a farming working

Описание: Here is the previous story fully translated and rewritten in English as a narrative (first-person, immersive style), keeping the dramatic and emotional tone while incorporating Farming Simulator 25 mechanics on the Hutan Pantai map.
Whispers of the River – Hutan Pantai Diaries
When the plane window revealed the lush green of Hutan Pantai below, my eyes filled with it. The river snaked between mountains, contrasting sharply with the neon-lit harbor city. My grandmother had left this place twenty years ago. In her will, she wrote only one sentence: “Don’t remember the field—remember the land.” Now I held an old key in my hand, 70,000 euros in my pocket, and an uncertain determination in my heart.
First morning. I pushed open the door of the small farmhouse on Farmland 27. Humid air hit my face. Two rice paddies and one green bean field… Three water buffaloes lounged lazily in the pasture, five goats eyed me from the fence edge. My Border Collie, Luna, pressed close immediately—as if saying, “Welcome back, boss.”
My first task was opening the canals. With the plow, I carved channels into the earth and flooded the fields. I scattered long-grain and short-grain rice seeds. My hands got covered in mud, but a strange peace settled over me. Grandmother used to say, “Rice demands patience. Rush it, and the monsoon will crush you.”
As the first harvest neared, the temple restoration project began. The villagers wanted to rebuild the old temple. I hauled stones and cut timber. In return, the old priest gave me a handful of “temple rice” seeds. “They’re delicate,” he warned, “but their bounty is great.” That night I dreamed of Grandmother standing in front of the temple, smiling.
Mid-summer. The sky darkened. Weather alert: hail incoming. I ran to the tractor, but it was too late. Ice pellets hammered the fields. Spinach and bean sprouts were shredded. In the morning the land looked like it had cried. Damage was around 60%. Village gossip started: “The river is cursed… whoever expands too much angers the monsoon.”
But I refused to give up. I built a cheese dairy. Goat milk became cheese; buffalo milk turned into mozzarella. I sold it at the village’s new farm shop. Money slowly accumulated. The buffaloes had calves—tiny ones bounced around the pasture. Goats reached 25. Luna patrolled at night against wild boars. Third year’s monsoon… the worst in memory. A twister descended. The river overflowed, ground deformation collapsed roads, half my fields drowned. The tractor sank in mud, the rice harvester tipped over. The village panicked. So did I. But that night I sat in front of the temple. I remembered the early days collecting Crop Orbs—mysterious glowing spheres hidden around the temple grounds. Finding them felt like Grandmother speaking: “The land tests you. You honor it in return.”
Fourth year. I led the dam repair project. We worked together with the villagers; we set up a shared machinery pool. We erased the twister’s scars. The rice fields shone like gold. I had planted the golden rice variety now—the temple’s gift.
When the fifth year’s final monsoon arrived, I was ready. Canals held strong, animals were sheltered, production chains ran at full speed. The twister passed; only a few branches snapped. I walked out to the fields—rice heads danced in the wind. Luna stayed by my side, buffaloes watched from afar.
I stood before the temple. Fully restored and lit, it was breathtaking. The priest approached: “There was no curse,” he said. “Only forgetfulness. You remembered.”
As the sun set, I walked along the riverbank. A rainbow appeared. Grandmother’s voice echoed in my ears: “The land has learned to speak… now it’s your turn to carry on.”
And I did. Because this was no longer just a map. This was home.
While Farming Simulator 25 is now the flagship.
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