The rice terraces had been carved into the hillside over centuries, each generation extending the lowest terrace — the foundation row — before building upward. By the surveyor's third visit the terraces filled the entire slope. Then the mudslide took the base. The lowest terrace, the oldest stone, the one that bore the weight of everything above it — it gave way in a single night of rain. The upper terraces hung in place, their walls keyed into the hillside, but the bottom was gone. They rebuilt it in the dry season.