"How could they not?" An elder slapped the table and spoke first, fired up: "I've lived in the village these past few years and don't get out much, but when I was young, I used to work regularly in town. That master of the house treated his hired hands well. Back then, when his daughter married and he held a feast, he invited a chef from a restaurant to cook. Whatever was left over, he shared with us workers. I ate some that day—oily and rich, with meat too—but the flavor wasn't as good as this."
Because that had been his first time eating a big chunk of meat, and it was made by the head chef of the town's finest eatery—he had remembered that taste his whole life.
If anyone had told him before that there was something better than meat, he would never have believed it. What could possibly be better than meat? Meat was fragrant and savory. But after eating that bowl of sour-spicy noodles just now, he truly felt they were indeed better than meat. Normally, after eating meat, he wouldn't be left craving more the way he did now.
Zhao Ger watched the old man's face turn bright red, his chest heaving violently, and feared he might keel over from the excitement.
Could he blame them for getting so worked up?
Just now, a bucket of cold water had been poured over them—and now it was as if they'd been thrust into a furnace, reignited with fire.
"We in Hezhou are poor. Many things can't be sold here, and even the townfolk aren't all that wealthy. My husband built a paper mill in Pingxiang Village, with the idea of selling to places beyond. Out there, there are plenty of rich people who pursue fine flavors—a single dish can cost dozens of taels, and they don't skimp. They're willing to spend. If we get this sweet potato noodle business going and sell it outside too, even though it's a long ways off, we can charge a high price. Then we'll recoup our costs and even turn a profit," said Zhao Ger.
The old men all felt this made sense.
In Hezhou, most people still scrape by working the land. If every household really got back on its feet and had enough grain of their own, why would they need to buy from outside?
Word had it that the Huang family's grain shop in town bought their harvest from here and shipped it elsewhere to sell.
The villagers had never sold grain themselves and didn't know for sure, but they'd heard things. In the drought two years before last, the rice didn't grow well, and the Huang family offered five copper coins per catty—but most years, they gave only four copper coins.
Later on, if more people sold, they might even offer just two or three copper coins per catty.
"Fang Fulang, are these sweet potato noodles made entirely from those sweet potatoes from the other day?" asked Lao Wang.
Zhao Ger knew what he was really asking and said: "Yes. I've calculated it: from a hundred catties of sweet potatoes, you can make about twenty-odd catties of noodles." He laid it all out clearly. Though the yield was low, the noodles could sell for a high price. At the very lowest estimate—if one catty sold for only twenty copper coins—then twenty catties would bring in four hundred copper coins.
A hundred catties of grain, at four copper coins per catty, came to the same price.
But if these sweet potato starch noodles actually made their way beyond Hezhou, they'd surely fetch way more than just twenty copper coins a catty.
Outside, a catty of meat already cost over ten copper coins.
And if they really got the noodle business going, the sweet potato dregs could be used as feed, and they could start a pig farm. When the pigs were sold, wouldn't that be another stream of income?
Moreover, one mu of land could yield four dan of grain—but sweet potatoes were different. Grown well, a single tuber could weigh a catty. Two to three thousand catties per mu was entirely within reach.
Running the numbers that way, growing sweet potatoes would turn a greater profit.
The amount was big, and Lao Wang’s two daughters-in-law couldn’t do the math in their heads. But they’d helped in the kitchen earlier and eaten afterward too. The sweet potato noodles were simple to make. One bundle weighed about a catty and made eight or nine big, heaping bowls. They didn’t need much to go with them. The only costly things were the oil and the chili oil that Fang Fulang had mentioned.
They’d even made a bowl themselves—just a little lard, some coriander, scallions, chili flakes, and a splash of vinegar. It wasn’t as good as the version with chili oil, but it was still tasty. Better than the noodles sold in town.
Sour-spicy sweet potato noodles were simple. No real skill needed. Anyone could make them.
A bowl of noodles in town cost six copper coins. The eldest daughter-in-law had tried one once when she was a girl, and it hadn't been half as good as this.
Eight bowls—if sold in town, that would be forty-eight copper coins. There was no way sweet potato noodles would go for just twenty copper coins a catty. Even at the lowest estimate, growing sweet potatoes would still be profitable. And if the price went any higher...
Lao Wang and the others had naturally thought of this too.
If they hadn't tasted the sweet potato noodles, they would have obeyed Lord Fang's orders, of course—but their hearts would have been full of worry and unease. Now that they'd eaten them, they had a firm plan in mind.
This could work!
Even if they never sold them outside—once every household had gotten back on its feet and learned just how good these noodles were, would they really grudge spending twenty copper coins to buy some?
Zhao Ger had laid everything out in detail. They all felt it was feasible—this wasn't just a hot-headed impulse. They slapped their thighs right then and there and declared: they wouldn't plant rice anymore; they'd keep growing sweet potatoes. If they ever wanted rice to eat, they'd just go out and buy it.
And building a factory was great! The villagers could go work there. Lao Wang had been to Pingxiang Village twice, and both times, as he passed by the paper factory and gazed at those long, sprawling walls, he couldn't help but feel a pang of envy.
Well, now their village would have one too…
Wait—Fang Fulang hadn't yet said where the factory would be built!
Lao Wang asked cautiously.
Zhao Ger had surveyed this area before. Geographically, Anhe Village sat right in the middle of the nine villages. If they were going to convince everyone to grow sweet potatoes, and make it easier to transport goods from all the villages later on, it made more sense to build the factory in Anhe Village.
Besides, there was open land at the village entrance, close to the river, which would make it easy to draw water for the factory.
Zhao Ger gave his answer, and not just Lao Wang—everyone in the room was delighted.
Suddenly, one old man slapped his thigh and stood up: "Oh no!"
Lao Wang jumped in surprise: "What's wrong?"
"That rascal of mine said he was going to town after dinner to buy some rice seed to save for spring planting—said it's cheaper now and might go up later if more people buy. No, no, I have to go back right away."
Da Xia wasn’t like modern times — there were no specialized seed shops.
What they called "rice seed" was simple: at harvest, they'd cut down the stalks with the plumpest grains still on the ears, dry them, thresh them, pick out the empty husks, and store them. That grain became seed rice, and it sold for more than ordinary rice.
Unhulled rice still in its yellow husk went for four copper coins a catty. Hulled rice, ready to cook, went for six copper coins a catty—they were different things entirely.
If they weren't planting rice anymore, buying seed rice would be a waste—throwing away several copper coins for nothing!
The old man couldn't sit still; he shouted as he rushed out the door.
With everything explained, Zhao Ger also stood up. "Village Chief, think it over. If you think it’ll work, talk it over with the villagers. If everyone agrees, then we can move forward."
If only a few households were willing to grow sweet potatoes, building a factory wouldn’t be worth it. It wouldn’t pay off.
Lao Wang understood and quickly said, "Don’t worry, I’ll let everyone know later and explain it to them. Are you heading back now?"
Zhao Ger shook his head. "No, I still have to go to the other villages."
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