Chapter 51

Chapter 51

For mala tang to be authentic, it must deliver both numbing and spicy flavors. Unfortunately, this era lacks chili peppers, but Wang Ying discovered that local farmers have an alternative—zhuyu.

Zhuyu comes in several varieties: Wu zhuyu, mountain zhuyu, and edible zhuyu, the last of which carries a spicy kick.

This ingredient is even spicier than ordinary chili peppers. Last time, Wang Ying bought a small amount and accidentally got some on his face while cooking, which left him sniffling and teary-eyed from the spice. Today, it’s the perfect addition for making mala tang.

He recreated the Northeastern-style Mala Tang he used to buy near his school gate. Besides common vegetables, he also made fish balls and lamb balls from scratch.

The fish was caught by Old Liang, who has recently taken up fishing. After lunch each day, he heads to a nearby stream to cast his line and has actually reeled in quite a few—though they’re mostly small, with little meat to speak of. Wang Ying cleaned them, minced the fish, and formed them into balls.

The staple was crispy-fried noodles, like instant noodles in texture, which become chewy when boiled together.

At dinner, the old man ate two big bowls and still wanted more. “This is delicious! The mala tang is really tasty!”

Wang Ying took his bowl and didn't give him more. “If you enjoy it, I’ll make it again tomorrow. But don’t overeat—it’s easy to get indigestion.”

Liang Boqing looked wistfully at the pot, wiping his beard with a handkerchief. “Then you must remember to make it tomorrow.”

Wang Ying couldn’t help but laugh. Who would have thought this great scholar would turn out to be such a foodie?

After the meal, the three students joined the old man for a stroll in the courtyard to walk off their meal. The May evening breeze was cool, and thanks to the sulfur from the hot springs, there wasn’t a mosquito in sight—only crickets chirping away.

“Have you all read the letter from Shanzhou?”

The three replied in unison, “Yes, we have.”

“Any thoughts?”

They fell silent, unsure what their teacher meant.

“Zheng He is facing difficulties. Since you have nothing better to do, why not offer some strategies to help share his burdens?”

Qing Huai was the first to speak. “I believe suppressing the bandits should be the priority. After the rebel forces were defeated in the late years of the previous dynasty, many retreated to Shanzhou, Lanzhou, and Lingzhou. Additionally, the area is populated by many Hu and Di tribes—they are not our people and resist authority. If left unchecked, they will become a major threat.”

Liang Boqing stroked his beard thoughtfully but neither praised nor criticized the idea. Instead, he turned to the others. “What do you two think?”

Chen Qingsong said, “I agree with my cousin, but perhaps we should offer them amnesty first. If they refuse to surrender, then we suppress them.”

After pondering for a moment, Chen Qingyan finally spoke. “I think my brothers’ suggestions have flaws. Records show that Shanzhou has been Han Chinese territory since the Sui Dynasty, when it was named Pingxi Prefecture. Although it borders areas outside the frontier, the majority of its inhabitants are Han.

Many turned to banditry out of desperation—Shanzhou is arid, with scarce crops, and people resorted to robbery to survive.”

Noting that Liang Boqing didn’t interrupt, Chen Qingyan continued, “Amnesty and suppression might work temporarily, but if people remain hungry, they will return to banditry. Only by solving the livelihood issues can we achieve long-term stability.”

Liang Boqing nodded. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. Do you have any solutions?”

“I haven't thought of any yet.”

Wang Ying, who had been listening quietly, suddenly spoke up. “Actually, it’s not that difficult.”

Liang Boqing, far from dismissing him because of his identity, grew intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Shanzhou corresponds roughly to modern-day Qinghai. The region has a temperate continental climate with one growing season per year, from spring planting to autumn harvest. Crops often face extreme natural disasters like drought, hail, low temperatures, and frost. A single disaster could wipe out an entire year’s harvest, which is why the area remains poor.

If agriculture isn’t viable, they could focus on livestock herding and commerce—the main economic pillars of Qinghai in later generations.

Wang Ying explained, “Shanzhou has always had an unpredictable climate unsuitable for crops, but its grasslands are lush and ideal for pastoralism. They could shift from farming to herding—raising sheep and cattle, developing textiles. I’ve heard that wool fabric is sturdier, softer, and warmer than cotton.

Besides, lamb meat and sheepskins are also sources of income. As for food, Shanzhou borders the Wu Dynasty’s biggest grain-producing region. If trade flourishes, they won’t lack the funds to buy grain.”

Liang Boqing was impressed. Who would have thought this young man had such insight? “It’s a pity you’re not a man. Otherwise, you’d surely achieve more than these three.”

Wang Ying scratched his head awkwardly. He was merely using knowledge from the future to view history from above—it wasn’t any special skill.

“I’ll include all your suggestions in a letter to Zheng He and see if he can use them.”

As it grew late, everyone went to their rooms. Chen Qingyan, still troubled by his uncle’s letter, couldn’t sleep and kept Wang Ying up discussing Shanzhou.

“Brother, how would we implement the shift from farming to herding? And what about the bandits in the mountains? How can commerce develop without solving the bandit problem?”

Wang Ying, drowsy, leaned against his shoulder and mumbled, “Isn’t it straightforward? First, crack down hard and execute a few notorious bandit leaders—make an example of them. Then, employ a policy of amnesty to win the others over. Let the mountain folk see the benefits, so they won’t consider returning to banditry.”

“What else?”

“And… I’m too sleepy. I want to sleep.”

Chen Qingyan rolled over, pressing against him. “Brother, tell me more.”

Wang Ying, now awake, unhesitatingly took off his clothes, and the two held each other close, their movements syncing.

“Ah… slower… The government could implement incentives—for example, cut their taxes for families raising ten sheep, or avoid forced labor for those with twenty… Ah… Organize merchants to buy wool fabrics, build roads and relay stations, open up the Longxi trade route, and focus on developing economic trade…” His words soon dissolved into soft moans.

Farmers rarely get a break in May, as people busily labor. The night brings southern winds, and wheat fields turn golden, covering the ridges.

*

The wheat in the fields ripened. Due to spring drought, this year’s harvest was about twenty percent lower than usual—and that was only thanks to the villagers’ hard work watering the fields. Without it, the yield would have been even worse.

Yet one field was different, its full heads of wheat standing taller than the surrounding wheat.

When Wang Ying arrived early in the morning, he found a crowd gathered around the experimental field. “Why is everyone here?”

Chen Xi explained, “We heard you were harvesting this plot today. Everyone wanted to see how much grain it would yield.”

Wang Ying smiled. “Great! I’ll need a few strong helpers to bring in the harvest.”

Seven or eight men volunteered, taking sickles into the field. Skilled laborers, they finished cutting all the wheat in just an hour.

The wheat was bundled neatly and stacked to the side. Elderly farmers, with a glance, guessed the harvest.

“This mu must produce at least five dan of wheat!”

“Five dan? That’s underestimating—it’s surely six dan or more!” That would be about six hundred pounds. Typically, a good acre yielded at most four dan of grain. With drought or pests, it might only produce two or three dan, while poorer land yielded just one dan.

This wheat was not only hardy against drought but also high-yielding, astonishing everyone.

In truth, this yield didn’t meet modern standards—Changfeng 3 could produce up to a thousand pounds per mu in later generations. But without pesticides or fertilizers in this era, such a harvest was remarkable.

Most importantly, Changfeng 3 proved even more drought-resistant than during his trials, especially since only one rain had fallen all spring.

Wang Ying announced, “After these grains are dried, each household can get thirty pounds for seeds. Next year, we’ll replace all the wheat in our fields with this variety.”

The villagers cheered excitedly, waving wheat stalks enthusiastically. If every fertile mu could yield this much, every family would have surplus grain!

Liang Boqing, fishing by the river, heard the commotion and looked up. “What are they doing?”

Chen Qingyan replied, “A Ying said he was harvesting wheat today. They’re probably celebrating the good harvest.”

"Let's go take a look."

A few people carrying wooden buckets and fishing rods walked over. "Young Master Wang, what are you all doing here?"

"Elder Liang, the wheat in this field has yielded quite well. I plan to distribute the seeds to the villagers so they can increase their harvest next year."

"How much is 'quite well'?"

"About six dan (approximately 360 kilograms) per mu (approximately 0.07 hectares), and if the weather is favorable, it could reach seven dan." Wang Ying dared not exaggerate too much, fearing he might end up embarrassing himself if the results fell short.

Liang Boqing’s expression instantly turned serious. "Are you telling the truth?"

"I wouldn’t dare lie. This field was planted with winter wheat last winter, and its yield is much higher than the other fields."

"Where did the seeds come from?"

"I cultivated them myself by hybridizing several types of wheat and selecting the best seeds." Wang Ying wasn’t lying—in his previous life, his studies had focused on this very subject, and Changfeng 3 was an improved version of an already high-yield wheat variety he had worked on.

Liang Boqing stroked his beard, his brows furrowed.

Seeing his reaction, Wang Ying grew uneasy. "Is... there something wrong?"

"Can you write a detailed account of the cultivation process?"

"Of course." This had been Wang Ying’s graduation project—he had even written a thirty-page thesis on it, though it had gone unused before he crossed over.

"Write down the process of your seed cultivation, and leave me ten jin (approximately 5 kilograms) of these wheat seeds!"

"Yes."

At that moment, Wang Ying had no idea what doubling wheat yields would ultimately mean.

Liang Boqing had a former classmate who served as the Minister of Agriculture in the court. During a conversation in the capital, he had mentioned that one of his subordinates, a low-ranking agricultural official, had been promoted to a sixth-rank position due to his skill in cultivating superior seeds.

If what Young Master Wang said was true, his abilities might even surpass that official’s. With this, he could seek imperial favor—perhaps Chen Qingyan wouldn’t have to wait years to clear his name in the imperial examinations!

Upon returning, Wang Ying worked through the night, writing out the cultivation process for Changfeng 3, filling over ten pages of rough paper. To avoid raising suspicion, he omitted any references to modern science, keeping only the basic hybridization steps.

Even so, it opened a new world of understanding for the people of this era.

The next day, Liang Boqing read through the contents. Though he knew little about agriculture, he was deeply impressed by the intricate and meticulous cultivation methods described.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I... didn’t learn it from anyone. I just figured it out through trial and error while farming."

Liang Boqing tapped the rough draft. "Your handwriting is terrible. Qing Yan, help your husband rewrite this neatly and give it to me."

Within a few days, the letter, along with ten jin of dried wheat seeds, was sent to the capital.