By the time Shen Zheng carried Wen Zhuo back to the room, a thin sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. When the night wind blew over him, the chill seeped in through his pores, and he could not help shivering.
After keeping watch by Wangtian Ravine day and night these past few days, both his body and mind had long since been pushed past their limits. The only reason he had not fallen ill was that sheer willpower had kept him going.
A brazier burned inside the room. Its dancing glow warmed the yellowed walls and lit the cramped space brilliantly.
Wen Zhuo took small sips of the hot medicinal broth, and the medicinal scent that perpetually clung to him grew even stronger.
The illness left behind when Wen Xu pushed him into the river had tormented him to this day.
After finishing the medicine, Wen Zhuo lay down beneath the covers, with only his nose and eyes exposed. His body felt cold and uncomfortable, and he tossed restlessly from side to side.
Jiang Mannü heard the commotion and came over to care for him. She had only just reached the bedside when Shen Zheng sent her away, saying that it was inconvenient for a woman to remain there.
Jiang Mannü was still puzzled as she left. She had been taking care of Wen Zhuo for years, and no one had ever said it was inconvenient before! Why was it inconvenient the moment His Highness arrived?
Shen Zheng turned around, quickly washed himself, and then lifted the covers and climbed into bed. When he reached beneath the blankets, they were still cold. Wen Zhuo’s body temperature was nowhere near enough to warm them.
Of course, the conditions at the Liangping County Office were far too crude. The blankets were thin, and they were not stuffed with soft cotton, so they offered little warmth.
Naturally, it was also possible that the county magistrate was deliberately pretending to be frugal in front of them, having hidden away all the good things.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you by the river and made you sweat.” Shen Zheng moved closer on his side and, with concern, pressed the back of his hand to Wen Zhuo’s forehead. After confirming that he was not feverish, he bent down and asked, “Where are you cold?”
“My hands.” Wen Zhuo managed to utter the words softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
Shen Zheng immediately reached beneath the covers, took both his hands, and wrapped them in his own palms.
Shen Zheng was naturally strong and healthy, and his palms were warm as well. Heat flowed continuously into Wen Zhuo’s hands. Before long, warmth had returned to his fingertips.
His restless movements gradually slowed.
“Anywhere else?” Shen Zheng asked again.
“My back,” Wen Zhuo replied.
Shen Zheng quickly rubbed his hands together until his palms were burning hot. Then he lifted the hem of Wen Zhuo’s undergarment and slipped his heated hands inside.
The instant his palm touched Wen Zhuo’s skin, Wen Zhuo’s eyes flew open, his lashes trembling violently.
He had never imagined that Shen Zheng would be so direct. Never, not once, had anyone touched him skin to skin like this.
It was so discourteous, so improper.
He was just about to tell Shen Zheng to stop when the words reached his lips and he suddenly remembered that, by the river at Wangtian Ravine, they had acknowledged a different kind of relationship between them.
But even if they had privately pledged themselves to one another, so long as they were not yet married, propriety still dictated that they restrain their feelings and observe proper conduct. How could Shen Zheng so brazenly lift his clothes and caress his back?
“What is Teacher staring at?” Shen Zheng saw his eyes open wide and could not help chuckling. “Weren’t you sleepy by the river just now?”
“Your Highness’s hand… would be fine outside my undergarment.” Wen Zhuo’s cheeks burned as he turned his head away, avoiding Shen Zheng’s gaze.
Shen Zheng’s smile grew even broader. He lightly scraped a fingertip along Wen Zhuo’s back and sure enough felt the person beneath him tremble. “I’m not a portable warmer. How am I supposed to warm you through a layer of clothing?”
“What is a portable warmer?” Wen Zhuo turned his face toward him, curiosity overcoming his embarrassment.
“Hmm… It’s something like a medicinal plaster that can release heat on its own. You stick it to your clothes, and it keeps you warm for quite a while.” Shen Zheng thought for a moment and did his best to explain it in terms Wen Zhuo could understand.
“How can a medicinal plaster give off heat?” Wen Zhuo pressed.
“There’s iron powder mixed inside. When the iron powder comes into contact with air, it produces heat.”
Wen Zhuo turned his head back and frowned in confusion. “Your Highness is deceiving me. If iron gives off heat, wouldn’t the weapons carried by soldiers be hot?”
“I’m not deceiving you. I’ll make one for you after we return to the capital.” It should not be difficult. Da Qian’s ironmaking industry was already quite advanced. All he needed was some iron filings, salt water as a catalyst, ash from plants as an absorbent, and control over how much oxygen the mixture was exposed to.
By the time they had finished discussing all this, Wen Zhuo had long since stopped paying attention to Shen Zheng’s hand on his back. Shen Zheng had continued to talk while rubbing him, and in that short time had already caressed his entire back. If Wen Zhuo objected now, it would only make him seem petty and coy.
After a while, Shen Zheng’s hand came to rest at the small of his back. His fingertips traced gentle circles as he asked in a soft voice, “Teacher, anywhere else cold?”
“…”
Even if there was, he could never admit it!
When Wen Zhuo did not answer, a mischievous glint flashed through Shen Zheng’s eyes. “Oh? Only your back and hands are cold?”
He deliberately paused, then leaned close to Wen Zhuo’s ear. Though there was no one else in the room, he lowered his voice until it was little more than a breath. “What about your chest? Is your lower abdomen cold? Or… would you like me to warm those places too?”
Wen Zhuo’s cheeks instantly caught fire. Unable to bear it any longer, he suddenly reached out and covered Shen Zheng’s mouth. “Your Highness, no talking in bed!”
The stiff little cat was unbearably adorable!
Shen Zheng finally decided to let the patient off. He blinked to show his agreement. Once Wen Zhuo cautiously withdrew his hand, Shen Zheng swiftly kissed the tip of his nose. Then he slid one arm beneath Wen Zhuo’s neck, pulled him tightly into his embrace, and used his own body heat to warm the rest of him.
Gradually enveloped in warmth, Wen Zhuo found a comfortable position in Shen Zheng’s arms and drifted into an exhausted sleep.
For six days in a row, they were unable to find Lin Yingniang’s body. Wen Zhuo could no longer remain in Liangping County.
He would rather believe that Lin Yingniang had not died—that they were still living as they once had, far apart at opposite ends of Da Qian’s vast territory, neither meeting nor thinking of each other.
The wealth confiscated from the Wen family had all been deposited into the treasury of Mianzhou Prefecture. With that money, there would be enough to support the relief efforts that followed.
Wen Yingjing and Wen Ze were shackled and shoved into a prisoner cart. Under guard, they were taken to the Mianzhou Prefecture prison, where they would await interrogation and the signing of their confessions before their case was submitted to the Three Judicial Offices.
Before leaving, Wen Zhuo deliberately returned to the old residence and looked around again and again.
The windowsill stood empty. The little chipped-paint wooden horse was gone forever.
He stood in the courtyard, as though bidding farewell to the warmth of the past.
Shen Zheng did not disturb him. He merely and quietly filled a bag with soil from the courtyard and tucked it into Wen Zhuo’s luggage.
At last, Wen Zhuo pulled the precariously swaying courtyard gate shut with his own hands.
After leaving Liangping County, Wen Zhuo’s emotions gradually settled, but he still had no opportunity to rest. He and Shen Zheng hurried straight to Baituo Village, the worst-hit area in Mianzhou City.
As far as the eye could see, the mountains and plains were devastated. Everywhere bore the marks of locusts chewing through the land, and despair showed through the withered yellow leaves.
Only vast stretches of suhexiang trees had remained unharmed, because locusts disliked their scent.
“Look at what’s recorded in this fish-scale register.” Shen Zheng stood on the ridge between the fields and tapped the thick ledger in his hand. “There are thirty thousand mu of farmland registered here: ten thousand mu of government land, twenty thousand mu of private land, and five thousand mu of military farmland. With government land making up such a large proportion, just how heavy must the tax burden on the local people be?”
Wen Zhuo sighed softly.
The excessive amount of government land was actually a problem left over from the previous dynasty.
Back then, in an effort to resolve the many disputes caused by the concentration of land in private hands, Emperor Kangzhen had implemented a new policy known as the “Equal Division of Fields.”
All land in the realm was reclaimed by the state and then distributed evenly among farmers according to population. The farmers only needed to keep enough grain to survive; all remaining harvests were turned over to the state as rent.
Emperor Kangzhen had been convinced that this would usher in a golden age in which “everyone had fields to till, and every household lived without disputes.” The people would all labor for the nation, with no distinction between rich and poor, you or me.
What he had not expected was that the policy would give rise to all manner of disorder soon after its implementation.
To obtain a larger share of land, commoners began having children like mad. Some even falsified their household numbers. Tenant farmers, meanwhile, felt that most of their harvests went to the state, leaving them with little surplus after a year of hard work. Before long, they began to develop a desire to slack off.
With all land belonging to the state, commerce lost the foundation on which it depended and gradually withered.
Left with no choice, the court had to terminate the new policy and instead implement the “Land Reclamation Edict.”
The government organized the people to reclaim wasteland, while making it clear that all land brought under cultivation would belong to the individuals who reclaimed it. The government would only collect taxes according to regulations.
This finally restored the people’s motivation. The private farmland cultivated over the years had all been expanded in this way.
“The issue of the government fields can be set aside for now, but Your Highness, do you truly believe there are still twenty thousand mu of private farmland here?” Wen Zhuo squatted down and pressed a fingertip into the earth beneath a sweet osmanthus tree. “According to the registers, this area is clearly marked as private farmland, yet it has now been planted with so many sweet osmanthus trees. If private farmland is turned into forestland and placed in the hands of wealthy families, it could at least reduce the tax burden. But Lou Changsui continues to count this place as farmland to appease the court. The common people are truly suffering.”
As he spoke, he brushed aside the fallen leaves and found what he was looking for. He pulled a withered, shriveled stalk of rice from the earth.
In a plot of land barely three feet square, this was the only stalk growing—and yet it had still been registered in the records as a “grain field.”
Holding the stalk between his fingers, Wen Zhuo spoke gravely. “Mianzhou’s grain fields have already dwindled to a dangerously low level. If this continues, then even without a locust plague, the shrinking area of farmland combined with the rapid increase in population will bring Mianzhou to complete ruin.”
Thus, after returning from Baituo Township to Mianzhou Prefecture, Wen Zhuo issued several consecutive orders—
“The recent high-priced grain purchases have achieved their purpose. Give the order: starting today, the prefectural granary will purchase grain at a price of two hundred wen per shi. Any grain household unwilling to sell may leave Mianzhou of its own accord, but it must pay a departure tax of one thousand taels per shi.”
“Yes!” Liu Qiying had been counting the silver every day, waiting for this very moment.
“Also, the people cannot simply sit around waiting for the court to support them.” Wen Zhuo turned to the assistant prefect beside him. “They need not risk their lives at sea, but the able-bodied must be organized to reclaim wasteland and expand the area of private farmland once more. Put the county offices in charge of this matter. Set a deadline and inspect their progress every three days. There must be no delays.”
“Your subordinate obeys!” The assistant prefect did not dare waste a moment. He hurried off to draft the official notices and send them to every township.
“Change the style of Mianzhou’s Fragrance Fair. Trading fragrant materials will remain one part of it, but add fragrance blending and scent-guessing competitions as well. Commoners may participate, and the winner will receive a hundred taels of gold. In addition, encourage every inn, tavern, brothel, and teahouse to create amusements centered around fragrance. Any establishment that can make travelers linger and leave them thinking about it long afterward may have its commercial taxes waived for one year.”
The officials of Mianzhou Prefecture knelt below, scribbling away furiously, terrified that they might fail to grasp the governor’s intentions.
Wen Zhuo raised a hand and motioned for them to stand. “The New Year is fast approaching. We suffered a major disaster this year, so the beginning of the year must be celebrated with great fanfare. Fireworks and firecrackers, songs and dances in the streets, drinking and pitch-pot games, late-night food stalls, even gambling dens and flower boats—every kind of entertainment is to be permitted by the government without restriction.”
“We obey the governor’s command!” The county officials scrambled to their feet and hurried off to make arrangements.
Shen Zheng added from the side, “Fan Zhongyan’s three measures for famine relief.”
Wen Zhuo nodded. “Harsh laws are for chaotic times; clever policies are needed in years of famine.”
Shen Zheng smiled. “There is one more matter I would like to discuss with Teacher.”
Wen Zhuo turned his head to look at him. “Hm?”
“There was a fellow in the West named Malthus who once said that when the rate of population growth exceeds the rate of food production, famine, war, and disease will follow. These disasters force the population back down to a level compatible with available resources. This is known as the ‘Malthusian trap.’”
Wen Zhuo pondered for a moment, then gradually revealed a look of agreement. “I have never heard of this gentleman, but his words do make sense. Since ancient times, every change of dynasty has been caused by an excessive population and desperate living conditions. To find a way to survive, the people rise in rebellion. One war follows another, reducing the population until people can eat their fill, 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. “That is why there is something I need Liu Kangren to do.”
He paused before continuing. “Teacher knows that before the Song dynasty, the crops cultivated here were mostly japonica rice. This rice had a long growing period and demanding requirements for its fields, making it difficult to meet the people’s need for food. It was not until the early Northern Song, when Champa rice was introduced into the Central Plains, that yields became more than ten percent higher than those of native japonica rice. It was also more resistant to disasters. Only then was the Song dynasty able to support a population far larger than that of any previous dynasty.”
Wen Zhuo was well aware of this history as well, so he gestured for Shen Zheng to continue.
“The population of Great Qian is already far larger than that of the Song dynasty. Sooner or later, it will become impossible to support. We therefore need something even better—something that can feed more people.”
Modern scholars have summarized the history of ancient agricultural development as three crop revolutions. The first took place in the Stone Age, with millet, broomcorn millet, and rice.
The second occurred during the Han dynasty, with wheat and barley.
The third was the Champa rice revolution of the Song dynasty, which led to the gradual formation of a double-cropping rice system in the south.
What Shen Zheng had in mind was the fourth agricultural revolution—one that had yet to appear in Great Qian: corn, sweet potatoes, and potatoes.
“I have heard that the Westerners possess something called a potato. It has a high yield and is not demanding about the land it grows in. If we can bring potatoes into Great Qian and spread them across the nation, the people will no longer have to go hungry because of grain shortages, and the problem of insufficient private farmland may also be eased.”
Wen Zhuo immediately understood his intention. “You want Liu Kangren to travel as an envoy to the West and purchase seeds of this ‘potato’?”
“Exactly. Liu Kangren understands the Western languages. He has spent ten years inspecting the coast and dealing with foreign merchants, so he is the most suitable person to negotiate this matter. With this achievement to his name, even though he violated Great Qian’s laws by stealing grain, Father will have an excuse to let him off. There is a very good chance he will spare him.”
Shen Zheng had considered everything carefully. This was Liu Kangren’s best way out.
“That would indeed be excellent.” Wen Zhuo suddenly gave Shen Zheng a quiet, penetrating look, though his tone remained utterly even. “I can understand how Liu Kangren knows about the West. But Your Highness spent ten years as a hostage. How is it that you know so much about Western affairs?”
Shen Zheng had expected the question and did not panic. Instead, he gave a low laugh and reached up to pinch Wen Zhuo’s chin. “Is Teacher interrogating me?”
Wen Zhuo turned his head away from the other man’s familiar gesture, one brow arched. “I’m merely curious. Did you hear about it in Nanping as well? That place is full of strange prodigies and curiosities, though its development in recent years has been somewhat disappointing.”
Shen Zheng snickered inwardly. When he had caught cold, he would curl up in Wen Zhuo’s arms, obediently listen whenever his back was rubbed, and remain perfectly still when held all night. But the moment he recovered, his mind spun faster than anyone else’s, and he became so shrewd that his eyes practically glowed.
He could only offer a reasonable explanation. “Indeed. I heard about it in the place I came from.”
But he never said he came from Nanping.
