As the weather warms, spring farming begins.

Only a day after the mobilization meeting, the sky over Mai Lang Basin still drifted with bits of snow, and the frost from the night hadn't completely melted away, but the entire valley was already bustling with activity.

The drums from the villages echoed one after another, measuring ropes spread across the fields like a woven net, the sound of hammering incessant, wooden stakes being driven into the soil one after the other.

Everywhere, there were busy figures, lines marked by ropes, and voices giving commands.

"One more foot to the north! The terrain is higher there, which aids drainage."

"Make sure to write down the number, this is 'Field No. 7 of Village Three,' and don't forget to leave two paces of space for easy ditch repairs."

The measuring team was composed of the Agricultural Official, village chiefs, and experienced old farmers familiar with the land's topography.

They trod on the wet mud, with steadfastness written on their faces from years of reconstruction experiences, their speech brisk, their work efficient.

Announcements stood at the edge of the fields, depicting: village boundaries, drainage lines, field numbers, soil grades, and uses.

Clear at a glance, although most villagers were illiterate, they could understand.

Farmers lined up at registration points to report their numbers; all this needed to be recorded in the books.

On the other side, the construction of greenhouses was being carried out at the same time.

Unlike other scattered camps where spring farming was still at the initial stage of turning over soil shovelful by shovelful, Mai Lang Valley's initial positioning destined it to be different.

This was the core hub of Red Tide Territory's "large-scale spring farming strategy," destined to be one of the largest grain planting centers in the entire Northern Territory.

Thus, starting from the demarcation of the land, every step was no longer a fragmented attempt but the opening of organized agricultural engineering.

The valley possessed an exceptional shallow geothermal resource, with heat flows constantly released from the underground rock veins, it was a natural warm bed.

That meant as long as wind barriers were set up and the drainage network was arranged properly, the interior temperature of the greenhouse could stably maintain the temperature of a late autumn afternoon, which was a miracle in the Northern Territory.

So, under the morning light, the frames of the greenhouses slowly began to rise.

"Quickly get the main beams up! Five-inch spacing, no deviations allowed!"

"Women's group! Pull the covering film outward by three feet, remember to nail it tight in the direction of the wind, the wind can tear it easily!"

The team of craftsmen was responsible for constructing the main components, while the able-bodied villagers assisted by passing materials and securing them.

Youths transported coal bags and fire bricks, and the women stepped on ladders in the cold wind to stretch the thick semi-transparent film.

Rows of white roofs spread across the gray-brown earth, like waves crashing against distant mountain shadows.

Beneath each greenhouse, a heated bed system was pre-installed, with geothermal pipes extending inside from the edges of the greenhouse, connecting to the central furnace chamber, which was the structure of the "geothermal heated bed" first created by Red Tide Territory.

The greenhouses sprang up one by one, the semi-transparent windproof film emitting a faint silvery light under the sun, like thermal wings covering the earth.

These structures called "geothermal greenhouses" were not just simple wind and snow shelters, but fortresses nurturing the hope of an entire season.

"Now it's just right for turning the soil," Mike murmured as he felt the ground beneath his feet. "The heat, the heat pipes are functioning normally, the temperature is steady and concentrated, perfect for sowing."

As Red Tide Territory's Agricultural Official, Mike had the most experience and the keenest eyesight.

He could tell which land should be planted with green wheat and which soil should be mixed with ash at a glance.

The chores here in Mai Lang Territory were central to the entire Northern Territory's grain planting plan, and when Louis decided to focus on this area, Mike was the first to be appointed from Red Tide Territory.

As soon as he said this, the surrounding farmers heaved a sigh of relief and started calling out to move hoes and rakes into the greenhouse to prepare for work.

Louis nodded.

After the greenhouses were erected, the geothermal pipelines could be thoroughly tested to ensure there were no leaks or blockages. Only when temperature was uniformly delivered into the soil layer, the wheat seeds wouldn't freeze to death in the cold nights.

Moreover, the canals, wind directions, and slope drains were all considered in the planning of the greenhouses.

Farming was not about rushing headlong into swinging the hoe; it was a carefully strategized battle.

"It's just as you said, fortunately, we didn't hastily plow the land before erecting the greenhouses. Otherwise, our freshly tilled soil would be trampled over and over, not only requiring rework but also compacting the loosened ground so deeply the seedlings wouldn't take root," Mike praised Louis.

Louis nodded without speaking, his gaze lightly sweeping across the soft earth beneath his feet.

A slight mist rose inside the greenhouse, a wave of warmth greeting them; the geothermal was in place, the boundary lines clear, only waiting for the plow to be drawn.

...

The morning mist over Mai Lang Territory hadn't yet dissipated, strands of geothermal steam rose from the fields, merging into the golden light atop the transparent greenhouses, making it appear as though this seedling greenhouse was enveloped by gentle light and smoke.

This was the crucial moment of the spring farming— all the greenhouses across the region had been fully constructed, and the seedling soil layer adjusted.

Today was the day to commence plowing.

In front of the largest greenhouse in Mai Lang Territory, the village chief, seedling officials, craftsmen representatives, militia leaders, and elder farmers of various villages had long lined up, their attire varied, yet all appeared very solemn.

Farmers outside gathered early, silently watching the door of the greenhouse.

And amidst everyone's anticipation, Louis approached, stripping off the black cloak, wearing only a simple white shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his steps steady but unhurried.

He said nothing, but walked straight into the seedling greenhouse. The light from the rooftop fell upon him, resembling a divine light that made him appear sacred.

Two knights were carefully carrying a specially designed iron plow into the greenhouse, the iron tip of the plow glinting coldly under the light.

Two strong, dark-haired oxen were already in place, harnessed with freshly changed iron rings for the plow, occasionally snorting in the silence.

Mike stepped forward, speaking softly: "This, this... this is the initial plow, it emphasizes 'steady start, straight track.' This job needs you personally."

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