Thinking of this, Xiu Maoying rubbed his brow and let out a soft sigh. Then he looked around the Red Soil Clan that was in the midst of development, taking in those newly built wooden houses, the piles of sun-dried logs beside them, and the raw Iron Axes originally left lying at the side.
Farther away, the strong men of the Red Soil Clan were spreading well-rotted manure in the cotton fields. Compared to the Haiti Tribesmen, they now wore extra rough short tunics. The women sat under the shade of the trees, chatting idly while slowly spinning balls of cotton thread into cloth. The old folks gathered together, talking and singing as if telling stories. Beside them sat a newly made little painted clay jar, clearly fired in Iron Bay Town. At the moment, tobacco was burning inside the little painted jar, covered with a lid that didn't quite fit, letting out curls of smoke, just like the crudest of incense burners.
