Gu Jinghong couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion as he watched the brother and sister sharing an umbrella.
Song Qiming, already a prefect of Suining at the fifth rank, was personally holding the umbrella for Song Jinzhao, with half his shoulder exposed to the rain.
All the marked rice stalks had been cut and transported to the empty hut beside the labor camp.
The quantity was small, and when piled together, it only reached Song Qiming’s height.
Liu Hucheng spotted them entering and hurried over to report.
“Paying respects to the Lady of Linghui,” he said.
Then, his eyes lit up as he turned to Song Qiming.
“Your Excellency, all the marked rice from the nearby villages has been brought back.”
“After threshing and weighing, each hundred ears of rice yields thirty percent more grain than ordinary ones.”
A flicker of brightness passed through Song Jinzhao’s eyes.
A universal increase of thirty percent—after several rounds of cultivation, the yield would surely rise even higher.
Song Qiming strode over to two barrels with an expression of excitement.
He grabbed a handful of the high-yield rice and examined it closely. His heart pounded as if it might leap from his chest.
Upon closer inspection, the grains in the left barrel were noticeably plumpier than those in the right.
He carefully peeled off the outer husk: the rice on the left was also cleaner, brighter, and covered in a translucent sheen.
Song Qiming turned to Liu Hucheng and gave orders.
“Thresh and dry all the ears immediately. Not a single mistake is allowed.”
Next year, these would be used for sowing, and the quantity of high-yield seeds could multiply by hundreds of times. In just a few years, farmers across the land would be able to plant this productive rice.
Gu Jinghong cupped a handful of rice, his gaze flickering. In the end, he dismissed the thought of taking some back with him.
It would be unseemly to pluck the fruit of others’ hard work. Better to return and share the method with Grandfather. If Suining could find such seeds, Songzhou surely could too.
Or, he could wait until next year, when this batch of high-yield rice had been cultivated, and then request a portion.
He smiled and congratulated Song Qiming: “When this rice seed benefits millions in the future, your name will surely go down in history.”
Song Qiming’s joy-filled gaze settled on Song Jinzhao’s face, his chest swelling with pride.
“If anyone deserves the credit, it’s Sister. I never imagined the yield gap would be so obvious.”
Song Jinzhao crushed a grain of rice between her fingers. The flour was naturally milky white, carrying a faintly sweet, floury smell, with a rich rice fragrance.
“This is only the first step. The subsequent planting is equally crucial. Even if these are high-yield seeds now, the next crop might not produce as much. We must continuously weed out the inferior to stabilize their quality.”
Song Qiming quickly nodded. In his heart, his sister’s words were like an imperial decree—he had to listen and put in every ounce of effort to carry them out.
Walking out of the hut and looking at the laborers threshing rice with a machine in the fields, Song Jinzhao turned and asked, “Are there any extra threshing machines left in the county office?”
“Are they being sold?”
The light in Song Qiming’s eyes grew even brighter than before.
“I’ve already sent people to promote the threshing machines among wealthy families who own hundreds of acres of good farmland in the city. We’ve also delivered two to each village. Those who want to use them can pay a fee based on the acreage. Of course, they can’t use them for free—we need to recover the manufacturing costs.”
Gu Jinghong raised his eyebrows in surprise.
As expected, he was cut from the same cloth as Song Anhao—the blood of commerce ran in his veins.
Song Jinzhao nodded slightly, very satisfied with both measures.
“Send four more machines to the east, south, west, and north gates of the inner city. There are plenty of people there. Have the constables demonstrate them on the spot for the public—news will spread faster that way.”
Song Qiming nodded vigorously, his chin moving like a chicken’s beak, and immediately ordered the constables to carry it out.
