Chapter 390: They Really Harvest Quite a Lot

Being able to use something and being proficient in its use were worlds apart.

Li Daoxuan knew they couldn’t properly operate this vessel in a short time. Moreover, the cannons on this ship were all fakes—they needed to source stainless steel cannons from the artisans’ well in Gaojia Village and then install them one by one onto the ship.

For ancient people, this was no small undertaking!

They’d need to labor for quite a few more days before it could truly be put into service.

Bai Yuan obviously knew this too. He turned to Zhang Yuanwai and said, “Brother Zhang, we must select a crew, specifically to man this celestial ship. My Bai Family Fortress was built beside Horseshoe Lake; the surrounding villages have many fishermen. I plan to choose some fishermen from Bai Family Fortress as crew. Meanwhile, your Heyang County also has many fishermen who make their living year-round on the Yellow River. You should select some from there to join the crew as well.”

Zhang Yuanwai lowered his voice, “The fishermen haven’t joined the militia formation. They haven’t learned the three major disciplines and eight points of attention yet. It seems improper to put them directly on the ship.”

Bai Yuan nodded, “Truly improper. But the Yellow River’s currents are treacherous. Without experienced old fishermen who know the waters aboard, great disaster might strike. So we have no choice but to let them board first while simultaneously teaching them the three major disciplines and eight points of attention.”

At this, Bai Yuan’s expression turned grave, “We absolutely must select the men carefully. If spies sneak onto the celestial ship and cause trouble, overturning the vessel… the Deity will surely grow angry.”

The words “the Deity grows angry” startled Zhang Yuanwai tremendously. The saying went that a god’s rage could rend heaven and earth. If the Deity truly became angry, blamed him for the poor selection, and vented that wrath upon him personally—how could he possibly withstand that?

Zhang Yuanwai had read Journey to the West. There was a passage describing how a couple quarreling in Fengxian County knocked over an altar table meant for celestial offerings, thereby offending the Jade Emperor. In revenge, the Jade Emperor withheld rain from Fengxian County. He decreed that rain would only fall once a chicken pecked through a mountain-sized pile of rice, a dog licked clean a mountain-sized pile of flour, and an oil lamp burned through a golden chain. Fengxian County suffered a drought for three years—famine spread across the land, corpses piled everywhere. Only when Xuanzang’s entourage arrived was the feud finally resolved.

Modern people hearing this story would surely curse the Jade Emperor as narrow-minded, cruel, and heartless—a dog turd emperor unfit to rule the world. Even though he was a god, they’d want to find some “god-slayers” to chop him up and feed him to dogs.

But ancient people dared not blame the Jade Emperor’s faults; they could only blame themselves for failing to revere the gods sufficiently.

Zhang Yuanwai swallowed hard, thinking: Whatever I do, I must not provoke divine wrath, or the consequences would be unthinkable. He immediately bowed deeply toward a low cloud drifting across the sky, “Deity, rest assured! This humble man will do his utmost to carefully select the crew and cause no trouble for your venerable self.”

Bai Yuan and Zhang Yuanwai deployed a strong guard force to tightly protect the “celestial ship” at the dock. Zhang Yuanwai busied himself selecting fishermen of fine character, while Bai Yuan galloped back with urgent speed—first to the artisans’ well in Gaojia Village to inform Thirty-Two to arrange men to replace the ship’s fake cannons with real ones. Then he dashed home to Horseshoe Lake by Bai Family Fortress to recruit fishermen from his own lands, men who’d long followed the Deity.

…

Yang Village, Heyang County.

A group of farmers were burning stalks in the fields.

Stalk burning was prohibited in modern times, but in this era, it remained a primary method farmers used to fertilize the soil and eliminate pests and diseases.

Watching the stalks burn, the farmers chatted, “Old Yang, how much grain did your family harvest this year?”

Old Yang shook his head, “Two mu of land, four dan of grain.”

“Wow, quite a bit! Why the shake of the head then?”

Old Yang sighed, “At Gaojia Village, they get four dan of grain from just one mu! What’s there to boast about getting four dan from two?”

“They weren’t bragging, were they?”

“What nonsense!” Old Yang retorted, “The smith, Young Yang, from the village—you all know him, right? He took his smithing skills to Gaojia Village to earn big money. He came back a few days ago to visit relatives and told us himself: one mu yields four dan at Gaojia Village.”

“Wow!”

This made the farmers of Yang Village unable to stay calm, “What methods did they use?”

Old Yang: “Heard it was thanks to celestial fertilizer bestowed by the Deity. That celestial fertilizer is far superior to our dung fertilizer. Called something… something about scientific proportion? Anyway, I didn’t understand it properly, only managed to remember those words.”

One farmer said, “Then let’s go buy celestial fertilizer from Gaojia Village.”

Old Yang: “Having the celestial fertilizer alone isn’t enough. You need to know how to use it. We’ve farmed all our lives—don’t we understand you can’t just fling fertilizer around haphazardly? If you mess up using the celestial fertilizer and apply it wrong, you’ll burn the roots, get no crop at all.”

That made sense!

Veteran farmers knew that not applying fertilizer just meant a slightly smaller harvest. But applying the wrong fertilizer could kill all the crops in an entire field, resulting in total crop failure.

Another farmer suggested, “Then we should go to Gaojia Village to learn it!”

Old Yang: “Worried they won’t be willing to teach.”

Everyone sighed. Indeed—who’d willingly teach others such a prized skill, their ultimate family secret?

“Hurry up and finish burning these stalks. Before winter comes, we still have time to plant some mixed vegetables.”

The farmers murmured agreement, readying themselves to get back to working.

Just then, a public sun chariot rumbled down the cement road past Yang Village. Over a dozen people hopped off—mostly farmers. Despite wearing clean cotton clothes, their sun-tanned skin and the way they immediately glanced toward the fields confirmed their identities—genuine farmers through and through.

Among this group of farmers was a scholarly man in his thirties. He appeared refined, gentle, almost fragile-looking. Surrounded by the farmers, he seemed to be the leader.

The farmers of Yang Village watched curiously: What kind of strange group is this? A scholar leading a bunch of farmers here?

These unexpected visitors unloaded several large sacks from the public sun chariot. Words were written on the sacks, but the farmers of Yang Village were illiterate and couldn’t decipher what was inside.

Scanning the surroundings, the newcomers quickly spotted the assembled Yang Village farmers. Hoisting the sacks, they trotted briskly over.

The scholar followed, jogging along. After just a few paces, he suddenly clutched his knees, panting heavily: “Sl… slow down… I… can’t keep up…”

The farmers stopped, letting him catch his breath, before continuing over a few more ridges. The short journey took this group a surprisingly long time. Finally, they reached the Yang Village farmers.

The scholar, huffing and puffing, gasped out: “Phew… phew… Y-you… are… farmers of Yang Village? W-we… came from G-Gaojia Village… I’m… Zhao Sheng… everyone calls me… Mr. Zhao…”

Old Yang jumped in alarm, “Mr. Zhao, please stop talking! Sit, sit… You’re from Gaojia Village? May I ask what brings you to Yang Village?”