Chapter 218: Harvest

“…” Xie Qian thought he was depressed.

After all, he was here to complain about Fang Jifan’s conduct.

How did it suddenly become the Crown Prince’s fault instead?

But… even though Fang Jifan was also known for causing trouble, upon second thought, perhaps the Crown Prince was indeed the one being unruly.

However… as a Grand Secretary of the Grand Secretariat, how could he criticize the Crown Prince so openly?

As a result, Liu Jian and the others all fell silent, with only a few awkward coughs breaking the stillness.

However, Emperor Hongzhi’s face was filled with agitation. He fumed angrily, “I thought punishing him by making him kneel and scolding him a few times would set him straight. I truly didn’t expect this disobedient son to be so unrepentant. Starting an academy? What does he think he is? He doesn’t know his place!”

Emperor Hongzhi was furious.

Typically, aside from the imperial court’s Imperial College and official schools across the country, small private schools were usually called village schools. Those bold enough to call themselves “academies” were usually founded by noted scholars, if not already famous across the land. How could an ordinary person have the audacity to call their school an “academy” and even refer to themselves as an “Academy Head”?

How shameless must one be to do such a thing?

And this disobedient son—so young, holding the honored title of Crown Prince—should be focusing on his studies. Instead, he was starting his own academy? Wasn’t that utterly shameful? If word got out, it would undoubtedly draw public ridicule. What would become of the royal family’s dignity?

This was absurd, like a monkey dressed in human clothes—completely unbecoming.

Emperor Hongzhi showed signs of growing rage. If Zhu Houzhao were here, he felt like swinging his arm and slapping this disobedient son to the ground, then grabbing a whip to beat the shameless scoundrel to death.

Moreover, when he thought about Fang Jifan—now preparing greenhouses as winter approached—he recalled his earlier visit to the Western Hills. There were mines, greenhouses, the Tuntian Hundred-Household Office, and so many livelihoods depending on it. And now, even Fang Jifan was getting dragged into this mess by his rebellious son. Was Zhu Houzhao even human? Instead of learning from Fang Jifan and sharing the country’s burdens, all he did was cause trouble and get in the way—utterly despicable!

Seeing Emperor Hongzhi’s dark expression and rising temper, Xie Qian coughed and added, “Your Majesty is too harsh. The Crown Prince… Oh, there’s one more matter. A censor has accused Fang Jifan of forcing tenants at Longquan Taoist Temple to plant so-called ‘ginseng fruits,’ causing widespread discontent. After the drought, people around the Capital had begun planting wheat urgently. Longquan Taoist Temple owns a lot of land, and Fang Jifan is promoting something called Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Ginseng. Although I’ve held back the memorial of accusation, I can’t help but feel that Fang Jifan might be somewhat…”

“Are you talking about that thing he kept insisting could yield twenty dan per mu?” Emperor Hongzhi couldn’t help but shake his head with a bitter smile.

His anger subsided slightly. It seemed Fang Jifan had his moments of foolishness too.

If Fang Jifan had said three to five dan, he might have believed it. But twenty dan, and of grain? It sounded like pure fantasy!

Emperor Hongzhi was no Emperor Hui of Jin—he wouldn’t suggest “why not eat meat” instead of grain. Shaking his head, he smiled faintly and said, “Let it be. I’ve heard this wasn’t forced by Fang Jifan. Longquan Taoist Temple seemed quite supportive of it. Since the land belongs to the temple, it’s ultimately a matter between them and their tenants. Is the Censorate so idle now that they meddle in disputes between landowners and tenants?”

“This…” Xie Qian smiled wryly. “What I meant was, the Northern Region is already facing poor harvests. The wheat that has just been planted is still in its early stages, and frost is likely coming soon. Many tenants in the north are anxious, fearing not just a poor harvest this year but another disaster on top of it. The common people will have a tough year. Now, with this situation—good farmland not being used to grow as much grain as possible, but instead planted with useless things—it brings no benefit to the state.”

Emperor Hongzhi simply nodded without delving deeper.

He was gradually forming a favorable impression of Fang Jifan. Despite his flaws, his merits outweighed them. Emperor Hongzhi didn’t want to criticize him over this.

As the discussion reached this point, Emperor Hongzhi seemed to recall something and turned to say, “Ah, I remember an important matter. Wait here for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

With that, he hurriedly stood up and went into the inner chamber of the Warm Pavilion. Xiao Jing, who had been attending nearby, quickly followed.

“Bring the brocade box,” Emperor Hongzhi ordered directly upon seeing Xiao Jing.

Xiao Jing naturally knew what the brocade box was. It contained many letters, but the Emperor had warned not to open them. Xiao Jing was a dutiful man; although he knew His Majesty had been spending his days reading these letters and writing something at his desk, he never dared to cross that line.

Soon, the brocade box was brought. Xiao Jing handed it to Emperor Hongzhi and quietly stepped aside.

Emperor Hongzhi opened the box and skillfully pulled out one of the letters. He couldn’t help but mutter to himself, “I almost forgot to remind Xu Jie—he mustn’t bully Zhang Xiaohu or call him ugly. If I hadn’t remembered today and sent the letter hastily, Zhang Xiaohu would probably come to complain again.”

These days, Emperor Hongzhi had already sent one letter to the Western Hills, containing many warnings. The students had also replied with letters, and Emperor Hongzhi found them amusing. Reading them often lifted his spirits.

In his weariness, it actually helped relieve his fatigue.

At times, he thought it childish, but upon reflection, he decided, “What does it matter? It’s one of the few joys in my life.”

He had already written a reply and planned to summon Fang Jifan in a couple of days to send the letters back to the Western Hills. But suddenly remembering, he felt it necessary to add another reminder.

He carefully prepared his brush and ink, picked up the brush, and added a few lines to Xu Jie’s letter before putting the brush back in its holder.

After finishing, he instructed Xiao Jing to tidy everything up. Emperor Hongzhi then returned to where Liu Jian and the others were waiting and, appearing as if nothing had happened, asked, “Where were we?”

…

Western Hills

The murmurs of children reading grew louder and clearer.

Wang Jinyuan followed Fang Jifan’s instructions and built a new academy at the Southern Foothills. This time, the buildings were made of blue bricks and red tiles, so there would be no more worries about leaking roofs or drafts.

With the help of Provincial Graduates and Xiucai for basic education, the children progressed quickly and could already read the Analects. Their studies were demanding; they had to rise at mao hour for morning reading. Once the morning recitations began, the entire Western Hills seemed to come alive.

The miners had already eaten their hot breakfast and were preparing for work, carrying their pickaxes. The Baihu Station began its morning roll call.

The furnaces at the Glass Workshop never stopped, so work shifts rotated in two groups, with some artisans starting their shift and others finishing.

The women usually raised chickens and ducks, and around this time, they began preparing grain feed.

Everyone who heard the children reading felt a sense of satisfaction. For many here, education was a remarkable achievement, especially when it was their own children learning. Even those without children yet, upon hearing the reading, felt a greater hope for their future lives.

“There might be a change in weather soon—frost is likely,” said Zhang Xin, who had just finished roll call, staring intently at the glass window of the Baihu Station. He frowned, looking deeply worried.

In the early morning, a white mist had settled, gradually turning into dew…

Lately, though he carried on as usual, he had become more withdrawn and quiet, so much so that his comrades in the Military Agricultural Guard dared not approach him too closely. Only when it came to Military Farming did Zhang Xin speak more, his complexion regaining some color as he looked at the built greenhouses and the planted Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Ginseng.

He limped a few steps—an injury from tripping a few days prior. The physician had treated him and stopped the bleeding, but walking was still a bit unsteady.

Suddenly, he said, “Quickly, summon the Newly Established Count. We’re harvesting the ginseng from the Southern Foothills today, the first harvest, so the Bai Hu should be present. Zongqi Zhou, you need to go to Longquan Taoist Temple. Yesterday evening, someone from the temple’s villagers reported that their water channel seemed cut off—maybe someone nearby diverted our water. At this crucial time, we absolutely cannot lack irrigation water…”

After giving these orders, everyone busily set about their tasks.

Upon receiving the report, Fang Jifan hurried over. He was also anxious; with frost approaching and the weather changing rapidly, he wasn’t sure when the sweet potatoes would fully mature. So, after hearing from Zhang Xin, he rushed over on horseback.

Dismounting, Fang Jifan approached Zhang Xin and asked, “Are they ready?”

Zhang Xin had been eagerly waiting. The sun was out today, making it noticeably warmer!

He nodded and said, “We tried harvesting a couple of times over the last two days. The plants at the Southern Foothills grew faster, so they should be ready.”

With that, the group hurried to the Southern Foothills.

There, a vast expanse of potato leaves densely covered thousands of mu of land.

Walking along the ridge, Zhang Xin led the way, still holding his Bamboo Slips. Fang Jifan followed behind, watching this poor man whose wife had left him. He noticed Zhang Xin’s back was slightly hunched—it seemed the man had suffered quite a blow.

His withdrawn silence was especially heartbreaking.

Finding a suitable spot, Zhang Xin took a deep breath, seemingly waiting for Fang Jifan’s confirming look.

Fang Jifan felt a surge of excitement and crouched down as well. “I’ll dig it up myself.”

Without minding the dirt, Fang Jifan used his bare hands to dig into the soil. Before long, the edge of a large, dark-red tuber emerged from the earth.