Chapter 80#

When Wen Zhuo was carried back to the room by Shen Zheng, a thin layer of sweat had already formed on his temples. The night wind blew, and the chill seeped in through his pores, making him shiver uncontrollably.

He had been keeping watch day and night by the Wangtian Ditch these past days, his body and mind already completely drained. The only reason he hadn’t collapsed from illness was sheer willpower.

A warm stove was burning inside the room, its dancing heat baking the yellowed walls and illuminating the cramped chamber brilliantly.

Wen Zhuo sipped the hot medicinal soup in small mouthfuls, the faint scent of herbs that perpetually clung to him growing even stronger.

The chronic illness he had contracted back then when Wen Xu pushed him into the river was still tormenting him to this day.

After finishing the medicine, Wen Zhuo lay down under the covers, leaving only his nose and eyes exposed. He felt cold all over and tossed and turned uncomfortably.

Jiang Mannü heard the commotion and came over to take care of him, but just as she reached the bedside, Shen Zheng pushed her away, saying it was inconvenient for a woman to be there.

Jiang Mannü was still puzzled as she left—she had been looking after him just fine for years without any inconvenience! Why was it inconvenient all of a sudden now that His Highness was here?

Shen Zheng turned around, quickly washed himself, then lifted the covers and got into bed. He reached his hand under the bedding—still cold. Wen Zhuo’s body temperature simply wasn’t enough to warm up the bed.

It also didn’t help that the conditions at this humble county office in Liangping were too shabby. The blankets were thin, layered poorly, and stuffed with something other than soft cotton wadding—not warm at all.

Of course, it was also possible that the county magistrate was trying to put on a show of incorruptibility in front of them and had deliberately stashed away all the good stuff.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you by the river and made you sweat,” Shen Zheng said, turning sideways to move closer to Wen Zhuo. He reached out his hand, his face full of concern, and tested the temperature of Wen Zhuo’s forehead with the back of his fingers. Satisfied that he didn’t have a fever, he leaned down and asked, “Where are you cold?”

“My hands.” Wen Zhuo uttered a single word, his voice laden with exhaustion.

Shen Zheng immediately reached under the covers, grabbed Wen Zhuo’s hands, and wrapped them in his own palms.

Shen Zheng was naturally robust, and his palms were warm. A steady stream of heat transferred over, and before long, Wen Zhuo’s fingers had regained their warmth.

His restless tossing visibly slowed down.

“Where else is cold?” Shen Zheng asked again.

“My back,” Wen Zhuo said.

Shen Zheng quickly rubbed his palms together until they were scorching hot, then lifted the hem of Wen Zhuo’s undershirt and pressed his warm hands against his skin.

The moment his palms touched Wen Zhuo’s skin, Wen Zhuo’s eyes shot wide open, and his eyelashes fluttered violently.

He had never expected Shen Zheng to be so direct. He had never, ever been touched like this—skin against skin by anyone.

It was so improper, so indecent.

He was about to speak up and stop him, but just as the words reached his lips, he suddenly remembered that they had confirmed a different kind of relationship by the Wangtian Ditch.

But even if they had secretly pledged themselves to each other, as long as they weren’t officially married, according to propriety, they should still restrain their emotions and keep their actions within bounds. How could he so brazenly lift his clothes and stroke his back?

“What is the teacher looking at?” Shen Zheng saw his eyes go round and couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Weren’t you sleepy by the river just now?”

“Your Highness’s hand… it would be fine to keep it outside my underclothes,” Wen Zhuo said, his cheeks burning. He turned his head away, avoiding Shen Zheng’s gaze.

Shen Zheng laughed even more heartily. He gently scratched Wen Zhuo’s back with his fingertip, and sure enough, he felt the person beneath him tremble. “I’m not a warming pack. How am I supposed to help warm you up through a layer of clothes?”

“What is a ‘warming pack’?” Wen Zhuo asked, his face still turned away but his curiosity piqued.

“Hmm… it’s kind of like a plaster that can automatically generate heat. As long as you stick it on your clothes, it can keep you warm for a good long while.” Shen Zheng thought for a moment, trying to explain it in terms Wen Zhuo could understand.

“Why would a plaster generate heat?” Wen Zhuo pressed further.

“It has iron powder mixed inside. When the iron powder meets air, it produces heat.”

Wen Zhuo turned his head back, looking puzzled. “Your Highness is fooling me. If iron could produce heat, wouldn’t that mean all the weapons our soldiers hold would be hot?”

“I’m not fooling you. When we get back to the capital, I’ll make one for you to see.” It shouldn’t be too difficult. The iron-smelting industry in Daqian was already quite mature. All he needed was to collect some iron filings, use saltwater as a catalyst, take plant ash as an absorbent material, and control the surface area exposed to oxygen—that would be enough.

After this whole exchange, Wen Zhuo had long since forgotten about Shen Zheng’s hand on his back. Besides, Shen Zheng had been talking and stroking at the same time, and in that short while, he had already massaged his entire back. Now, speaking up to stop him would only seem overly fussy.

After a moment, Shen Zheng’s hand stopped at Wen Zhuo’s lower back. His fingertips traced small circles as he asked again in a gentle voice, “Teacher, is there anywhere else that’s cold?”

“…”

Even if there was, he wouldn’t admit it!

Seeing that Wen Zhuo didn’t answer, a mischievous glint flickered in Shen Zheng’s eyes. “Oh? Is it only your back and hands that are cold?”

He deliberately paused, then leaned close to his ear. Even though there was clearly no one else in the room, he lowered his voice to barely a whisper: “Isn’t your chest cold? Isn’t your stomach cold? And… would you like me to warm those places too, teacher?”

Wen Zhuo’s cheeks instantly felt like they were on fire. He couldn’t hold back any longer and suddenly reached out to cover Shen Zheng’s mouth. “Your Highness, no talking in bed!”

This prim and proper little cat was absolutely adorable!

Shen Zheng finally decided to let the patient off the hook. He blinked to show his agreement. When Wen Zhuo hesitantly pulled his hand away, Shen Zheng quickly planted a kiss on the tip of his nose, then slid his arm under his neck and pulled him tightly into his embrace, using his own body heat to warm up the rest of him.

Gradually, Wen Zhuo was enveloped in warmth. He found a comfortable position in Shen Zheng’s arms and drifted off to sleep, exhausted.

For six consecutive days, Lin Yingniang’s body remained unfound, but Wen Zhuo could no longer linger in Liangping County.

He would rather believe that Lin Yingniang had not died, that they were still like before—living far apart on opposite ends of the map of Daqian, never meeting, never thinking of each other.

The wealth seized from the Wen family had been fully entered into the treasury of Mianzhou Prefecture. With this money, there was enough to support the subsequent disaster relief efforts.

Wen Yingjing and Wen Ze were bound with iron chains, shoved into a prison cart, and escorted by official guards to the prefectural prison of Mianzhou, where they would await interrogation, sign their confessions, and be reported to the Three Judicial Departments.

Before leaving, Wen Zhuo deliberately returned to that old residence, looked at it again and again.

The windowsill was empty. That little chipped-away wooden horse was gone forever.

He stood in the courtyard, as if bidding farewell to the warmth of days gone by.

Shen Zheng did not disturb him. He only quietly packed a bag of soil from the courtyard and tucked it into Wen Zhuo’s luggage.

Finally, Wen Zhuo pulled shut the dilapidated courtyard gate with his own hands.

After leaving Liangping County, Wen Zhuo’s mood gradually calmed somewhat, but there was still no room for rest. He and Shen Zheng rushed without pause, heading straight for Baituo Township, the area hardest hit by the disaster in Mianzhou City.

Looking out as far as the eye could see, the mountains and fields were a scene of devastation—everywhere marked by the gnawing traces of locusts. The withered yellow leaves were steeped in despair.

Only the vast stretches of styrax trees stood unscathed, because the locusts disliked their scent.

“Look at what’s recorded in this fish-scale register,” Shen Zheng said, standing on the ridge of a field and tapping the thick volume in his hand. “Three hundred thousand mu of farmland are registered here, of which one hundred thousand mu are government fields, two hundred thousand mu are private fields, and fifty thousand mu are garrison fields. With such a high proportion of government fields, the tax burden on the local people must be incredibly heavy.”

Wen Zhuo let out a soft sigh.

The excessive amount of government fields was actually a leftover problem from the previous dynasty.

Back then, Emperor Kangzhen, in an attempt to resolve the numerous disputes caused by land annexation among the people, had implemented a new policy called “Equal Distribution of Farmland.”

All land under heaven was to be nationalized and then evenly distributed to farmers according to population. Farmers only needed to keep enough grain for their own survival; the remaining harvest was to be handed over entirely to the state as land rent.

Emperor Kangzhen had been fully convinced that this would bring about a wonderful situation where “everyone has land to cultivate, and no household has any disputes”—all people laboring for the state, with no distinction between rich and poor, no distinction between you and me.

But unexpectedly, not long after the policy was implemented, it triggered a host of problems.

Among the common people, to get more land, they desperately had children and even inflated their population figures. Tenant farmers felt that most of their harvest went to the public, leaving them with little to show for a year of hard labor, and gradually they developed a mindset of slackening off.

With all land nationalized, commerce lost the foundation it relied upon for development and grew increasingly sluggish year by year.

With no other choice, the imperial court had to terminate this new policy and instead promote the “Land Reclamation Decree.”

The government organized the people to reclaim wasteland and explicitly stated that all land reclaimed would be privately owned, with the government only collecting taxes according to regulations.

In this way, the people’s motivation was revived, and the private fields in recent years had all been expanded through this method.

“Let’s set aside the issue of government fields for now, but, Your Highness, do you really think there are still two hundred thousand mu of private fields?” Wen Zhuo crouched down, pressing his fingertip into the soil beneath a styrax tree. “According to the register, this area is clearly marked as private fields, but now it’s planted with so many styrax trees. If private fields turn into forest land and private ownership is concentrated in the hands of the powerful, the tax burden can be reduced. But Lou Changsui, to cope with the imperial court, still counted this place as private fields. The people are truly suffering.”

As he spoke, he brushed aside the dead leaves, found what he was looking for, and pulled a withered, shriveled rice stalk from the ground.

On a three-by-three-zhang plot of land, this single lonely stalk was growing, yet it was still registered as “grain field” in the register.

Wen Zhuo pinched the rice stalk, his tone heavy: “The grain fields of Mianzhou have already shrunk to a precarious state. If this continues, even without a locust plague, as the area of grain fields decreases and the population surges, Mianzhou will inevitably face a catastrophic disaster.”

So, upon returning to Mianzhou City from Baituo Township, Wen Zhuo issued several orders in succession—

“The high-price grain purchases over the past few days have been effective. Issue the order: starting today, the treasury’s grain purchase price is set at two hundred wen per shi. If any grain merchants are unwilling to sell, they are free to leave Mianzhou on their own, but they must pay a departure tax of one thousand liang per shi.”

“Yes!” Liu Qiying, who had been counting every silver coin day after day, had long been waiting for this day.

“Also, the people cannot simply wait idly for the court to support them.” Wen Zhuo turned to the vice prefect beside him. “They don’t need to risk their lives at sea, but they must organize the able-bodied to reclaim wasteland and expand the area of private fields. This task is to be overseen by each county office, with a set deadline. Progress is to be checked every three days. No negligence.”

“Your subordinate obeys!” The vice prefect did not dare to delay and hurriedly went down to draft the official documents to be circulated to all townships.

“Change the style of the Mianzhou Incense Festival. Incense trading will be part of it, but also introduce fragrance-blending and incense-identifying competitions open to all commoners. The winners will receive a hundred taels of gold. Additionally, encourage all inns, taverns, music schools, and tea houses to create games and amusements themed around incense. Anyone who can make customers linger and remember their establishment fondly will be exempted from commercial taxes for one year.”

The host of officials from Mianzhou Prefecture knelt below, scribbling furiously, terrified of missing any of the Governor-General’s directives.

Wen Zhuo raised his hand, signaling them to rise. “Now that New Year’s Day is approaching, and this year we’ve suffered a great disaster, we must ensure the start of the new year is celebrated with great splendor and enthusiasm. Fireworks and firecrackers, singing and dancing processions through the streets, drinking games and pitch-pot contests, night market food stalls, and even dice games and flower boats—all forms of entertainment, the government will impose no restrictions whatsoever.”

“Your orders, Governor-General!” The county magistrates scrambled to their feet and hurried off to make their arrangements.

Shen Zheng chimed in from the side, “Fan Zhongyan’s three policies for famine relief.”

Wen Zhuo nodded. “Yes. In times of chaos, use severe punishments; in years of famine, employ clever strategies.”

Shen Zheng smiled. “There’s another thing I’d like to discuss with you, teacher.”

Wen Zhuo turned his head to look at him. “Oh?”

“In the West, there was a fellow named Malthus who once said something. Once the rate of population growth exceeds the rate of food supply, it leads to disasters like famine, war, and disease, forcing the population to fall back to a level that matches the available resources. This is called the ‘Malthusian population trap.’”

Wen Zhuo pondered for a moment, then gradually showed signs of agreement. “I have never heard of this gentleman, but his words do make sense. Throughout history, every dynasty’s rise and fall has followed the same pattern: population explosion, the people unable to survive, rebellion breaking out. A war or two later, the population shrinks, people can eat again, and a new dynasty is established. Then comes a period of rest and recovery, the population grows again, food becomes scarce once more, and the cycle repeats itself over and over.”

Shen Zheng nodded. “So there’s something I need Liu Kangren to do.”

He paused and continued, “You know, teacher, before the Song Dynasty, the main crops grown on our land were mainly japonica rice. This type of rice has a long growth cycle and strict requirements for the fields, making it hard to meet the people’s food needs. It wasn’t until the early Northern Song that Champa rice was introduced to the Central Plains. Its yield per mu was more than ten percent higher than native japonica rice, and it had stronger resistance to disasters. That’s why the Song Dynasty was able to support a population far larger than any previous dynasty.”

Wen Zhuo was also very familiar with this history, so he gestured for Shen Zheng to continue.

“Now Daqian’s population is far larger than the Song Dynasty’s. There will come a day when it becomes unsustainable. So we need something better—something that can feed more people.”

Modern scholars have summarized three major crop revolutions in the history of ancient agricultural development. The first was the domestication of millet, foxtail millet, and rice in the Stone Age. The second was wheat and barley in the Han Dynasty. The third was Champa rice in the Song Dynasty, which is why the southern regions gradually developed a ‘double-cropping rice’ farming system.

What Shen Zheng wanted to talk about was the fourth crop revolution that had not yet occurred in Daqian: corn, sweet potatoes, and potatoes.

“I’ve heard that in the West, there is something called ’tudou’ (potatoes). It has high yields and is not picky about soil. As long as we can introduce potatoes into Daqian and promote them nationwide, the people will no longer suffer from food shortages, and the problem of too few private fields can also be alleviated.”

Wen Zhuo immediately understood Shen Zheng’s intention. “You want to send Liu Kangren as an envoy to the West to purchase the seeds of this ’tudou’?”

“Exactly. Liu Kangren understands Western languages and has spent ten years dealing with foreign merchants while inspecting the coastal areas. He is the most suitable person for the negotiations. With this achievement to his name, even though he violated Daqian law by stealing grain, my imperial father will have a face-saving way out and will most likely let him off.” Shen Zheng had thought it through thoroughly—this was Liu Kangren’s best escape route.

“Excellent.” Wen Zhuo suddenly cast a sidelong, probing glance at Shen Zheng, his tone utterly flat. “But I can understand Liu Kangren’s knowledge of the West. You, Your Highness, have been a hostage for ten years. How is it that you are so well-versed in Western matters?”

Shen Zheng had long expected this question. He was not flustered at all. Instead, he let out a low laugh, raised a hand, and lightly pinched Wen Zhuo’s chin. “Is the teacher interrogating me?”

Wen Zhuo turned his head away to avoid his closeness, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Just curious, that’s all. Did you also hear about it at Nanping? Nanping has a great many wonderful talents and things, but its development in recent years has been somewhat unsatisfactory.”

Shen Zheng laughed inwardly. When Wen Zhuo was cold, he would curl up in his arms, obediently let him rub his back, and stay still all night without moving. But once he recovered his strength, his mind was sharper than anyone’s, and his eyes practically gleamed with intelligence.

So he offered a reasonable explanation. “I did indeed hear about it from the place I came from.”

He did not say that the place he came from was Nanping.