Arthur, admitting his drawing skills were poor, began to explain abstractly using words,
"It no longer relies on a giant waterwheel."
"Instead, it's made of a series of wooden scrapers, installed in a long, inclined wooden trough, forming a circulating chain."
"Its power can come from a downstream waterwheel, transmitted via gears, or it can be operated by human or animal power, like treading it this way."
As he spoke, he gestured with his hands, mimicking the treading motion.
"When the chain turns, each scraper acts like a small bucket, scraping water from a lower level to a higher level, step by step."
"As long as our chain is long enough and the wooden trough is built high enough, theoretically, we can deliver water to any desired height."
If this could truly be achieved, then the land within the High Mountain would no longer be barren. An old farmer couldn't help but ask, "Lord Arthur, what about… what about the second problem?"
"How do we retain water and soil?"
Arthur smiled, looked at him, and continued to use the branch to draw another diagram.
"To solve soil erosion, we cannot cultivate the land like on a plain; we must follow the contours of the mountain, creating layers of horizontal fields."
The Brightmoon Mountains were steep and rugged, but ancient wisdom would not let go of any land that could be used for cultivation.
He drew a series of steps on the steep incline.
"Just like a series of stairs, one after another."
This analogy made everyone's eyes widen. The branch in Arthur's hand moved across the ground.
"Each layer of field must be leveled or built level to retain water."
"Along the outer edge of each cultivable field, sturdy ridges must be built with stones and earth to hold back water and soil."
"The water drawn from the High Rotating Waterwheel will first flow into the highest layer. Once it's full, it will then flow through designated openings to the next layer,
and then to the layer below that… irrigating step by step, all the way to the foot of the mountain."
A perfect picture slowly unfolded in everyone's minds. People unconsciously swallowed, certain that their lord had definitely been blessed by the Smith.
They seemed to see, within the steep Brightmoon Mountains, layers upon layers of flat fields being opened up, with clear river water flowing between the ridges.
Just as everyone's hearts were stirred by this grand and perfect vision, a soft voice sounded. Evelyn had walked over to Arthur's side at some point, and her sapphire-like eyes sparkled with curiosity.
She smiled gently; although her self-drawn ugly birthmark was on her face, she was still full of charm:
"My dear Little Suleiman."
"Just how many more miraculous things are hidden in your mind?"
"The Waterwheel, the High Rotating Waterwheel, and these ladder-like fields… Is this truly technology left over from the lost Valyria civilization? I've never read about it in any book."
Arthur stood up, brushed the dust from his hands. He didn't look at Evelyn, but instead turned his gaze once more to the distant mountains, enveloped in the afterglow of the setting sun. His eyes became distant, as if piercing through time and space, recalling a homeland so far away it was unreachable.
Evelyn's question instantly touched everyone's hearts. Brin, the old farmers, everyone's eyes were fixed on Arthur's face, waiting for his answer. They were also very curious.
Although these uneducated old farmers were more inclined to believe it was a blessing from the Smith among the Seven Gods.
He softly uttered a single word: "No."
Arthur's voice remained calm: "This is Yi Land technology."
As his words fell, the riverbank was silent, with only the creaking of the Waterwheel and the gurgling of the river.
The nobles of Westeros might know of Yi Land, but commoners certainly would not, so in their eyes, this name suddenly became grand and sophisticated.
And in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, Westeros was indeed a backwater compared to the Free Cities. Commoners had heard of the wealth of the Free Cities, and in their eyes, Westeros was all mud, while the Free Cities were all gold.
Evelyn looked at Arthur's profile; the lines on his face appeared exceptionally soft in the sunset. Is it real or fake? He's lying without even trying to hide it…
How could a minor noble, born and raised in the Riverlands, have had contact with matters of Yi Land?
Soon, the silence was broken by Brin. He knelt on one knee in the mud before Arthur, looked up, his eyes shining with an unprecedented light, his voice booming with excitement:
"My Lord! Please give this task to me!"
"I, Brin, swear by the Seven Gods! I will build Westeros' first terraced fields for you in the Brightmoon Mountains!"
Arthur came back to himself. He bent down and, with both hands, forcefully helped Brin to his feet.
His hand clapped heavily on Brin's shoulder: "Good! Brin! Go and conquer those mountains for me first!"
Another half a month passed.
Brin walked at the head of the procession, his tall stature breaking the dry branches underfoot with a crisp sound. Behind him followed twenty soldiers, silently carrying tools, their eyes a mix of excitement and a certain anticipation of shocking people.
In the center of the procession, several strong mules gasped, dragging a cart covered with thick black cloth. The wheels rumbled over the rugged mountain path with a dull creak. With each bump, the goods under the black cloth swayed, revealing strange outlines.
Offshore Cliff, Brin's former camp, which should have become a nail in the Brightmoon Mountains, a new military town, was now desolate.
Over a hundred young men were scattered throughout the camp. They were the first batch of second sons to come to the mountains to cultivate after the lord's order to divide the family.
They had come with dreams of owning their own land, but now only weariness and empty eyes remained.
Tamm poked at the bonfire with a stick, listlessly. The sparks were few, like the hope in his heart. He had left his family with ambition, but now despair filled him more.
He remembered the hillside he had painstakingly cleared; it was steep, and beneath the shallow layer of topsoil were hard rocks. He had used all his strength but could only dig up a thin layer of loose earth. A few days ago, it rained, washing away the seeds he had sown and that pitiful bit of soil completely.
He mumbled, his voice hoarse: "Nothing can grow here."
"Are we… were we… cheated…?"
A slightly older boy next to him scolded: "Don't talk nonsense!"
"Lord Arthur would not deceive us."
He paused, his tone softening.
"Lord Arthur gave us the best treatment. It only means that we might really not be cut out for farming."
Without land, there was no food. Without food, they couldn't marry a wife, much less establish their own family.
Their current livelihood relied entirely on digging wild vegetables and fruits in the mountains, or setting traps to catch a few rabbits, living by hunting. How was this different from the wildlings they once despised?
Their only comfort was the spoils of war from following Lord Arthur to battle. After buying equipment, they had a few silver deer left. Now, all the second sons hoped for the next war to come.
Since there was no land to cultivate now, fighting was better than farming. Decapitating an enemy brought money faster than farming for several years.
When would the war come?
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