Originally Fang Zichen had calculated that at two hundred copper coins a sack, he'd make a few copper coins profit per sack. With the first batch sold, he'd turn a profit of several tens of taels at least.
But then two workers had an accident at the factory—a pile of fertilizer toppled over in the warehouse and trapped them. It seemed their legs were crushed.
In those days, there was no such thing as workers' compensation. He could have refused to pay for their medicine. But Fang Zichen couldn't bring himself to do that. He had them sent to the medical hall. Broken bones take a hundred days to heal. The old physician said it would take at least three months for a full recovery, and the total cost came to a hefty sixteen taels.
If he hadn't paid, they couldn't have afforded it. They'd have had to tough it out at home, ending up permanently disabled—their lives ruined. They were the pillars of their families. If they couldn't get back on their feet, their whole households would be plunged into dire straits.
Fang Zichen paid. The injured workers' families were overwhelmingly grateful, bringing their children and elders to his home to thank him, saying they'd met a truly righteous official.
This "righteous official" was praised and given a basket of vegetables in return. He'd gotten a bargain—normally he'd be grinning from ear to ear. But this time, he felt uneasy.
Silver was going out. If he didn't think of something, even if the first batch sold, with only a few copper coins profit per sack, he'd never make back that much.
A losing business—that just wouldn't do!
To make money, he'd either have to cut costs or raise the price.
But two hundred copper coins a sack was already expensive. Any higher, and the villagers definitely couldn't afford it.
So he had to work on costs. He couldn't cut wages further, so the only option was to tweak the fertilizer itself.
Fang Zichen wasn't playing around anymore. He threw himself into the work with an intensity he'd never shown before, which actually scared Zhao Ger a little—he thought something had snapped in him.
After more than ten days of tinkering, he finally got results—using cheaper substitute materials, lowering the cost. But since they'd already announced the price at two hundred copper coins, they couldn't change it now. The villagers were poor; they'd scraped together their last coins to buy fertilizer. At two hundred copper coins a sack, the profit margin was substantial. The silver felt a little hot in his hands. But once the first rice crop came in and sold, they'd make ten-something taels—then what was a few hundred copper coins?
He couldn't exactly raise the price later, either. What would people think?—"Oh, now that we're making money, the prefect is jacking up the price to fleece us?"
That would be bad for his reputation!
He had a family to support too!
He couldn't be the only one still poor while every household prospered.
Cutting costs to the bone was his skill. What was wrong with making money off his own ability?
Zhao Ger saw him grinning and chuckling, afraid he was getting too full of himself. Lying awake all night, he finally said: "That silver probably won't end up in our pockets."
Fang Zichen's voice shot up: "You want me to hand it over to the public coffers again? Zhao Ger, think carefully—if we do that, our whole family will be eating dirt. I'm selfless, incorruptible, and view money as dirt—I really don't care. But our kids are still so young. Can you bear to see them eat dirt with us? You're not their stepfather."
Seeing him seize every opportunity to praise himself even at a time like this, Zhao Ger almost laughed.
"No. It's that the silver His Majesty gave us is almost gone—more than half spent. The newly conscripted soldiers still need to eat and drink. When the new grain comes in the sixth month, we'll probably have to buy a lot."
"Not enough silver to buy it?" Fang Zichen leaned in and whispered cautiously: "Zhao Ger, don't tell me you've been cooking the books and eating more than I have! I may not keep the accounts, but I have a rough idea of how much we've spent."
Zhao Ger gave him an annoyed swat: "You think I'm like you? Always thinking about taking other people's things. The silver left in the accounts is enough, sure—but if we spend it all on grain, what are we going to use to pay the soldiers and the county magistrates their monthly stipends?"
That was another big expense.
And there would be plenty more places needing silver down the road. They had to keep some in reserve just in case.
At least half of that silver couldn't be touched—and the portion they could use wasn't enough to buy grain.
If the silver wasn't enough, they'd have to front their own money.
If they'd only conscripted ten thousand soldiers, the silver would have been more than enough. Xia Jinghong knew Fang Zichen's character well—the funds he'd allocated were carefully calculated. Give too little, and he'd be terrified of Fang Zichen secretly burning incense and cursing him out.
Hezhou's reserve troops had been disbanded, and they'd have to be recruited all over again—and that would take silver.
Xia Jinghong had calculated clearly, determined not to let Fang Zichen pocket a single copper coin. That silver should have lasted at least three years. Plus, the grain and silver collected from taxes—after sending the required portion upward—the rest could serve as Hezhou's fiscal reserve. Based on the population and farmland registered with the Ministry of Revenue, that portion, converted to silver, could cover another two years.
But now, with tens of thousands of extra conscripts, that silver naturally couldn't stretch for three years.
They'd have to cover the shortfall out of their own pockets first. Once the fields produced more and tax revenues increased, the situation would ease—and only then could they quietly "recoup" that silver.
Fang Zichen's heart bled again: "How can this be? I need to write to the Emperor."
Zhao Ger knew he was probably going to ask the Emperor for more silver, so he let him be.
The noodle factory in Anhe County officially started production, and everything was running smoothly. Up north, the chemical fertilizer factory was also built, with Yu Ger and a few others managing it.
Whether it was toilet paper, xuan paper, sweet potato noodles, or instant noodles, Fang Zichen had no intention of selling any of these things locally in Hezhou.
By the middle of the eighth lunar month, he planned to take the goods out and promote them in various places.
Otherwise, how would people know what Hezhou even had to offer?
Xiao Feng was naturally aware of this plan. Once they reached the north, he immediately got busy without a moment's rest.
Before they knew it, spring had passed, and summer had arrived.
During this time, Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger took the children back to Hezhou for a visit to see Xie Xiaoyu.
Xie Xiaoyu had given birth to a boy in the fourth lunar month. As soon as Fang Zichen got the news, he rushed Zhao Ger, saying they had to go back immediately—even more anxious than if his own fulang had given birth.
Zhao Ger had no idea when the two of them had gotten so close. After all, whenever they met, eight out of every ten sentences were spent bickering.
But when they arrived in Hezhou and Zhao Ger brought the baby out for him to see, the child was unmistakably Xie Xiaoyu's own — born plump as a little ball, solid to hold, with fair, chubby cheeks and a full head of hair. Nothing like how shocking Gungun and Dandan had looked when they were born.
They had come as soon as they got word, but it was already three days later. By then, the baby could open his eyes—and they were quite big, clearly visible, not just slits.
Fang Zichen took one look, let out a long breath, and told Zhao Ger to carry him back inside.
Zhao Ger didn't budge. He shot Fang Zichen a strange look. "Are you worried?"
Fang Zichen glanced around. The children had all dashed inside to keep Xie Xiaoyu company, and Li Yisheng was in there too. No one else was nearby.
Fang Zichen lowered his voice. "You know." He nodded toward the baby in Zhao Ger's arms. "His father and I are brothers."
Zhao Ger looked at him. "So?"
"That makes him half my son too." Fang Zichen glanced back toward the eoom and dropped his voice even more. "If he ends up like his father, he's going to have a hard time finding a wife. It's not like there's a blind little fatty around every day. If he can't get married, how could I not worry?"
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