Qin Hengyi and A-Zuo clashed once more.
Earlier, a few of the Qin family's private soldiers had wondered if the two knew each other. But now, watching Qin Hengyi fight with such vicious fury—as if he wanted to tear his opponent apart piece by piece—they figured they'd been overthinking it.
Qin Hengyi's moves were vicious and relentless. This time, A-Zuo couldn't predict his strikes and was forced to retreat continuously.
The long whip was studded with barbs—getting hit by it was no different from being slashed by a blade. In no time, A-Zuo's armor had cracked open. The whip came whistling through the air once more, carrying what seemed like the force of a thousand pounds. It struck A-Zuo square on, sending him flying backward.
Qin Hengyi pressed his advantage. Just as the whip was about to land again, A-Zuo dodged to the left—but the moment he evaded and tried to turn and counterattack, he froze completely.
A long sword was buried in his chest.
It hadn't pierced deep, but it was aimed straight at his heart—clearly meant to kill.
A-Zuo seemed unable to believe it. Dazed, he looked up blankly at Qin Hengyi.
Qin Hengyi's left hand trembled as he pulled the sword out. He was about to strike again when A-You charged in with his troops and engaged him.
Seeing that they were once again no match for the Qin army—and that the ground was littered mostly with soldiers of the Chao Kingdom—Jiang Zhanying knew that if they kept fighting, they'd all be wiped out. He had no choice but to order a retreat.
Old General Qin didn't pursue. Instead, he rode up beside Qin Hengyi and called out with some concern, "Hengyi, are you all right?"
Qin Hengyi shook his head but said nothing. He stared blankly at the bloodstained sword in his hand—it was Qin Er's.
Old General Qin looked at him. "Hengyi... have you remembered something?"
---
Hezhou.
In the seventh month, no matter how reluctant they were, the villagers had to start harvesting their rice.
As soon as the grain was dried, the soldiers came to the villages to collect it.
They didn't have to haul it to town themselves, and the price was four copper coins per catty—everyone was happy to sell. In the past, when they took their grain to the Huang family's shop, the manager always tried to skim off some silver. He'd find some excuse—either the grain wasn't plump enough, didn't look good, so he'd dock the pay, or it wasn't clean enough, or some other reason. There was always something.
No one dared to argue. If they did, the manager would immediately put on a sour face and say, "Take it or leave it."
The other small grain shops in town didn't have the capacity to buy in bulk, so the villagers had no choice but to swallow their resentment.
Those with only a little land sold eight or nine taels' worth of grain; those with eleven or twelve mu sold even more—fifteen or sixteen taels.
In the past, they couldn't even earn one tael in a whole year. Now, in just a few months, they'd made over ten taels. Holding the silver in their hands, they could hardly believe it.
Once they came to their senses, they couldn't contain their joy and said over and over how grateful they were to the prefect.
The Huang family, of course, had caught wind of the chemical fertilizer too. By the end of the sixth month, they'd already sent word to all their shops: "This year's harvest is abundant—drop the price. Two catties for five copper coins."
That came to less than three copper coins per catty.
The manager took the order and began clearing out the warehouse to make room. Otherwise, when the farmers came to sell, there'd be no place to store the grain.
It was going to be busy for a while, so they'd need to hire a few more people.
But after everything was cleared out and ready, the farmers still hadn't shown up with their grain.
One shop assistant wondered if the harvest was late this year, or if the grain hadn't dried yet.
"Probably..." The manager hadn't even finished saying "yes" when he spotted a man and a woman on the street, each holding a child's hand, buying pancakes.
An old man hawked nearby: "Candied hawthorns! Get your candied hawthorns!"
"Mom, I want a candied hawthorn."
"Alright, I'll get you one. Uncle, two sticks of candied hawthorn, please."
"Coming right up—four copper coins."
Judging by their clothes, they looked like villagers.
The manager wondered—since when did villagers spend money so freely like this?
The man had a bamboo basket on his back, stuffed to the brim with goods.
In years past, after selling their grain and earning some silver, the most extravagant ones might buy a catty of meat to take home for a bit of nourishment. Most bought nothing at all and just went straight back.
But this year, they hadn't even sold their grain yet—so how were they splurging like this? And buying so much to boot. Were they already done with the farm work, just out for a leisurely stroll in town?
Sensing something wrong, the manager sent a shop assistant to ask around. It turned out that the farmers had already sold their grain to the government.
So what were they supposed to sell this year if they couldn't get any grain?
The manager had to report this to the master.
Huang Zheng was furious when he heard the news. He smashed his teacup straight to the floor.
Earlier, when the prefect hadn't made a move, Huang Zheng had assumed the man was afraid of the Huang family.
Now he understood—he'd been biding his time, saving up a big blow.
"Fine. Fine!
Does he really think that will take down the Huang family?
He's underestimating Huang Zheng. So what if the prefect has the emperor and the Qin family behind him?
As the saying goes: sky is high and the emperor is far away.
[The sky is high and the emperor is far away (天高皇帝远): a remote place where imperial authority is weak, giving locals the freedom to act without fear of punishment or interference from the central government.]
Hezhou was the Huang family's turf. At first, he'd held back because he didn't think it necessary to burn bridges—there were always some concerns. But now, the prefect had humiliated him time and again. Huang Zheng, accustomed to being flattered and deferred to, couldn't stomach this kind of insult. His blood boiled, his head went foggy, and he blurted out:
"Spread the word—stop selling coarse grains to the villagers."
The same old trick again.
"Also, tell the Ge, Li, and Jia families."
Those families weren't grain merchants. One ran a general store selling oil, sauces, and vinegar; the other two sold everyday necessities for the common people.
The Jia family was even more powerful than the other two and had connections with several butchers in the city.
If they all joined forces and shut their doors, the people wouldn't be able to buy grain or meat—they'd surely kick up a fuss.
As soon as Old Master Huang gave the order, not only in Hezhou City but also in the towns, the grain shops stopped selling coarse grains.
Most families were short on silver. They'd sold their rice for money and planned to buy coarse grains to eat instead. Later, when times got better and they had more silver in hand and felt more secure, they'd be willing to keep the rice for themselves.
Now, farmers walked into the shops wanting to buy some coarse grains to take home. But the moment they stepped through the door, the shop assistant took one look at their straw sandals and village attire, snorted, and shoved them straight back out.
"What are you doing? I want to buy some grain."
The shop assistant shot back with a sneer: "Not selling."
"Why not? I've got silver."
"Just because you have silver means we have to sell to you? You wouldn't sell grain to our shop, so why should we sell coarse grains to you?"
The old man was stunned for a moment.
How could this be!
The soldiers needed to eat! Training was exhausting too—they couldn't go hungry. Since the officials treated them well, they were naturally willing to sell to the officials first, prioritizing them.
At this moment, he didn't regret his choice—just felt a bit panicked, not knowing what to do. He'd already sold all his grain. If he couldn't buy coarse grains, what would his family eat?
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