Chapter 129: Why Can’t My Family Receive Hybrid Seeds, Rewards…

Chapter 129: Why Can’t Our Family Receive the Hybrid Seed Rewards...

Wu Niangzi hopped with childlike glee, "Sir, the yield from our hybrid seeds this time is a whole 30% more—30%! Higher than regular seeds!"

Clutching her research notes, Wu Niangzi didn’t even glance at them. Every figure on those pages had been painstakingly recorded by her own hand. Late at night, she had pondered over these numbers countless times, committing them to memory so thoroughly that she no longer needed to refer to the notes.

"Last year, the average rice yield in Ji County was one dan per mu." A dan equaled about 120 jin. "A 30% increase means the yield per mu can reach one dan and three dou."

At first glance, three dou may sound trivial, but most households didn’t own just one mu of land.

Bing Wengu pored over the records on Ji County’s land distribution. "An ordinary family in Ji County typically owns five to ten mu of land. If each mu yields three dou more, the total annual grain output per household would increase by one and a half dan to three dan."

Calculated this way, the numbers were a game-changer—each household would effectively gain the equivalent of an extra one and a half mu of harvest.

"Hahaha..." A few researchers burst out laughing, their grins widening uncontrollably.

Even the yamen officers following Bing Wengu burst into hearty laughter. Everyone cheered and shouted in celebration.

Bing Wengu let the researchers celebrate wildly—singing, dancing, and shouting to their hearts’ content—without raining on their parade. Only when their voices grew hoarse and their energy waned did he step forward and bow deeply to the crowd.

"On behalf of all the people of Ji County, I thank you for your efforts. Without your tireless work day and night, we would not have achieved today’s success, nor would the people enjoy better days in the future," Bing Wengu expressed his gratitude sincerely.

Too stunned to react, they scrambled to help him up in a fluster.

"Sir, this is too much—it’s absolutely improper!" Wu Niangzi protested.

Bing Wengu straightened. "This honor is yours by right."

His words moved many to tears. Wu Niangzi dropped to her knees first, followed by all the farmers.

"Sir, thank you for your recognition," Wu Niangzi said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "This honor belongs to us, but even more so to you. Without your leadership in organizing this project, we wouldn’t have achieved these results. Without your bold hypotheses, we wouldn’t have this bountiful harvest. Without your guidance, we wouldn’t be here today."

"Sir, if this honor were to be divided, we commoners deserve only ten percent—the remaining ninety belongs to you."

Bing Wengu had established literacy classes, encouraging ordinary citizens to participate actively. For those working in his experimental base, required classes were provided by specialized tutors. That was why these farmers could now articulate concepts like "proportions."

"Working under your leadership is our greatest fortune," one farmer said, wiping away tears. "This ain’t flattery—you truly are an exceptional official. Had this been under another official, they would’ve erased our contributions and claimed all the credit for themselves. Some might’ve even whacked us to bury the secret."

Another farmer chimed in urgently, "Our sir is nothing like those petty men! He’s a heaven-sent Marshal—how could he be compared to such lowly figures? Besides, with achievements like the airplane and artificial rainfall to his name, why would he covet our small-time work?"

"I know, which is why I said we’re lucky to serve him. For the people of Ji County to be governed by him is a silver lining."

"So it’s us who should be thanking you, sir. If not for your invention of the airplane and artificial rainfall, who knows if we’d even be alive today, let alone sharing in this honor."

The farmers bowed their heads in thanks, and Bing Wengu helped each of them up.

"This honor belongs to all of us—yours and mine alike. There’s no need to defer it; we should share it together."

Bing Wengu had always known how to win hearts—mixing carrot and stick, doling out rewards and punishments as necessary.

And rewards couldn’t just be empty words.

Bing Wengu instructed Cong Lin to bring the awards he had prepared in advance.

"I once promised that if you succeeded in the hybridization experiment, you’d receive bonuses. Now, it’s time to fulfill that promise."

Each person received an award, all bearing boilerplate text—just the names were blank.

"Sir, I have a bold ask," Wu Niangzi said. "Could you personally write my name on mine?" Her admiration for Bing Wengu was pure—no crush, just hero worship. She saw him as her North Star.

"We also want Your Honor's autograph," the farmers chimed in eagerly.

It was such a minor request it barely counted as one, and Bing Wengu readily agreed, "Certainly."

He personally wrote each farmer's name on the certificates, stamped them with the government seal, and handed them over with both hands to every recipient.

The farmers held their certificates, gazing at them with delight, treating them like rare treasures.

Yet an even greater surprise awaited them. "This certificate is not just your honor—it represents your contribution to all of humanity. Therefore, I grant special privileges to its bearers: lifelong exemption from land taxes, exemption from forced labor for life for themselves and their children, exemption from commercial taxes for merchants, and for scholars, three generations’ worth of schooling at the county school, extending to their children and grandchildren for three generations."

The farmers erupted in cheers once more. Though the certificate was just a thin sheet of paper, in that moment, it felt as weighty as gold.

Lifelong tax exemption, three generations’ worth of education—even including daughters and their descendants—what did this mean? It meant their children and grandchildren would be born as scholars!

If receiving the certificate had brought joy, now they wept with joy.

But that wasn’t all. Bing Wengu decreed that every project member would receive an additional two acres of farmland and a hundred strings of coins.

At this announcement, some farmers’ legs gave way, and they dropped to their knees, unable to stand. Others tried to help them up, only to find their own legs trembling. Once they recovered, silent tears streamed down their faces—tears of joy. A hundred strings of coins! In a single day, they’d struck it rich.

The hybrid project had three leaders—two deputies and one chief. In addition to the standard rewards, each received a pure silver medal engraved with rice stalks on the front and their names on the back. They were also granted three more acres of rice fields and five hundred strings of coins.

The biggest prize went to Wu Niangzi, the chief project leader. She received twenty acres of land, a pure gold medal, a thousand taels of silver, a three-section estate in Ji County, and a shopfront.

Everyone stared at Wu Niangzi in awe, yet no one could argue she didn’t deserve it. From the very beginning, while others doubted and questioned whether the experiment would succeed, she had remained steadfast, executing the plan with unwavering belief that success was only a matter of time.

Bing Wengu still had much work awaiting him at the yamen. Before leaving, he announced, "You are granted a month’s leave. Take your families on a trip during this time, and each of you will receive one string of coins per day for expenses."

This was yet another bonus, and everyone laughed in delight.

With the hybrid experiment’s success and spring planting imminent, Bing Wengu had to return to the yamen at once to make arrangements.

Meanwhile, Wu Niangzi, still in a daze, left the experimental base and went to the Bing workshop to fetch her son.

Her sudden arrival panicked Wu Yaozu, who feared something terrible had happened.

"Mother, today isn’t your day off—why have you come so suddenly?" he asked nervously.

"My project has concluded, and His Excellency has granted me some rewards," Wu Niangzi replied, her voice strangely composed, hiding the shock that had stunned her silent.

"How much was the reward?" Wu Yaozu asked, still clueless about the staggering sum, grinning cluelessly.

Wu Niangzi dug through her pockets, handing everything over to her son.

Wu Yaozu first examined the certificate, happy but clueless about its real worth. He had no idea of the document’s future significance—how Bing Wengu would later get the emperor’s approval, adding the imperial seal. Only then would he understand what it truly meant.

Years later, when his son took the imperial examinations and should have failed, this very certificate—his grandmother’s merit—would earn him the title of xiucai.

By then, the entire family would boast about being Wu Niangzi’s kin, and future generations would thank their ancestors for unhesitatingly adopting her surname.

While most family genealogies traced back to male ancestors, the Wu family’s lineage began with a single woman’s name at the very top—a name that symbolized honor for all humanity. The Wu descendants recognized only their grandmother, with no mention of a grandfather. Some even joked they were born from a divine dream, claiming to be the result of immaculate conception. This drove their grandfather’s side of the family mad, but with the main family’s refusal to acknowledge them, there was nothing they could do.

In fact, the Zhang family—Wu Niangzi’s original lineage—even considered changing their surname to Wu, hailing her as their true ancestor.

Ironically, the surname "Wu" had initially been adopted out of desperation when no one would take in Han Niangzi, forcing her to change her name.

It was another form of irony.

It was said that the Han family once desperately tried to reconnect with Wu Niangzi, even offering to record Wu Yaozu in the Han family genealogy.

In the end, the facts proved they were the ones who were "ugly but delusional." They never even got to see her.

At this moment, Wu Yaozu was still unaware of these honors. After carefully storing the certificate, his eyes widened at the sight of the pure gold medal. "Is this fake? Copper plated with gold? Silver plated with gold?"

Wu Yaozu took a bite, leaving tooth marks on the medal. Those very marks later made him sick with regret.

"Gold-coated gold," Wu Niangzi answered absently.

"What? Gold-coated gold?" Wu Yaozu paused before exclaiming, "So it’s pure gold?"

"Pure gold," Wu Niangzi nodded dazedly.

"Mother, you’ve hit the jackpot!" Wu Yaozu cheered.

"Yes, hit the jackpot, big time," Wu Niangzi repeated blankly.

Wu Yaozu finally noticed something was off about his mother. "Mother, what’s wrong? You seem... spaced out?"

Wu Niangzi replied, "Keep looking. You’ll feel the same way soon enough."

Wu Yaozu then unfolded the papers one by one—deeds for twenty acres of land, a three-courtyard residence, a shop, and finally, a silver draft for a thousand taels.

After reading them, Wu Yaozu’s legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees before his mother.

"Mother, even bandits don’t score this big."

By the time mother and son wrapped their heads around it, a month had already passed.

Only then did Wu Niangzi remember to tell Wu Yaozu to quit his job and focus on studying.

Wu Yaozu resigned immediately. Though the Bing family, impressed by his diligence, was reluctant to let him go, they not only released him upon hearing the truth but also gave him an extra month’s wages.

Wu Yaozu refused, but the Bings insisted, citing Wu Niangzi’s achievements, forcing him to accept.

Meanwhile, Bing Wengu was dead serious about this planting season. He feared that if the yamen officers distributed the hybrid seeds, the farmers might distrust them and refuse to plant them—or worse, secretly swap them for their old seeds. So he personally went door-to-door to rally the households.

"I guarantee you this: if you use the hybrid seeds and fertilizers provided by the county office, your harvest in autumn will increase by at least twenty percent." Bing Wengu repeated this line countless times till he was hoarse.

Wu Niangzi’s hybrid experiments had yielded a thirty percent increase, but Bing Wengu, factoring in real-world conditions, only promised the farmers twenty.

"Really?" Even with Bing Wengu’s personal assurance, the farmers remained skeptical.

Cong Lin quickly defended, "If you don’t trust others, at least trust Lord Bing! He’s the one who can command the heavens to bring rain!"

The farmer gave a sheepish laugh, but doubt still lingered.

Bing Wengu understood—flowery promises wouldn’t cut it. Results would.

"Tell you what: plant the hybrid seeds I’ve brought, follow the county’s expert guidance on fertilizer use, and if your autumn harvest doesn’t increase by twenty percent, I’ll give you every last bushel from my own harvest."

"But what if the yield is worse? What if it’s even lower than last year’s harvest with my own seeds?" the farmer pushed back.

"No way that’ll happen!" Cong Lin interjected anxiously.

Bing Wengu waved him off. "No need. If your harvest doesn’t measure up to last year’s, I’ll make up the difference from last year’s haul—and on top of that, twenty percent more."

Cong Lin said, "Our magistrate always keeps his promises. Surely you don't doubt him, do you?"

"No, no!" The farmer frantically waved his hands.

"Have the villagers line up to receive the hybrid seeds," Bing Wengu instructed. "Note down how many hybrid seeds each household gets. If their harvest exceeds last year's by twenty percent, we'll only reclaim the amount of hybrid seeds originally distributed."

"Yes, my lord," Cong Lin acknowledged, directing the yamen officers to document the records while cross-referencing another ledger.

For the farmers, this was a win-win. If their yield increased by twenty percent, the surplus would be theirs to keep—they only needed to return the original quantity of hybrid seeds.

If they fell short, no problem—they wouldn’t even have to return the seeds. And if the harvest was less than last year’s, they’d still be compensated up to twenty percent more than the previous yield.

Under previous officials, the people might not have trusted such promises. But this was Bing Wengu—the man whose county school admitted girls, offering free education, meals, and lodging despite the daily expenses. Why would he stiff them over something this small?

The Zhaos were always out to grab every little advantage. How could they pass up such an opportunity? Or perhaps, since they still owed the yamen compensation for school uniforms, they were desperate to save even the seeds for food. So they hustled over to get their share of the seeds.

After a long wait, when it was finally their turn, the yamen officer checked the village registry compiled by the county school and said, "Your family isn’t listed. Next household."

Old Man and Mrs. Zhao protested in a panic, "How can we not be listed? Why not? Why can everyone else get the seeds, but not us?"