I find myself reflecting on those years... The vast fields, the scent of rice flowers. I recall those legends of yore, tales that tell of the divine Shennong. Setting the four seasons, dividing the five grains, she taught the people to cultivate the land, turning wastes to fertile fields. But... catastrophes are unpredictable. Wind, frost, rain, snow. Too many disasters can ruin the hard-won crops. She sought a place of safety, where the people would not know the pain of hunger. In her limited time, she was helpless. And yet, there is always hope. The vicissitudes of life, the people rebuilt their homes time and time again atop the ruins. Spring came and autumn went, until one day, Shennong too left us. Some say she became a part of the land. Lo! The rice fields we harvest year after year, those are the proof that she was here.
