ITIEQ C31

Chapter 31 – Construction of Qiuquan Commandery

Shen Qinghe hurriedly raised his hand and smiled:

“Wronged, Lord Yao, I am nothing but a law-abiding good citizen!”

Yao Guang looked at him suspiciously.

Shen Qinghe continued:

“Please remain calm and don’t be impatient. I will write a memorial to His Majesty—every detail laid out without omission. But Qiuquan is over a thousand li away from the capital; sending word there and back will consume no small amount of time. Even so, as the parent-official of Qiuquan Commandery, I must ensure that before His Majesty makes a ruling, the ownership of this iron mine is secured so that it may bring some blessing to the people of Qiuquan.”

In truth, these words were flavored with a bit of political correctness. There’s an old saying: ‘Imperial power does not extend fully into the countryside.’ In this turbulent northwest frontier, private smelting and illegal mining could never truly be stamped out… But first, Shen Qinghe required assistance from His Majesty’s old subordinates; second, he himself was an upright official who scrupulously adhered to the law. Moreover, the Emperor had personally bestowed upon him even the Sword of the Son of Heaven—an extraordinary mark of trust. As a mere commandery governor, he ought to respond in kind, aiding a ruler who might be a True Ming sovereign.

“No need to trouble the couriers at the relay stations,” Yao Guang waved his hand. Though still doubtful, he chose to help: “I have carrier pigeons that keep direct contact with the capital. Write your memorial, and I will send it out for you. That is swifter by far.”

Shen Qinghe cast him a glance of astonishment.

“Then I must thank you, Brother Yao!”

Yao Guang added,

“Bringing men to guard your mine temporarily is not a problem… but what exactly do you want this iron mine for?”

Now calm, he finally cut to the core:

“Even if His Majesty grants you authority, this is far from the fortune you imagine. Digging ore is the simplest step. After that lies smelting, refining, forging. Make even a small mistake, and the iron tools produced will be brittle, snapping at the slightest pressure. To forge durable ones requires artisans of great skill—craft preserved and passed down in families. Such men get recruited long ago by noble houses; none would foolishly come to… here.”

The young general spoke bluntly; though his words were unpleasant, they were not wrong.

Shen Qinghe smiled mysteriously:

“That is true. But do you know which household to seek when a nation rises through technology?”

“What do you mean… rise a nation by technology?”

Shen Qinghe seamlessly brought up his academy:

“Walk east a hundred or so meters, and you’ll find Qingbei Academy. Brother Yao, should you have leisure, you might go and take a look. There may not be much else, but there is at least a cup of thin tea.”

At the words academy and tea, Yao Guang’s face twitched several times. Laughing awkwardly, he excused himself:

“Enough, enough—I’ll go first and order men to fortify your precious mine. With me around, rest assured—no one will even lay a finger on it!”

He thumped his chest emphatically.

This marked the thirtieth day Ma Laosan had worked these fields.

The first time he heard of fertilizing with human waste, he was shocked and disgusted. He had farmed his entire life, yet never heard of anyone irrigating with such filth—wouldn’t it scorch the seedlings to death? And mixing crops with those unclean things—who could eat them afterwards?

He tried persuading the younger lads, but they merely told him to rest at ease. For several days he grumbled inwardly: ‘Not listening to an elder brings suffering right before your eyes! These lads have been read into stupidity. They not only mix dung into soil but sow seeds in dead of winter! Let them smash their heads on the south wall; when nothing germinates, they’ll finally regret it. I cannot fathom why the commandery governor entrusts them with such a vast tract of land!’

Yet, since he ate their provided food, he had no standing to lecture them further. So he did his daily toil—carrying dung for food’s sake. To his shock, on the seventh day, seedlings actually sprouted vigorously from the earth.

He sighed heavily each day: ‘Sure, chance brought forth seedlings—but nourished with filth, how could they ever grow heartily?’

But day by day, he beheld stems thicker, greener, taller by the span, until words failed him. He held his tongue, following the youths’ instructions to till, to dig channels. Secretly he observed: in all his years, he had never seen such uniform lushness over fields!

One day, after fencing the fields, blushing and itching with impatience, he approached a youth and asked if spare dung-fertilizer could be shared with him. The lad stared in surprise:

“Others already received their share long ago. Didn’t you claim yours?”

Ma Laosan erupted in fury: These sly raccoons!

…

Neighbors grew puzzled by widower Chen’s strange doings: cutting his tall sprouts, stinking smell wafting from his plot; once in the dead of night, someone even saw his child lower trousers to release urine directly onto seedlings!

“These are foodstuffs—how can one defile them like that?!”

The next day they confronted him, only for Chen to smile faintly and say:

“You too, relieve yourselves more in the fields.”

Enraged, the neighbors cursed him as deceptively sly beneath his doltish exterior, then went home seething.

…

Meanwhile, the exodus south from Qiuquan Commandery raged fiercely. Those with spare grain fled; those without tried to escape as well. Only those bound by birthplace or poverty—unable to travel lest they die among wild hills—lingered, torn between striking out or resigning to die in ancestral soil.

It was then they heard of labor recruitment. Heaven above! How long since Qiuquan saw hiring? Not only wages, but meals included—what fortune!

Petty officials cried the news across fields, and villagers instantly summoned friends, neighbors, rushing to the site. Ten-odd li distance, yet a dark crowd already gathered—all poor souls seeking winter survival.

At midday, troops brought baskets of steamed buns and pots of millet porridge. The starving rushed, drool streaming at the aroma, desperate to seize food; but the soldiers barred them with but a shove—knocking men flat.

“Only after signing the labor contracts may you receive food! Each person gets one steamed bun, one bowl of porridge. Finish, then to work. Do well, and the governor will grant extra rations!”

With hot fragrant food before them, no one delayed. Contract signing sped, eyes locked eagerly on the soldiers guarding meals lest all be gone before their turn.

Soon, word spread. Even neighboring counties heard Qiuquan was hiring laborers with meals included. Many came to apply—only to be turned down, for they accepted Qiuquan households alone. Outsiders went away disappointed.

…

Yao Guang sat before a newly built earth blast furnace. These days he watched its tall, slender cylinder arise from flat land—outer walls sealed smooth with clay.

Nearby stood a charcoal kiln, shaped like an overturned pot. From his seat one could feel its heat, smoke spurting from its top like some monster. On one side, a hole linked to a huge wooden box, dragged by four men. Supposedly for air-blasting—but why blow wind into the fire? Wouldn’t that snuff flames?

He couldn’t fathom it, only stared curiously.

On the eighth day, Shen Qinghe arrived. The kiln had been sealed for two days—now time to open. Success or ruin hung in balance!

Half-naked laborers pried open the kiln’s side; inside was dark and silent. All paused breathlessly, wondering. They knew not what their employer meant with this contraption—so long as he fed them, they worked. But what would come forth?

The charcoal kiln belonged to You Luo, a boyish youth with solemn face. He donned sewn cotton gloves, bent into the kiln, and returned holding several dark strips.

The crowd peered.

Charcoal!

Cut wood—burned in this ‘big pot’—became charcoal?!

But why, when tossing wood into household stoves, did only ash remain?

Charcoal-burning was usually hereditary craft, concealed from outsiders. Yet here was the governor hiring them for chopping, bricking, only to smelt charcoal!

You Luo offered the charcoal to Shen Qinghe. Together, they examined.

You Luo:

“Teacher, look—its sheen bright, strike sounds crisp, not easily broken. Good quality.”

Shen Qinghe nodded:

“In Qiuquan, oak wood is plentiful. From it comes oak-charcoal, even whitish—rare, fetching higher price.”

You Luo recorded keenly, remarking:

“This first attempt allowed too much air, producing some inferior batches. Next time we prolong burning to ten days. Books say the finest charcoal rings with metallic note when struck—lasting longer.”

Shen Qinghe smiled:

“Excellent. Conduct several more firings. This hands-on practice already merits a report—perhaps even a full thesis. Published in our Qingbei Journal, it will outshine your seniors.”

Fired with passion, You Luo’s eyes blazed as he returned to work.

Meanwhile, carts overflowed with charcoal. Shen Qinghe’s mind raced in calculations.

The system* whispered:

“Weren’t you planning to use the charcoal for iron smelting? Why sell it, especially in this freezing land where people could warm themselves with it?”

Shen replied:

“A catty of refined white oak charcoal sells for ten times that of common charcoal—far more than smoky coal. Coal mines elude me despite much search. Thus, I trade. White charcoal fetches high value among noble families; exchanged for coal elsewhere, we’ll gain much.”

“Let Le Xusheng manage trade, and take Lang Xinyue along to gain experience—a full lesson worthy of reports.”

Satisfied, Shen nodded. Every student had assignments, every learning tied to practice—as Qingbei Academy taught: ‘to unite knowledge with action!’

The system sighed, lighting an imaginary electronic candle for the students’ plight.

After supervision, Shen returned swiftly to the commandery hall. His simplified labor segregation method bore some fruits; he drafted clever petty clerks with literacy to manage simple excel-like ledgers. Graphs sufficed—even without analysis. To sort chaos into clarity was gift enough.

This land, though poor for cultivation, must still grow millet, wheat—the staples of survival. Beyond that: ironworks, textiles, printing—rare industries that could open trade and raise Qiuquan high. Plans must be set for all to take shape.

Shen Qinghe sighed heavily. A long road ahead… step by step.

But upon entering the hall, a band of elder officials rose, furious, beards bristling, jabbing fingers at his nose:

“Oh Shen Qinghe! Though young you be, we respect you as our governor. Yet to hoard authority, ruling alone—did you reckon us all dead?!”

Footnotes

 

1. South wall idiom (撞南墙) – A Chinese idiom meaning “to stubbornly persist until failure.”

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