Chapter Sixty-Three: The Coward Trembles, Auspicious Signs of a Bountiful Harvest (Part Two)

Li Wei’s journey this time was neither ostentatious nor overly discreet. He made no effort to conceal his whereabouts; after all, this was nothing that needed to be hidden. His concern was with agriculture—how could it not be, in an era so backward where everyone struggled simply to have enough to eat? Yet, it was not a grand sacrificial ceremony, nor would it steal his father’s honor.

Thus, he did not don plain clothes, and his carriage was simple, arriving at the outskirts.

When the carriage reached the edge of the fields, he tapped Yang Min gently. “Wake up, we’ve arrived.”

She blinked sleepily, “Have I been asleep for so long?”

“What do you think?”

“Forgive my discourtesy.” She was careful, a bit nervous—her heart, tangled by concern, now cared deeply about the impression she left on Li Wei.

She glanced not only at Li Wei but also at Bie’er. Fifteen years old—neither too young nor too old, at that age when wisdom begins to blossom. She had heard the rumors circulating in the capital. If there were a public vote for the Crown Princess, especially after Jiang Bie’er’s kneeling, despite her humble origins, at least a million out of over a million citizens would choose Jiang Bie’er. Fewer than a hundred thousand would choose herself.

She had once felt jealous, but now anxiety and timidity overwhelmed her. She dared no longer regard Bie’er as a mere palace maid.

Bie’er only smiled sweetly, and Yang Min seemed to understand, feeling a bit ashamed.

Li Wei, however, noticed none of this subtle exchange.

“What discourtesy?” he said, exasperated. These days, he had read so much about the three rites that he was bored stiff. If one really followed every word in those three books, it would be better to just take a blade to him. With affection, he rubbed her braided head. There was no other way—her long hair had been cut, and it hadn’t yet grown back. So, she wore a small bun in front, and the back was braided into several little plaits to cover it.

The carriage had stopped at the gate of the imperial manor, where Li Wei was conducting his agricultural experiments.

It was his first visit, and he looked around. Compared to the ordinary fields at the foot of Mount Zhongnan, the imperial manor was somewhat better. The irrigation channels provided ample water, so even in the midst of severe drought, the wheat was not in poor condition. Wheat stalks of uneven height bore their green ears.

The density was acceptable, yet there were clear differences. The wheat ears were much smaller than those he remembered from his previous life, and the stalks were short as well.

Of course, it couldn’t compare; otherwise, the yield wouldn’t be a mere two shi per acre. In the distance stood a small estate, with a few towers, thatched cottages, and many verdant willows, mulberries, and locust trees surrounding it. Before the willows lay a small pond, its spring water shimmering despite the drought—the imperial manor would never lack water. The pond’s surface rippled gently, and ducks and geese frolicked in the water.

It was a scene worthy of poetry and painting.

The steward of the manor, accompanied by a group, had been waiting to receive them, bowing deeply. The rank was so high, no one knew what ceremony would properly express their respect.

“No need for ceremony,” Li Wei said, feeling vexed. If not for feigning illness, it would have been a pleasure to escape the Eastern Palace for this tranquil manor. Now, for the sake of appearances, he had Bie’er to his left, Liu Qun to his right, supporting him. The eunuchs held parasols overhead and dared not leave his side, for if the sun shone too brightly, the yellow powder on his face would melt—well...

Best to deal with matters swiftly.

With that, he strode into the manor, disregarding the fact that a supposedly gravely ill man moved so quickly.

After a while, the steward pointed to a patch of irrigated land. “Your Highness, this is the field you ordered to be composted.”

Li Wei examined it. Many purple vetch plants had been dug and piled in, unlike those cultivated later—the leaves were smaller but more deeply purple, seeming older. He wondered whether their effect would be better than the artificially cultivated vetch of later generations. There was also wormwood and bean stalks.

After several days of composting, some had begun to rot, and the field was streaked with purple-black, viscous water.

A breeze carried an unpleasant odor, and Yang Min instinctively pinched her nose with her pale hand. But seeing Li Wei so engrossed at the field’s edge, she quickly lowered her hand.

She couldn’t truly understand the process, but she knew that after some time, these fields—about a dozen acres—would be very fertile. With fair weather, the fields could be dried and plowed with oxen, and no matter what crop was planted, there would be a good harvest. The timing was just right for transplanting.

He nodded, “You’ve done well.”

“Your Highness’s orders—we dare not neglect them. Please, Your Highness, proceed.”

They led Li Wei to a small ditch—the seedbed. They were trialing sorghum, though a bit late. Li Wei had instructed them to use mature fertilizer: animal manure, oil cake, and wood ash, all mixed and fermented.

Some peasants had done this before, but few took it seriously.

The next crucial step was placing the seeds in nutrient pots.

Villagers, hearing the Crown Prince was here, began to gather out of curiosity. The guards moved to block them, but Li Wei waved them off. That was Helan Minzhi; these villagers bore him no ill will, nor had the courage for trouble. He intended to demonstrate for them.

He first selected the seeds, soaking them in salt water to repeatedly eliminate poor ones, keeping only the plump. This was just the first step—when transplanted, weak seedlings would be culled again.

The nutrient pots were made by mixing fermented fertilizer with loose soil, placed on the ridges. Bamboo hoops were set up on either side, and at night, grass mats covered them. The latter seemed unnecessary, but in Guanzhong, near the northwest, cold spells sometimes occurred.

Li Wei himself was unsure if it was all correct. He haphazardly combined methods from his past life with those found in the “Essential Techniques for the People of Qi.”

He watched the tenant farmers at work, and continued his instructions. Current planting density was broad, yielding less but using more seed. High density was unfavorable. Worried that the manor staff might overplant, he demonstrated row and plant spacing, and reminded them of timing—about twenty-seven days, at five or six leaves. Then came fertilizer and watering, each detail carefully explained. Also, spring rain had been sparse this year, which worried him. Continued drought would harm the autumn harvest and might bring locusts, which always accompanied drought.

He urged them repeatedly: no matter what, if pests appeared, even hand-picking and constant vigilance must be employed to prevent damage to these acres. He wanted to see how much grain this new method could produce per acre.

The steward could only agree.

In truth, both the steward and the watching farmers were unconvinced. First, it was too complicated—if everyone followed these methods, how many people would be needed? Second, the cost was high—who could afford to waste salt, or gather so much manure?

But the Crown Prince’s heart was in the right place. Few princes cared about production; even if they pretended, it was false concern. What prince would personally demonstrate in the fields?

To show seriousness, the steward brought a brush and recorded everything Li Wei said.

In his heart, he thought, no matter what, these dozen acres would be tended well. If they could yield two and a half shi, or at least two, it would please the Crown Prince.

Bie’er was worried and whispered, “Will this really work?”

Li Wei was uncertain. As a child, he remembered yields of six or seven hundred pounds per acre, even eight hundred—a high figure. Later, in the city, he heard of thousand-pound yields, even high-yield fields of a thousand kilos. But the seeds and other factors now made it impossible to estimate.

At least it should surpass current yields. He said, “We’ll see come autumn. If nothing else, a yield of three shi per acre shouldn’t be a problem.”

The steward overheard and looked grim. He misunderstood, thinking the Crown Prince was boastful—three shi per acre? How could he achieve that?

Bie’er, however, was convinced and exclaimed, “If it’s three shi, plus a season of wheat, the yield would be astonishing!”

“I don’t know, but with proper care, it should exceed the current two shi.” Dai Zhide spoke proudly of two shi per acre, but Li Wei disagreed. Even at two shi, after deducting the seed—an enormous amount—how much net gain remained?

Li Wei still held great hope for these fields, setting three shi as his baseline. Of course, he didn’t want to produce a terrifying ten or eight shi yield, which would invite suspicion and possibly displease his father. Three shi was the baseline, four shi the upper limit—no more!

Thinking of this, his heart was heavy.

If he were not the Crown Prince, but someone else, a twenty-shi yield would cause no trouble.

In fact, he didn’t know for sure, especially with the nutrient pot seedlings and other mature techniques. The manor staff would surely tend them meticulously. The final yield would... yes, progress just as he feared.

By noon, the sun grew scorching. Li Wei dared not linger, lest he begin to sweat yellow powder. So he departed.

Once in the carriage, Yang Min said, “Your Highness, I’ve been very happy today.”

“No matter. When Father issues an edict and Wu Minzhi is punished, you can come out and relax.”

“That’s not what I meant. When I enter the Eastern Palace—” she bravely spoke, then blushed, “I know I must abide by the rules. I meant, accompanying Your Highness today made me happy.”

Of course. The former Crown Prince had been rigid, silent, a sickly man—no girl would be glad, unless she coveted his status. This Crown Prince, though he overused the royal “I,” had not yet developed airs. Sometimes he had a temper, but was generally easygoing, even witty, considerate; even proud men like Di Renjie and Wei Yuanzhong had warmed to him, let alone her.

Yang Min added, “Your Highness, you are so knowledgeable.”

“Not really.”

“You even understand farming,” she said, her eyes bright with admiration—she had watched him instruct the manor and nearby peasants, and had been enthralled.

“It’s nothing. There’s a house of gold in books; read ‘Essential Techniques for the People of Qi’ a few times, it teaches much about farming.” At this, Li Wei’s thoughts turned elsewhere. Farming could be explained away with that book, but what about salt refining? Salt was expensive, and the method affected the happiness of countless households—and benefited Tang’s tax revenue.

But as far as he knew, no ancient text recorded such a method.

He smiled to himself, thinking: as long as the people do their duty, it’s enough. If he couldn’t protect himself, how could he protect others? Safety first, not arousing parental suspicion—that was most important.

…

They arrived at the Yang residence, and Li Wei watched Yang Min joyfully enter the gate. Lady Yang came out to greet him, and Li Wei quickly said, “Let’s go.”

He didn’t even bother with polite greetings.

Soon, the imperial city was near.

Just then, a guard hurriedly approached. Looking up, he saw Li Wei’s carriage and stopped it at once. The guards escorting Li Wei didn’t recognize him, and immediately drew their blades, placing them at his neck.

The guard shouted outside, “Is the Crown Prince inside?”

Li Wei was surprised, got down, and asked, “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“I am also a member of the palace guard, responsible for protecting the little princess. Your Highness, please save her—the little princess is in trouble!”

“What happened?” Li Wei asked, puzzled.

“She went to the Duke of Zhou’s residence today to pay respects to Lady Rong of the State…”

Before he could finish, Li Wei grabbed him by the collar and barked, “Just tell me—what happened?”