WSMTATMC C72

Chapter 72

“You came all the way here and didn’t bring little Yuanbao?” Liang Boqing said, hands behind his back as he walked.

“I came to deliver a letter for you and to see how the crops were doing. Next time I’ll definitely bring Yuanbao for you to see.”

Liang Boqing snorted, taking the letter. When he saw the handwriting, his brows instantly raised high—he hurried into the study to read in detail.

Wang Ying peeked through the window, noticing Qingyan and the two younger brothers busy writing furiously, so he didn’t go in to disturb them—just wandered around the courtyard for a while.

In fact, those in the room had already heard Wang Ying’s voice, but no one dared to answer, all focused on their exam papers.

Ever since the new year, Liang had established a rule for the three of them: every month there would be a mock exam, three sessions in the same half-day format as the county exam, and today happened to be a monthly exam day.

The little yellow dog in the courtyard had become big and barked at Wang Ying until Chen Bo scolded it quiet. It cocked its head at him.

“Don’t recognize me?” Wang Ying teased.

The dog sniffed his trouser leg, and as if remembering, started wagging its tail vigorously, circling Wang Ying’s legs.

“Remember me? I didn’t feed you all those bones for nothing.”

From the roof came a “meow!”—Wang Ying looked up to see the ginger cat basking on the storeroom eaves, fatter after six months.

“Little Orange, come here.”

The fat tabby languidly yawned and stretched, glanced at him, wagged its tail, and shifted lazily to another position to keep sunbathing.

“Tsk, what a lazy cat.”

Wang Ying wandered into the kitchen. It was tidy. From chatting with Qingyan, he learned that Dunzi’s wife helped cook meals but never asked for payment. Since she made extra so Dunzi could take leftovers home for the kids, Wang Ying decided it wasn’t right to let her help for free. He planned to pay her a hundred cash a month from now on.

After quickly tidying the kitchen and scrubbing the pots, he picked some new vegetables and kneaded a ball of dough to cook a pot of fine noodles.

Not long after, Old Master Liang finished reading his letter, followed the smell to the kitchen and asked, “Making soup noodles again?”

“Yeah,” Wang Ying replied, quickly serving up a bowl—luckily he’d made enough.

The two sat on the steps, eating their noodles—thin and chewy, with scallions, fresh greens, and two poached eggs—simple but delicious.

After eating, Liang wiped his beard and asked, “The county official came by a few days ago, didn’t he?”

“You’re amazing, sir. Yes, he did!”

“Don’t flatter me. Did you get a reward?”

“They gave a hundred taels of silver.”

“Tsk, miserly. And they said there wasn’t any money?”

Wang Ying lowered his voice. “They said they’d carefully investigate Qingyan’s exam cheating case.”

“That’s good, shows the old guy has some skill. Glad my efforts weren’t wasted.”

“Do you think Qingyan really has hope for the exams? I didn’t dare tell him for fear it’s just a false hope.”

“Don’t rush. Wait for the official documents from above before telling him.”

“Aye!” From Liang’s words, Wang Ying could tell it was more or less certain now. Excited, he picked up their bowls and washed them at the creek behind the house.

Liang stood watching him, sighing. If only Wang Ying hadn’t been a ge’er, he could have gotten him an official post somewhere.

The letter from his old friend said that the method Wang Ying invented for preventing late spring cold spells had done him a huge favor.

The Grand Minister of Agriculture (Da Sinong) was responsible for all farming, animal husbandry, and fisheries, including the more than 100km of imperial tribute fields near the capital. Every year, these lands had to meet a strict grain quota or the director would face demotion or punishment. Though only a fourth-rank post, he saw the emperor daily and rivals were always eager to replace him.

Last winter had been unseasonably warm, and historic records indicated a late spring chill was likely. Every time there was a spring cold, crops failed and might have to be re-sown; a poor year could mean only one harvest, and delays could mean nothing at all.

Desperate, he received Liang’s letter describing the prevention method in detail. On a “try anything” basis, he had all the tribute wheat rolled and watered as instructed.

That spring, winter wheat growth wasn’t affected at all; in fact, the winter wheat from the batch of seeds Wang Ying had sent from Jizhou grew so well—big, full heads, drought-resistant, a truly superior variety!

Soon after, reporting of crop failures flooded in from all over the empire, but the tribute fields were a shining exception—otherwise, the Minister would have to face a scolding at court.

Inside the palace, the emperor asked him about it.

“Because of a letter from an old friend, I dared try a new method. The result was excellent.”

The emperor’s face softened. “Who invented the method?”

“Your majesty, it was devised by my friend’s student’s husband. You know that friend well.”

The emperor was intrigued. “Oh? Tell me.”

The emperor sat up straighter. “The late emperor mentioned him often, saying it was a pity such a talented but proud man refused official office. Isn’t he just a poet? Why is he studying agriculture now?”

“This was not his own method, but invented by his student’s husband. That Fulang⁽¹⁾ is skilled in agriculture—in fact, he even bred a high-yield, drought-resistant wheat, and the seeds grew superbly in tribute fields. I plan to plant all winter wheat with it next year.”

“Food is the people’s very foundation. Handle this well and there will be great rewards.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

“There’s one more matter…”

The emperor waved his hand. “Speak.”

“It concerns Liang Liufang’s student—he was once falsely accused of cheating on the civil service exam. Liang took him under his wing as a disciple, but he cannot now join the imperial examinations and is suffering for it…”

The emperor understood right away. “Go to the Ministry of Rites and explain.”

The Grand Minister rapidly kowtowed his thanks.

When he left the palace, his back was soaked with sweat, but thanks to his old friend’s letter, he’d avoided a disaster—and now owed a significant favor. He intended to repay Liang and his student in turn.

It was a shame the emperor hadn’t inquired about the wheat breeder—such people could do great work at the Sinongjian (Office of Agriculture).

After returning, the Minister reported to the Ministry of Rites, and with imperial backing, the news quickly made its way to Jizhou’s prefect, then on to Longquan County. That’s why the county magistrate himself arrived with the award; in truth, the money was even out of the local government’s pocket, so the sum was small.

Wang Ying, unaware, was busy these days with hiring help for popsicle production. Weather was warming and vegetables weren’t selling well anymore, while many asked when popsicles would be available. He made arrangements upon his return.

Aside from last year’s helpers, he hired several new women to speed up the work. The recipe was unchanged: maltose and goat’s milk.

Wang Ying also planned to make fruit popsicles. The experimental field’s cherries, raspberries, and even grapes were all ripe already, thanks to accelerated growth. Whatever couldn’t be eaten in time was made into popsicles.

Fruit popsicles were more expensive—five cash apiece, which was high for ordinary folks but not for the wealthy town residents, and supply was limited to a hundred per day, first come, first served.

Unexpectedly, the new product was a hit, and a popsicle craze swept the town. In rich families, fruit popsicles became a fashion statement.

Last year, Ma Qianzi, who’d bought in bulk, returned. Learning that Wang Ying was selling again, he arrived early with two baskets of eggs.

Wang Ying remembered him. “Ma Qianzi, here to buy again? You’ve even got yourself a mule cart!”

Ma Qianzi grinned, “Thanks to your business last year, I made some good money.”

“Very good. Work hard again this year.”

“Yes, sir!”

Popsicles didn’t have a huge profit margin, but high sales meant big returns. Last year Ma Qianzi made over three taels from three months of selling popsicles—money many families couldn’t save in a year.

He didn’t spend the money wastefully, borrowing more from relatives to buy a mule and a wagon, so he could shuttle goods to market and charge five cash for a delivery—earning a hundred cash per trip, and saving up more money over the year.

Now that he had wheels, popsicle sales were even easier—he didn’t have to carry them by basket anymore.

Knowing Wang Ying was focused on the town, he didn’t compete there, instead taking all the surrounding villages; he hired four villagers as runners. He could sell four or five hundred popsicles a day—matching sales in the town.

Once production was in order, Wang Ying found he couldn’t stand being away from Yuanbao and prepared to go home after two days.

He kept busy during the day, but at night, lying in bed with Chen Qingyan, he really missed the baby. They nearly cried just thinking of him.

“He’s so little, can’t see his Ah Fu or his Dad every day—doesn’t he cry himself to sleep?”

Nose stinging, Wang Ying’s heart ached to think of Yuanbao sobbing because he couldn’t find them.

Chen Qingyan’s eyes reddened, “Let’s go home…we’ll just stay here a year, then bring Yuanbao to the manor once he’s walking.”

“Okay.”

The next day, as soon as they returned, Wang Ying learned from his mother-in-law that their little rascal had been eating and sleeping just fine—he hadn’t cried at all, just grown even fatter.

In the backyard, watching the swaddled baby sleep, Wang Ying tapped the boy’s little nose, “You little heartless thing—your fathers miss you so much, and you never even think of us.”

The nurse smiled. “Not so, Langjun. While you were away, young master hardly fussed—but when sleeping, he constantly searched for you, so anxious his eyes turned red. We only calmed him by having him hug your robe and sniff your scent.”

Wang Ying lifted the blanket and sure enough, found the chubby little hand clutching his shirt—a little bundle of cloth he couldn’t let go of. In an instant, Wang Ying’s heart went soft; he leaned down and kissed the little face.

“Ah Fu was wrong to blame you.”

Footnotes:

1. Fulang (夫郎) — An ancient term for a spouse/husband, sometimes used for “husband” of a ge’er (male able to give birth), especially in historical fiction or danmei contexts; not a modern Mandarin standard. 
2. “Pressing wheat with rollers” and irrigation is an actual agricultural practice for preventing frost injury in winter wheat during unpredictable spring chills. 
3. Ah Fu (阿父) — “Daddy” or “father” in a child’s vernacular; affectionate, used in both historical and some modern/dialectal Chinese. 
4. The official bureaucracy and transfer of information in imperial China required cases and policy suggestions to move step by step from county to prefecture to the capital, making even just clarifying a wrongful charge a long and complex process.