The rain in Jiangnan always arrived silently, its fine drizzle falling endlessly.
In early June, Jiangning Prefecture was shrouded in this drizzle. The wet bluestone paths reflected the dim, yellow halos of the lanterns lining the streets.
The backyard of the Lingering Garden, however, was a bustling scene.
Over a dozen rough-hewn maidservants had their trouser legs rolled up, standing in the mud as they directed craftsmen to build several oddly shaped brick and earthen kilns according to a blueprint.
Xiaocui stood beneath the eaves of the corridor, draped in a coir raincoat, with rainwater dripping from the brim of her bamboo hat.
She was keeping a close eye on the craftsmen as they laid every single brick.
Just then, a gray carrier pigeon flew through the curtain of rain, fluttering its wings before landing on the crossbeam of the eaves.
The pigeon folded its soaked wings, shook off the water droplets, and let out a series of cooing sounds.
Xiaocui quickly stepped forward, stood on her tiptoes, and carefully untied the wax-sealed bamboo tube from the pigeon's leg.
Xiaocui stepped back under the corridor, broke the wax seal, and tipped out a rolled-up letter wrapped in oiled paper.
Unfolding the letter, she saw the cold, sharp handwriting and the bright red private seal of the character Huan at the end. Xiaocui took a deep breath.
The content of the letter was extremely brief.
The Eldest Miss's orders were very direct.
The Xu Manor in Jiangning needed to purchase vegetable plots in the surrounding counties and prefectures, hire farmers, and plant easily grown vegetables like green vegetables, radishes, and cabbages.
The latter half of the letter included a detailed blueprint, explicitly outlining the five processes of washing, blanching, smoking, drying, and sealing.
Even the direction of the hot air in the drying room and the duration of the sulfur fumigation were written clearly.
The Eldest Miss strictly ordered that the first batch of finished products must be produced within half a month.
However, no matter how much Xiaocui thought about it, she could not fathom why the Eldest Miss, who was in the Northern Frontier, would suddenly take an interest in growing vegetables.
This dehydration method was even more unheard of.
But years of being together made Xiaocui understand that the Eldest Miss's decisions always had profound meaning.
Xiaocui held the letter to the candle flame until it burned to ashes, then turned and sternly issued orders to the managing servant women in the courtyard.
The kilns in the backyard must be finished tonight!
Granny Zhang! Tomorrow morning, go to the broker and buy up all the listed vegetable plots outside the city. It doesn't matter if the price is ten percent higher!
Aunt Li, take some people to the grain merchants. Buy as much quicklime and sulfur as they have!
Tell the accounting office that if there isn't enough silver, they should withdraw it from the bank. If you delay the Eldest Miss's affairs, I will skin you alive!
Each command was crisp and decisive.
Out of trust in Xu Qinghuan, Xiaocui did not ask why, but simply executed the orders to the letter.
In an instant, the Xu family sprang into action, mobilizing around the two tasks of growing vegetables and drying them.
Thousands of miles away, in Zhenbei City of the Northern Frontier.
...
The night was pitch black, without even a glimmer of starlight.
A bright oil lamp was lit in the study of the Imperial Envoy's temporary residence.
Xu Qinghuan rubbed her aching temples, looking at the two stacks of documents separated on the long desk in front of her.
The stack on the left consisted of various designs drawn in charcoal by Jenny Huang, with small notes indicating an urgent need for three hundred catties of refined iron, as well as as much saltpeter and sulfur as possible. The edges of the paper were stained with dark oil.
The stack on the right contained memorials just sent back by fast horse from the Hetao region.
Lin Siniang's forceful handwriting filled the pages with requests for various agricultural tools and cold-resistant grain seeds, with a massive number following each item.
Xu Qinghuan picked up the long-cold tea on the table and took a sip.
As the bitter taste of the tea spread across the tip of her tongue, Xu Qinghuan revealed a self-deprecating smile.
I originally thought coming to the Northern Frontier was just to audit the accounts and raise some money, and conveniently fish my second brother out of this quagmire.
Xu Qinghuan muttered to herself, her voice tinged with helplessness.
How did I accidentally end up in the infrastructure business of building furnaces and growing crops?
As this thought flashed through her mind, Xu Qinghuan stood up and walked over to the massive sand table of the Northern Frontier in the center of the study.
The sand table was exquisitely made; the Yinshan Mountains, the Yellow River system, and the outline of Zhenbei City were all clearly visible.
Xu Qinghuan pulled three inch-long red flags from a pen holder and began to take stock of the three forces she had accumulated in the Northern Frontier over this period.
With the first flag, Xu Qinghuan reached out and accurately planted it on a sand dune northeast of Laoya Spring. That represented the iron watermelons developed by Jenny Huang.
This represented a firearm force powerful enough to counter cavalry.
For the second flag, Xu Qinghuan's finger traced the inner curve of the Yellow River, finally landing on the newly reclaimed land.
That was the military farm Lin Siniang was currently establishing with the old and weak. Although it was still an unknown quantity at present, it was expected to produce future grain.
The third flag, Xu Qinghuan planted in Zhenbei City.
The support of Tie Lanshan, the tacit approval of the old emperor, and the distant assistance from her father were all the foundation of her foothold in this Northern Frontier.
Looking at the red flags on the sand table, Xu Qinghuan's expression darkened when her gaze touched the small wooden carving representing the capital.
Xu Qinghuan understood the old emperor sitting high on the dragon throne all too well.
According to the plotline of the original novel, this monarch who had controlled the Great Qian Dynasty for half a century had reached the end of his life.
What would a dying monarch with an extreme desire for control do on his deathbed?
The old emperor would never tolerate leaving behind a court firmly controlled by aristocratic families for his successor after his death.
The old emperor would definitely use his last bit of strength to launch a purge.
Or he would use the hands of foreign enemies to launch a war that would mobilize the entire nation, using a tragic defeat to completely eradicate the northern aristocratic families and clear the obstacles for the new monarch!
Wasn't that exactly how the original plot developed?
This thought made Xu Qinghuan feel cold all over.
Xu Qinghuan's gaze fell back onto the Northern Frontier sand table, landing on the sprawling Yinshan defense line.
If a national war truly broke out, if Great Khan Helian of the Royal Court led his full forces southward, could Great Qian hold the line?
Scenes flashed through Xu Qinghuan's mind: rusted agricultural tools in the Farming Bureau's warehouse, military pay embezzled by officials, and forage mixed with sand in the kitchens...
A conclusion surfaced in Xu Qinghuan's mind.
It could not be held.
Great Qian's military strength had long since decayed.
Once Great Khan Helian launched a general offensive, this Yinshan defense line would be very difficult to hold!
The defense line will inevitably be broken, and the great army will be routed...
Xu Qinghuan murmured to herself, her fingers moving slowly south across the sand table, finally stopping on the land of the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun.
According to her deductions, Great Qian's main force would ultimately only be able to retreat and defend here, barely stabilizing their position by relying on the cities and the support of the Central Plains' hinterland.
And this vast Northern Frontier would completely become a racing ground for the Helian people.
It was not until this moment that Xu Qinghuan suddenly realized.
Her previous action of pushing past all opposition to start military farming in the Hetao region had unintentionally turned out to be a brilliant, world-shaking move!
If the Northern Frontier was going to completely fall, then what would this military farm in Hetao be—a place that did not rely on the imperial court for grain, could sustain itself, and had iron watermelons buried around its perimeter?
The Hetao military farm was about establishing a strategic pivot in advance of that future great rout—one that did not rely on court supplies and could sustain itself.
This would be the grand strategic frontline for Great Qian, or perhaps, for the Xu family!
