Chapter 396
Lao Gu's beard trembled. He knew all about Fang Zichen's sharp tongue, but he still shot him an exasperated glare.
Fang Zichen, feeling wronged by the glare, grumbled, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Lao Gu didn't answer. Partly it was anger—with a mouth like that, if the man didn't have real skills, he'd have been beaten to death the moment he entered the capital.
He hadn't believed it when he set out!
The journey had been brutal too. No exaggeration—the old men had nearly died on the road. Bad food, bad sleep, old bones, and after years of comfortable, sedentary living, how could they possibly endure it? Two of them had even been taken to a medical hall along the way.
They didn't dare curse the Emperor, so they cursed Fang Zichen up and down instead, saying he was an irresponsible fool for making such grand claims, spinning tales so convincingly that they'd suffered for it. When they got too loud, the imperial guards shot them dark looks.
After all, they were the Emperor's men, so the old officials didn't dare step out of line.
After all that ordeal, they'd finally arrived in Hezhou in the fifth lunar month.
At first, the road had been so bumpy it hurt their backsides. But later, as they sat inside, they noticed something felt different.
The carriage was moving—they could clearly hear the clatter of hooves—but they no longer felt the jolts. What was going on?
They lifted the carriage curtain and looked out. Every last one of them was dumbstruck, mouths hanging open.
A clean, smooth cement road, flat and wide, with lush green grass on both sides. No yellow mud, no flying dust, and from a distant mountain ravine came the sound of birdsong.
This official road ran near Xinghe Village, with farmlands not far off.
These four old men all held posts in the Ministry of Revenue.
The Ministry of Revenue handled all of Da Xia's affairs concerning land, fields, household registries, taxes, salaries, and finances.
Given that, they naturally knew a great deal about farming and fields.
Back in the year of Fang Zichen's imperial examination, there had been a scholar of exceptional literary talent. Though his looks fell short of Fang Zichen's, he was still qualified for the rank of Tanhua (third-place scholar). But after Xia Jinghong asked him a few questions, he was bumped straight down to the third tier.
Fang Zichen remembered the scholar's answers—and his own expression had been hard to describe.
The man didn't even know where rice came from and fumbled through his reply.
He also claimed that two liang (100 grams) of cooked rice could feed an ordinary family for one meal.
Fang Zichen had nearly choked on the spot and wanted to ask if the scholar was serious. He couldn't joke around in front of the Emperor!
Ten liang made one jin, and one jin of uncooked rice yielded only about six or seven bowls of cooked rice. Two liang was barely a single bowl—hardly more than one portion. But the average family in Da Xia had at least five or six mouths to feed. How was two liang supposed to feed them all?
It wouldn't even fill his son's teeth gaps.
Otherwise, why would Fang Zichen be working so hard?
Scholars like that usually kept their noses buried in books and never paid attention to the outside world—they wouldn't even bother to pick up a tipped-over bottle of soy sauce.
If someone like that were placed directly into the Ministry of Revenue, would that even work? Wouldn't Da Xia descend into chaos? If they were to be appointed at all, they'd first have to be sent down to the grassroots level for practical training.
That's why those who served in the Ministry of Revenue had a clear understanding of agricultural matters.
In the southern part of Hezhou, much like Shangyang, Xiayang, and the Jiangzhong region, rice was planted twice a year. The planting and harvesting seasons were roughly the same—basically, seedlings went in around mid-to-late third month to early fourth month.
They all knew what one-month-old rice seedlings looked like. But this time...
"Stop the carriage, stop the carriage!"
Lao Gu and the others called for a halt. The driver quickly pulled tight on the reins. The few old men, now ignoring their aching backs, legs, and rears, were helped off the carriage and rushed straight to the edge of the field.
Right then, an old farmer and his son were weeding in the field—having learned from Zhao Ger, they were pulling the weeds and stomping them straight into the mud, no longer needing to carry them to the ridge. In the past, they'd have to haul the weeds, heavy with mud and water, in baskets that filled up in no time, then trudge back to the edge to dump them. Most of the time was spent walking back and forth, getting little work done and exhausting themselves. Now, it was much easier.
Though Lao Gu looked worn and haggard, his clothes marked him as wealthy—he had a carriage and guards too. The old farmer had noticed him earlier, and now seeing the man staring intensely at his rice paddy, his heart immediately tightened with worry.
"Brother," Lao Gu called out.
The old farmer was a bit scared but still walked over. "Is... is something the matter?"
"Don't be nervous." Lao Gu softened his tone. "I just wanted to ask—when did you plant this field?"
The old farmer answered honestly: "Planted it around the end of the third month. What about it?"
Beside them, a few officials furrowed their brows. One of them let out a skeptical snort, "Don't lie. If you planted in late third month, how could it grow like this?"
The rice was already past knee-high, nearly reaching the waist.
And looking at the growth, they'd believe it had been planted for four months.
But if it wasn't late third month, then the earliest would be early third month—any earlier and it'd be impossible. In the second month, the weather was still too cold for crops.
Yet even if planted in early third month, it shouldn't grow this tall. On their way here, passing through Xiayang, the seedlings there were only as long as chopsticks. A month had passed since then, so they'd have grown some, but certainly nowhere near as tall as this stretch of rice.
The old farmer trembled slightly and quickly said, "I wouldn't dare! I wouldn't dare lie—everything I said is true. I wouldn't deceive you lords."
His son chimed in too, confirming it was all true.
Who would dare tell a lie?
Ask around and everyone would know. Besides, there was no reason to lie!
Lao Gu stared thoughtfully at the rice in the field. "Did you use chemical fertilizer?"
"Yes, we did."
The other officials fell silent.
They still found it a bit hard to believe.
Maybe it was because of the different location—perhaps Hezhou's soil was more fertile, or maybe the locals here were simply better at growing rice, which was why it grew so well.
But just as they thought that, they realized it was impossible. They knew Hezhou's situation well enough—people starved to death every year. One reason was officials squeezing the people; the other was low crop yields. If yields were high, would people still starve?
Lao Gu chatted with the old farmer.
Talking about crops, the old farmer grew cheerful and lost his fear: "This year, with the chemical fertilizer, the rice has grown especially well. In previous years, at this time, the seedlings were nowhere near this tall!"
He gestured with his hand, showing how tall the seedlings used to be at this time of year.
Lao Gu and the others nodded. Indeed, two-month-old seedlings would normally be about that height. Then they heard the old farmer add:
"And the corn in the dry fields is growing great too—all thanks to Lord Fang's blessings! I've farmed half my life and have never seen seedlings grow this well. Lord Fang is truly capable!"
And indeed it was good—a lush, almost dark green stretch of sturdy, large stalks.
But Lao Gu's heart tightened, and his voice carried surprise: "You can use this fertilizer on corn seedlings too?"
"Lord Fang said we could," the farmer replied. "We used it, and it really works."
Lao Gu pointed to a nearby field that stood out awkwardly—its seedlings looked thin and small. If it were just overgrown with weeds, one could understand, but clearly the owner kept it tidy; there wasn't a single weed among the seedlings. Yet compared to the neighboring fields, it looked plainly malnourished.
"Did this one use fertilizer too?"
"Of course not!" The old farmer waved his hand. "If it had, it wouldn't look like that. That's Ge Laotou's field. He has too much land and didn't buy enough fertilizer at first, so this patch missed out. That's why it looks like that." He pointed to the left, where another of his fields had seedlings growing wonderfully. "That one's his too—it got the fertilizer, and it's growing great."
The officials said nothing more. They walked back to the cement road, hopped up and down on it a few times, and were about to board the carriage when a man came pulling a cart loaded with bundled firewood, heading to town to sell it. It had to weigh several hundred catties, yet the man pulled it with ease.
Could that happen on a dirt road? Absolutely not—with that much firewood, even if one pulled until breath gave out, the cart might not even budge.
They looked down at the cement road again, then exchanged glances.
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