Time passed, and the weather turned colder.
After ten days, the Yellow Bud Rice was harvested, Chen Mu sighed as he looked at the five sacks of Yellow Bud Rice in front of the wooden hut.
"If this were in the Lower Courtyard of Tongtian River, these five acres could yield at least seventeen hundred pounds of Yellow Bud Rice."
"Look at it now, we should be grateful if it's even six hundred pounds!"
Old Man Yang, whom Chen Mu hadn't seen in a while, put down the half-person-tall black pottery jar: "You should be content."
Saying so, he glanced around, then pointed with his chin toward the hillside behind Chen Mu.
"Your neighbor over there, with more than eight acres, harvested less than five hundred pounds!"
Chen Mu couldn't help but click his tongue: "Doesn't that mean he has to give nearly twenty White Jade Coins to the Lower Courtyard just to cover the land rent?"