After so many years of marriage, even though she hadn't explained herself clearly, Uncle Liu still caught her meaning and nodded in agreement. "You're right. Last time I saw him, he'd grown taller and become even better-looking. When I went to buy pastries, I even heard some people say he's the best looking ger in town."
Aunt Liu watched as he gave a thumbs-up, and he continued: "When he was little, I already thought he was as handsome as could be. But now that he's older, he's even more dashing than before. Who knows which family's son will be lucky enough to marry him one day."
Aside from praising Fang Zichen, Aunt Liu rarely heard her husband speak so highly of anyone else, so she grew curious. "How does he compare to Yun Ger?"
Yun Ger was the ger of the Assistant Prefect of Yuanzhou. He used to come to their shop often to buy milk tea, and in Aunt Liu's eyes, he was the most beautiful ger she'd ever seen.
She had met Yang Mingyi too, of course, but back then he was still quite young. After her family moved to Yuanzhou, aside from the first year when he stayed at their shop for a few days, she hadn't seen him since. She knew well that some children who were adorable when little could grow up to be entirely ordinary.
And Uncle Liu rarely praised anyone so freely—so her curiosity was piqued.
Uncle Liu thought for a moment, then said, "Each has his own merits. But if you ask me, Yi Ger may seem colder, but his looks are truly exceptional. Yun Ger is more like Zhao Ger."
Yun Ger was the delicate, cute type—pretty, but not exceptionally so. Not ugly by any means, just pleasing to the eye and easy to like.
Aunt Liu laughed. "No wonder our Guaizai is always going on about him."
"What does he say?"
"When we first got here, he asked me if I'd seen his Uncle Yang, and how he had been doing all these years. He said he has lots of copper coins now, and in a few years he'll go marry him. He even told me to save up some silver for the wedding gift—that little rascal."
Just thinking about it made Aunt Liu chuckle. The boy was still so small, and Zhao Ger was forever chasing him all over the village with a wooden stick, yet here he was already thinking about taking a fulang.
Still, she was genuinely surprised that Guaizai had remembered Yang Mingyi for so long. Back in the village, he'd played well with He Xiaodong and the other gers, but he'd never said anything like that about them. So Aunt Liu had asked him outright: "You really want to marry him?"
Guaizai nodded very seriously. "Of course! Guaizai never tells lies!"
"Why? Your Uncle Yang never even played with you."
"Playing doesn't matter. Being pretty—that's what counts."
Aunt Liu burst out laughing, thoroughly amused. "Didn't you see any gers better-looking than your Uncle Yang in the capital?"
She'd seen some handsome ones—the Left Chancellor's ger, for example, with his big eyes and small nose. But...
Guaizai said very solemnly: "Being pretty has nothing to do with Guaizai! Guaizai's heart already belongs to someone. I'm a good man—I can't fall for every new face I see. That would be wrong. Grandma Liu, Guaizai is a good man, so don't ever ask me that kind of question again. If someone overhears, they might misunderstand, and that won't do."
Aunt Liu laughed right then and there.
---
By mid-sixth month, the rice in the fields was beginning to turn golden.
Since the start of the sixth month, Lao Gu had made his way to the fields every single day, rain or shine, watching with his own eyes as the grain formed—dense and thick, weighing down every rice stalk.
Looking out, it was a brilliant expanse of gold—a scene of abundant harvest.
Villagers wore smiles wherever they went. In the old days, they were poor and life was hard, and people constantly bickered over daily necessities. Before the chemical fertilizer was developed, Fang Zichen would occasionally walk through the village and hear couples quarreling—saying they couldn't go on, that the children were crying for meat, that the children had been born into hardship, and now one of them was beating them—what kind of man are you?—that sort of thing. But after the New Year, when he strolled through the village again, no one was fighting anymore.
With better days clearly on the horizon, people's hearts were at peace. Why fight? With all that energy, better to spend it in the fields, admiring the beautiful crops!
Now the rice was fully golden, heavy and drooping toward the ground, but no one wanted to cut it yet—they wanted to wait a little longer, let it grow another ten days or so. But Lao Gu couldn't wait any longer. He found the village chief and asked him to harvest one mu first.
The village chief knew what was at stake and didn't refuse. He took his family, grabbed their sickles, and got to work.
Many villagers came to help—truth be told, they were all eager to see the results.
After drying it and putting it on the scale...
Back when Zhao Ger hadn't applied the extra fertilizer, the yield was just over 400 jin. This time, it came to over 520 jin.
Was the grain not fully dried?
No—it was completely dry. Any more drying and it would have started to burn.
Was it really one full mu?
Absolutely—the whole village had watched!
They weighed it seven or eight times and even swapped out the scale twice.
No mistake—it was truly over 520 jin.
Everyone in the village beamed with joy.
With another ten days or so still to grow, the final yield should reach about five shi and eight dou.
Lao Gu's breathing grew rapid and heavy, like a panting ox. He staggered backward, his eyes rolling back as if he might faint. Fang Zichen, ever prepared, caught him in time and pressed firmly on his philtrum, making Lao Gu yelp in pain as tears sprang to his eyes.
The next day, Lao Gu and his companions came to say goodbye—they couldn't wait to leave.
On the way there, it had taken several months because everyone thought it was a wasted trip, so they hadn't wanted to endure any discomfort. But now they had to endure—they had no choice.
If they traveled fast, they could reach the capital by the eighth month. Then, by the end of the eighth month, they could introduce the chemical fertilizer in time for the common people to apply a final round of fertilizer before the rice heads fully formed...
And even if they couldn't reach four shi per mu, anything above two shi was still better!
They couldn't promote it widely in a short time, but every place they could benefit would count.
These men were all upright and honest officials who truly cared for the people—otherwise, Xia Jinghong wouldn't have sent them. Of course he knew how far Hezhou was from the capital, how long and rough the journey was. These men were old; if they weren't careful, they might not make it back. But he couldn't trust anyone else. Even if others came and saw that the fertilizer worked, they wouldn't rush back like Lao Gu would—they'd think, "If it's too late this year, we'll just promote it next year. Why exhaust ourselves? The common people aren't our family. Without fertilizer, they won't starve. No rush."
But now Lao Gu and his men were burning with enthusiasm, as if they had shed decades off their age. A horse-drawn carriage was too slow—so they had the horses unhitched. The old men would ride like youths!
They traveled day and night, pushing hard all the way to the capital, where they were carried into the imperial palace.
When Xia Jinghong saw them — bearded, gaunt as skeletons, barely clinging to life — he was completely startled. "What happened to you, my dear ministers? Did Fang Zichen that scoundrel chase you all the way back from Hezhou?"
"No, Your Majesty—the fertilizer, we made the fertilizer..."
Xia Jinghong didn't need to ask anything more.
Those old codgers — when he’d summoned them to the palace to talk about the fertilizer and sent them to Hezhou to learn, they’d all exchanged knowing smiles and made excuses. Their words made it clear what they meant: Surely Your Majesty is mistaken. You know Lord Fang — nine times out of ten he’s just bragging. And this time the boast is so huge it’s obviously false. How could you believe it?
Now, watching them exhausted but still visibly thrilled, Xia Jinghong felt a deep sense of vindication.
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