Han Ji

Chapter 146 Five Grains Abundant

Chapter 146 Abundant Harvest

Zhang Fei personally distributed the salt. An old farmer received some, held it in his hands, and exclaimed, trembling, "General... this salt is so white!"

"Nonsense!" Zhang Fei laughed. "It's from our salt well, of course it's white! Take it back to pickle vegetables and meat, and we won't have to worry about the winter!"

The old farmer thanked him profusely and left.

Jian Yong said to Zhang Fei, "Yide, over at the salt wells..."

"Everything's going smoothly!" Zhang Fei patted his chest. "Eighty bushels a day, the warehouses are overflowing! My brother said, having too much salt isn't the problem, the problem is not having enough. I even had the craftsmen improve the salt-drying method, so next year we can produce another 30%!"

As the two were talking, Wang Wu arrived with his river corps. They were there to help the elderly widow harvest her grain. Thirty soldiers scattered into the fields, took the sickles from the old woman's hands, and began to cut the grain with swift, precise strokes.

Wang Wu helped a blind old woman sit down on the edge of the field: "Grandma, you rest, we'll do the work!"

The old woman wiped away her tears: "Sir... how can this be..."

"Of course!" Wang Wu chuckled. "The magistrate said that it is the duty of soldiers to protect the borders and ensure the safety of the people. What kind of soldiers are we if the people are not at peace?"

Jian Yong watched this scene and wrote down on his bamboo slips: "October 12th, autumn harvest in Mianyang. Soldiers assist the people, salt benefits farmers, and the people's hearts are more steadfast."

In Xixiang, Wang Chun voluntarily set up the grain collection point at the entrance of his own manor.

He personally oversaw the operation, with the accountant keeping records and the farmhands weighing the grain. The tenants lined up to hand over their grain, and after doing so, they received their share according to the "Edict to Encourage Agriculture." Some people tried to carry the grain away on the spot, but Wang Chun stopped them.

"What's the rush?" He pointed to the open space in the village. "Thresh the grain right here, dry it in the sun, and then carry it back. Who cares if the wet grain gets moldy?"

He also had mung bean soup and coarse bread prepared for the tenants to eat and drink when they rested.

When Du Xi passed by and saw this, he dismounted and laughed, "Your Highness, your pomp and circumstance is even more elaborate than that of the prefectural government."

Wang Chun wiped his sweat: "Lord Du is joking... This is just responding to the governor's call."

The two walked to a tree nearby. Du Xi whispered, "I heard that the magistrate plans to set up granaries in each county to store grain in good years and distribute it in bad years. Your manor is in a good location; perhaps it could be a suitable place."

Wang Chun's eyes lit up: "Really?"

"I heard Clerk Jian mention it yesterday," Du Xi said. "But the granary requires you to provide the land, and the prefecture will provide the grain. Half of the stored grain will be yours as a storage fee."

"This deal is a steal!" Wang Chun rubbed his hands together. "Master Du, we still need your kind words..."

"I wouldn't call it flattery," Du Xi waved his hand. "The governor appoints people based on their actual results. If you do a good job with the autumn harvest, you'll naturally have a chance."

Just then, a commotion arose from the fields in the distance. A farmhand ran over: "Prefect, it's said that Li Liuzi's land was under-counted by three-tenths of an acre last year, and they need to make up for it this year..."

Wang Chun frowned: "Underestimated? Didn't the accounts say eight mu?"

"Li Zifei said it was eight and a half acres —"

"I'll go take a look."

Li Bingzi, an elderly tenant farmer in his fifties with a crippled left leg, was arguing with a farmhand. Upon seeing Wang Chun, he knelt down abruptly: "Lord Wang! My old man's land is indeed eight and three-tenths mu! Last year, the official who measured the land was drunk and underestimated it by three-tenths..."

Wang Chun didn't speak, but walked to the edge of the field and looked at it. The field was rectangular, with clearly defined boundaries. He beckoned to the accountant: "Bring a measuring tape and rope, and measure it again."

Upon remeasurement, it was indeed eight and a half acres.

Wang Chun stared at the accounting office: "Who took the measurements last year?"

The accountant bowed his head: "Yes, yes, it's Zhao Er..."

"Deduct three months' wages from him," Wang Chun said, turning to Li Bingzi. "Three-tenths of an acre of land, and you'll be compensated with grain based on this year's harvest. How much should that be?"

The accountant used an abacus: "Three-tenths of an acre of land, at a yield of two shi per acre, should yield six dou of grain."

"One shi (a unit of dry measure) will be added," Wang Chun waved his hand. "From my granary. From now on, anyone who dares to be careless when measuring fields will be fired!"

Li Bingzi kowtowed, tears streaming down his face.

Du Xi watched from the side and nodded slightly.

The news spread that very day. The tenants all said: "The prince has changed."

Wang Chun listened to the rumors and smiled bitterly.

Has it changed? No, the times have changed.

By early November, all the autumn grain had been stored.

In the Household Affairs Corridor, the sound of abacuses rang all night.

Jian Yong, Qian Laoli, Sun Laoli, and Li Laoli checked the figures reported by each county. Millet, rice,

Beans and wheat were categorized and registered.

As dawn approached, the verification was finally completed.

Jian Yong rubbed his red eyes and picked up his pen to write down the general account: "In the fourth year of Zhongping, the entire Hanzhong prefecture cultivated 358,000 mu of land, and actually harvested 720,000 shi of grain. Of this, 288,000 shi came from the prefectural granary, and 432,000 shi were retained by the households. In addition, the salt wells produced 33,000 shi of salt, and the treasury had a surplus of 65 million coins."

He paused, then added a line: "Compared to last year, farmland has increased by 78,000 mu, grain by 130,000 shi, salt by 5,000 shi, and money by 10 million."

After writing it down, he sealed the account book and sent it to the military camp.

Liu Bei was watching Zhang Wu drill his personal guards at the training ground. He took the account book, quickly glanced at it, and nodded.

"Are the people left with enough grain to eat?"

"That's enough," Jian Yong said. "Based on an average of five people per household and an annual grain consumption of fifteen shi, the grain that each household keeps can last until the autumn harvest the year after next, with some left over."

"Where is the granary?"

"Six hundred and thirty thousand shi (a unit of dry measure) is enough for the expenses of five thousand soldiers for three years, plus relief, construction projects, and other expenses, more than enough."

Liu Bei closed the ledger: "Good. But the grain cannot just be stored away. Allocate 50,000 shi to be transported to the three passes of Yangping Pass, Ju County, and Micang Road for storage. Allocate another 30,000 shi to be sent to the granaries in various counties. The remainder, 150,000 shi will be kept in the Nanzheng granary, and 50,000 shi each in Mianyang and Xixiang."

Jian Yong noted: "That salt profit..."

"Don't touch the salt profits," Liu Bei said. "Of the 65 million coins, 50 million will go into the treasury, and 10 million will be allocated to the various camps for military pay, pensions, and rewards. The remaining 5 million is yours to use as you see fit—for road repairs, granaries, or whatever else is necessary."

When the news reached Su Garden, Su Gu was admiring chrysanthemums in the pavilion.

The chrysanthemums, yellow and white, were in full bloom. He listened to the old servant finish reading the autumn harvest summary, and remained silent for a long time.

"Seven hundred and twenty thousand shi..." he murmured. "In the eight years I governed Hanzhong, the best year I ever saw was no more than five hundred thousand shi."

The old servant whispered, "Prefect, Lord Liu's ability to govern this prefecture..."

"It's not that he's capable," Su Gu shook his head. "It's that he's willing. Willing to reduce rents, willing to reclaim wasteland, willing to share the benefits with the people. When the people benefit, they're naturally willing to put in the effort."

He picked a white chrysanthemum and twirled it in his hand.

"I used to think that if I held the grain, the soldiers, and the power, everything would be secure." He smiled bitterly. "But if you hold on too tightly, things will break. And if they break, you'll have nothing left."

He threw the chrysanthemum into the pond; the petals scattered and drifted away with the water.

A breeze blows, and the garden is filled with the fragrance of chrysanthemums.

Liu Bei sat alone in his tent, unfolding the scroll of "Map of Yizhou Prefectures and Counties".

The finger traces across Hanzhong, across Ba County, across Chengdu, and finally stops at the Three Gorges of the Yangtze River.

The waters there are swift and the rapids are dangerous; it is the gateway to Sichuan.

Indeed... the gateway to Sichuan.

He looked at it for a long time, then rolled it up and locked it in the iron box.

Outside the window, the November wind has already picked up.

But Hanzhong's granaries were full, its soldiers were well-equipped, and the people were at ease.

Like a ship laden with provisions and weapons, moored in the turbulent waves of a chaotic world.

We are just waiting for the order to set sail.

almost.

>