed over the rod moved closer to O’Connor.

“Only the plots belonging to Hansel, Richard, and old William seem to have the same thing in common: they are all near the place where Los moved the hive.”

“Oh?” O’Connor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Twenty-some minutes later, beside the common land assigned to the Upton family—

“What? The Hansels’, the Richards’, the Sanchezes’, and many other families’ plots are all covered in buckwheat stalks bearing grain?”

The villager who, without realizing it, had been the first to hear the news stared at Upton and his sons, who had just been driven over by the guards, as though they were idiots.

“Yes. It’s the plots near the hive Los moved.”

“What? That place?” The villagers’ eyes widened. “What happened? Tell us!”

“It was like this...”

More than thirty minutes later, beside the common land next to the one assigned to the Upton family—

“Come here, quickly!”

Taking advantage of the work bringing him near the neighboring plots, the villager who had just learned the news waved frantically to another household nearby.

“What is it?” The head of that household came over.

“Do you know about the hive Los moved a few nights ago?”

“Of course I do. What about it? Did someone else get stung? Ah...” The man shook his head sympathetically. “If your plot is nearby, you’d better be careful. Hmm. Fortunately, my family’s plot is very far away.”

“Tsk, tsk. You think being far away is a good thing?” The first villager shook his head with equal sympathy. “Once you hear the rest, you won’t think so.”

“Oh? Why not?” The other man was naturally bewildered.

“Upton just told me that the plots around the hive are covered with buckwheat stalks bearing grain!”

“What? Old William’s plot?”

“No! Not just old William’s! Upton’s, Hansel’s, Richard’s—damn it, even the Sanchezes’! Every plot near the hive Los moved is covered with buckwheat bearing grain!”

“Heavens! Really? Really? That can’t be possible!”

“Whether it’s true or not, what difference does it make?” The newly informed villager smiled. “Your family’s plot is far away, after all.”

“Is your family’s plot nearby?”

About an hour later, beside the common land next to the one beside the one assigned to the Upton family—

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The buckwheat in the plots near the hive is covered with grain!”

About three hours later—

At the boundary between two families’ plots, two villagers exchanged a few words. One of them then ran swiftly toward the boundary with another household, shouting as he went:

“Hansel! Hansel! Come here!”

Hansel hurried over. “What is it?”

“Your plot—the one near the hive Los moved—the buckwheat stalks are covered with grain!”

To express Hansel’s feelings in a way more familiar to people from Earth: the lottery ticket you picked up a few days ago had won the grand prize.

As even more time passed, and the common land grew still farther away—

“The buckwheat in the plots near the hive is covered with grain!”

“Richard, Hansel, and that damned Sanchez have struck it lucky!”

“Heavens, why isn’t my plot over there?”

And so, with the common land assigned to the Upton family as the center, news of the hive, the plots, the buckwheat, the doubled yield, and the abundant seed production raced across all the common land in Akeley Village.

The sun was nearing the horizon, and another day of summer service was coming to an end.

Beneath the great tree, Clerk Tor counted heads with his son, while Steward O’Connor watched the laborers gather up the tools.

“Damn it!” Steward O’Connor stamped his foot furiously.

As the guards reported one after another, O’Connor reached a grim conclusion: the freeholders’ productivity had fallen across the board that day.

Then he looked at the wretches around him. The villagers, along with the guards who had just finished reporting, were all surging toward the same place. He recalled how the Upton family had turned pale and dashed away the moment they handed in their tools.

The entire chain of reasoning naturally assembled itself in O’Connor’s mind.

“All right, all right.” Clerk Tor was much more relaxed. “They only worked a little more slowly. Think of it as a bit of entertainment.”

“Of course you can treat it as entertainment,” O’Connor grumbled. “All you have to do is record the headcount. What about me? When the autumn tax can’t be collected, the whip will land on my back.”

“Tsk. What’s wrong with having a little fun?” Tor said with a smile. “Maybe Upton really did see it. Then the tax will be higher! And when the lord rewards us with a bone, you won’t be the only one chewing it.”

“Gulp.”

O’Connor’s throat bobbed. He turned and asked, “When we’re finished here, will you go take a look?”

“I will!” Tor nodded without hesitation. “Of course I will!”

“You’ve overseen summer service for all these years. Do you really believe buckwheat stalks can be covered with grain?”

“I don’t believe they’re literally covered. But if they’ve merely produced a little more seed...”

Clerk Tor’s expression grew solemn.

“Remember, that was the hive Los moved.”

A little over ten minutes later, the last freeholder finally departed. After ordering the laborers and guards to carry the collected tools to the lord’s storehouse, the clerk and the steward set off toward the plots near the hive.

Since they had left so much later than the other villagers, the clerk and steward should, by all rights, have fallen far behind.

Yet after walking for only a few minutes, O’Connor and Tor caught up with the main body of villagers.

“What is going on?”

Ahead of them was a dense sea of heads. The villagers were pressed shoulder to shoulder, packed together in a crooked, winding line.

The procession was moving at an extremely slow pace.

“It’s simple,” someone answered. “The bridge ahead is too old! Only one person can cross at a time!”

With the treatment of farm oxen, the division of labor, and the high-yield hive, Wu Qingchen’s efforts had allowed the ignorant, backward medieval village of Akeley to enjoy yet another brilliant achievement of Earth’s twenty-first century ahead of schedule:

A traffic jam and a one-way restriction.