She stuffed two bags of rice into my car, turned around and shouted thief, colluded with villagers to blockade and the village director to smooth things over, forcing me to pay eight thousand. A drone overhead filmed the whole process, but no one was willing to believe it. I withdrew with my motorcade, warning before leaving that a typhoon was coming, which earned a chorus of derision. Three days later, the typhoon passed, and the whole village's rice lodging became an emergency; the person who had extorted me knelt in the mud begging for help. I didn't leave, nor did I settle old scores—drone aerial photography, surveillance, and receipts were my confidence to prove my innocence; and rushing before the final deadline to harvest the whole village's rice into storage and replant it to greening was the answer I gave. She extorted eight thousand from me, and what I saved was the whole village's rice.