Dad! Please Stop Getting Promoted, Our Family Are Really Treacherous Officials! Chapter 52

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

The muffled yet urgent beating of gongs and drums ruthlessly shattered the tranquility of the early morning.

Pei Ji sprang up from the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger beneath his pillow.

A peasant uprising?

Or a riot?

He did not even bother to put on his official boots properly. Throwing on his outer robe, he dashed out the doors of the inn. Countless tragic scenes of refugees smashing, looting, and burning were already playing out in his mind—this was his most malicious speculation regarding "merchants governing a city."

However, as he rushed out into the street, he froze.

There were no flames, no screams.

There were only throngs of commoners carrying carrying-poles and holding sickles, converging into a dark tide of humanity that surged toward the outside of the city. There was no fear on their faces; instead, they wore a kind of... excitement, as if they were on their way to pick up free money.

Even the beggar at the foot of the wall was clutching a brand-new sickle in his hand. He casually tossed his rusty, broken bowl into the grass and cursed as he went, "Don't push! Miss Xu said today is the 'Money Snatching Festival.' If we are late, we will not even get to touch the rice stubble!"

Money Snatching?

Pei Ji stopped the inn's waiter, his brows knitted into a tight knot. "Is this what you call... a riot?"

The waiter looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Are you still half-asleep, sir? This is the 'Autumn Harvest Festival'! Miss Xu said that whoever goes down to the fields to work today will not only get free meals but also receive a reward of twenty copper coins! I cannot talk anymore, I have to hurry. If I am late, all the sickles will be gone!"

Pei Ji stood rooted to the spot, the wind blowing his disheveled robes.

Autumn harvest?

Yuzhou had suffered a severe drought for three years. The land was barren for a thousand miles, and even the rats had moved away. Where would an autumn harvest come from?

Unless...

"Transplanting fake crops to present a false picture of peace and prosperity."

A low voice sounded beside him.

Pei Ji turned his head and saw that Wang Sheng had also appeared by the street at some point. This "Mister Wang" had changed into a neat set of short working clothes, yet he still held that incongruous folding fan in his hand, a cold light flickering in his eyes as if he could see through everything.

"Brother Pei, it seems great minds think alike." Wang Sheng sneered, tapping the ribs of his fan lightly against his palm. "Since ancient times, corrupt officials seeking to present auspicious signs have often played the trick of transplanting crops from neighboring counties overnight to line the sides of official roads. It seems this Miss Xu not only knows how to do business, but is also well-versed in the officialdom's tricks of deceiving people."

Pei Ji straightened his collar, his gaze as hard as iron. "Whether it is true or false, we will know once we go down to the fields and inspect it."

The two exchanged a glance, blended into the crowd, and headed out of the city.

...

Outside the city, Shili Slope.

This place was originally an abandoned stretch of saline-alkali land, but at this moment, it was surrounded by an impenetrable crowd.

Relying on their agile movements, Pei Ji and Wang Sheng forcefully squeezed their way to the frontmost ridge of the field.

Their field of vision suddenly opened up.

"This..."

Pei Ji's pupils sharply contracted. The word "fake" rolled around on the tip of his tongue, but he simply could not spit it out.

Before his eyes was an ocean.

A golden, heavy, raging ocean surging in the wind.

The rice ears were weighed down extremely low. The densely packed grain awns wove into a dazzling golden net under the sunlight. When the wind blew past, it did not produce a light, airy rustling sound, but rather a muffled, heavy sound of friction—it was the most luxurious crowding of fruit against fruit.

Yuzhou was suffering a great drought, where a drop of water was as precious as oil.

But the crops in this field seemed to have drunk their fill of divine nectar.

"Impossible."

The folding fan in Wang Sheng's hand froze. He took a step forward, his boots sinking into the mud. "This is absolutely impossible. Even the top-grade fields in Jiangnan are only this good. This is Yuzhou! It is dry land!"

"An illusion," Pei Ji gritted his teeth, still desperately defending his last line of rationality. "They must have been planted just last night."

Disregarding all elegance, he directly rolled up his pant legs and stepped into the muddy paddy field.

The soil was a glossy black, emitting a peculiar, mellow fragrance.

Pei Ji squatted down, gripped a cluster of rice stalks with both hands, and exerted force upward.

If they were newly transplanted seedlings, the root system would be shallow and would come right out with a single pull.

"Up!"

Pei Ji let out a low shout, veins bulging on his forehead.

It did not budge an inch.

The rice roots were as if they had been cast underground with molten iron, stubbornly gripping every inch of the soil. Instead, because Pei Ji had used too much force, his foot slipped, and he fell flat on his backside into the muddy water, splashing black mud all over his face.

But he did not care to wipe it off.

With trembling hands, he dug away the soil at the roots.

He saw that the root hairs were twisted and tangled, as dense as a spider's web, stabbing deeply into the soil layer below. Every single root hair exuded a formidable vitality. These were old roots, old roots that had grown in this land for months and had endured the baptism of wind and frost!

"Brother Pei..."

Wang Sheng stood on the field ridge, his voice trembling. He pointed at the black soil beneath his feet; the soil was soft and oily, so rich that one could almost squeeze oil out of it.

"This is... mature soil." A trace of horror flashed through Wang Sheng's eyes. "This is mature soil nourished to the absolute extreme by the earth's fertility! That idiot Li Wencheng said she was refining poison... How is this poison? This is the mother of the earth's fertility!"

Just then, an old farmer missing his front teeth approached with a chuckle, carrying two sickles in his hands.

"Oh my, you two noblemen, are you scared silly?"

The old farmer shoved the sickles into their arms, his wrinkled face radiating smugness. "Miss Xu said that whoever makes the first cut today will be blessed with good fortune! Do not mind the dirt, the stuff in this field is more precious than gold! Take them!"

Pei Ji looked at the sickle in his arms that smelled of rust, and then at his hands covered in black mud.

As the dignified Deputy Minister of the Dali Court, he had held pens and he had held swords in his life, but the one thing he had never held was a sickle.

"Want to give it a try?"

Pei Ji looked up at Wang Sheng.

Wang Sheng tucked his folding fan into his waistband and gripped the sickle tightly. "Let's try."

"Swish!"

The first cut was made.

The sensation in the hand was astonishingly heavy.

It was not withered stalks, but a plump vitality brimming with sap. As the sickle sliced through, the heavy rice ears fell into their hands, and that weighty sensation instantly shattered the final line of defense in the depths of both men's hearts.

Pei Ji tremblingly peeled open a rice husk.

The grain of rice was crystal clear, plump and round; it unexpectedly possessed the quality found only in tribute rice.

"This... how is this possible..." Pei Ji murmured to himself.

"Make way! Make way! Everyone make way!"

A burst of shouting rang out.

Several stewards of the Xu family, dressed in short working clothes, walked over carrying a massive communal steelyard scale.

"One mu of land has been harvested! Put it on the scale!"

The entire field instantly fell silent.

Thousands of pairs of eyes stared fixedly at that scale.

Pei Ji suddenly rushed over and pushed aside the steward operating the scale, his voice hoarse. "Let me! I will weigh it myself!"

The steward froze for a moment and was about to curse, but he was frightened into silence by the terrifying bloodshot eyes of the man whose face was covered in black mud.

Pei Ji took hold of the scale's beam.

The first sack.

The second sack.

The third sack...

As the sliding weight continuously moved backward, Pei Ji's arms began to tremble violently. It was not because of the physical weight, but because of fear.

Yes, fear.

A fear of an unknown power that shattered all of his preconceptions.

When the final sack of rice was added, the scale beam finally balanced.

Pei Ji stared at the mark, his eyes widening so much they seemed about to split. The surroundings were deathly silent; there was only the sound of the wind blowing through the rolling waves of grain.

"How much? Brother Pei, how much?!" Wang Sheng stamped his feet anxiously below, his voice changing pitch.

Pei Ji opened his mouth, emitting a sound from his throat akin to the whimper of a wild beast.

"Four shi... and three dou."

Boom!

As soon as these words came out, it was like a clap of thunder ruthlessly striking the crowns of everyone's heads.

Wang Sheng swayed, almost planting face-first into the field.

The fertile fields of the Great Qian Dynasty yielded no more than two shi per mu.

For dry land, a yield of one and a half shi was already considered a bumper harvest.

Four shi and three dou?

What kind of concept was this?

It meant that as long as this planting method was promoted throughout the world, there would be no more famine in the Great Qian! The soldiers on the northern borders would no longer have to fight on empty stomachs! Even the mice in the national treasury would be stuffed to death!

"An auspicious omen... This is a heaven-sent auspicious omen!"

Wang Sheng suddenly threw himself onto the pile of grain like a madman. He grabbed a handful of unhusked rice and clutched it tightly to his chest. His usually sinister and brooding face was now streaked with tears and snot, contorted in a way that was somewhat terrifying.

"Brush and ink! Hurry, bring me brush and ink!"

Wang Sheng roared in a frenzy. "I must write a memorial! I must tell His Majesty! The Great Qian is saved! This Taoyuan County... there is a true dragon hidden in this Taoyuan County!"

The surrounding merchants and commoners were startled by this sudden madness, but soon, cheers erupted like a tsunami, drowning out the entirety of Shilipo.

"Miss Xu!"

"A living Shennong!"

Amidst the deafening cheers, Pei Ji slowly released the steelyard in his hands.

Clatter.

The steelyard fell to the ground.

He looked at his mud-splattered self, then gazed into the distance at the Taoyuan county town, which was sparkling brightly under the sunlight.

He thought of the bet they made at the Drunken Immortal Pavilion.

He remembered the red line he had stepped on at the city gates yesterday, and that so-called Public Health Fund.

"Heh..."

Pei Ji suddenly laughed, though his smile looked more agonizing than crying.

He slowly bent down, ignoring the mud beneath his knees, and performed an unprecedentedly grand kowtow in the direction of the Xu Manor.

His forehead struck the earth with a solid thud.