Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 447 Qiongjiang River Valley (Part 1)

"Indeed! The Qiongjiang Valley is a blessed land, embraced by the Cascade and Coastal Mountains, where three rivers converge, fertile fields stretch for thousands of miles, mild climate all year round, and abundant produce."

"Its development traces from the native people's fishing and hunting homeland to the immigrants' land reclamation of granaries, and finally to the fertile fields where agricultural production is thriving today. It can be said that it has followed the right time and made good use of the land."

"The climate here is especially pleasant in spring and summer. At that time, the valley warms up, hundreds of flowers bloom, and streams murmur. The wheat fields ripple like golden waves, the orchards are filled with fragrance, and farmers are busy in the fields, creating a vibrant scene. Although there is light snow in winter, it is not bitterly cold. The valley is shrouded in mist, creating a unique pastoral scene."

"The most prosperous agriculture was wheat, rice, vegetables and fruits. I remember when we were pioneering the land, the name of the 'granary of the west' was known far and wide along the ocean coast. Although industry and commerce are gradually developing now, farmland still stretches endlessly, and villages and settlements are scattered like stars in the sky."

"As for resources, although it is not rich in large mines, it has vast forests, abundant timber, and plentiful water resources, which also help its development. In short, the key to the development of the Qiongjiang River Valley lies in taking advantage of the terrain and being skilled in cultivation. This is truly the crystallization of the wisdom of our ancestors and those who come after us."

"..."

Gao Wenrui, the commissioner of the Ziwu River region, read half of the document in his hand, looked up at his assistant Ye Qing, and a strange expression appeared on his face.

"This was written by... that Liu Wencheng, who claimed to be a scholar from Qingzhou?"

“Yes, Commissioner,” Ye Qing said, forcing a smile. “He said he is willing to use all his knowledge to serve Xinhua.”

Gao Wenrui tapped his fingertips on the table, making a regular "tap-tap" sound. His gaze fell on the four words "Western Granary" in the manuscript, and his brows gradually furrowed.

The scent of pine resin from the sawmill drifted in through the window, mingling with the unique moisture from the Qiongjiang River, condensing into a thin mist on the office windowpane in early winter.

"The granary of the West?" He scoffed, picking up a paperweight from the desk and pressing it down on the manuscript. "The Qiongjiang River Valley has only been developed and cultivated for four years, and only two wheat crops were barely grown last year and this year. How dare he say that the name 'granary' is known far and wide across the ocean?"

Ye Qing stood to the side with his hands hanging down, the hem of his blue woolen coat stained with a few mud spots—he had just returned from patrolling several nearby villages this morning.

He secretly glanced at the neat small regular script on the manuscript. The characters were indeed well-written, but the sentences exuded a pedantic and pretentious air.

"Commissioner, this Liu Wencheng came three months ago on the fourth batch of immigrant ships. It is said that he passed the preliminary examination in Qingzhou, but he always boasts that he is a Juren (a successful candidate in the provincial examination)." Ye Qing lowered his voice and spoke quickly. "The immigration officials and sailors on the ship said that he carried several Confucian classics with him all the way, and he would recite 'Everyone has their own talents' to everyone he met. He also often showed off his ability to write poetry and prose."

"The immigration register shows that he was a student who passed the preliminary examination, but he always told people that he passed the prefectural examination in the eighth year of Chongzhen's reign and became a Juren, but the certificate was lost in the war."

Gao Wenrui picked up the celadon teacup, the warm tea steaming gently. Faint tea stains remained on the cup's surface, a familiar sight since he took office in the Ziwu River Special District.

“A scholar who passed the imperial examination? He is convinced that our Xinhua is thousands of miles away from the Ming Dynasty, and it is not easy to verify.” He took a sip of tea, which was slightly bitter but had a sweet aftertaste. “However, he never thought that Xinhua does not appoint people to official positions based on their literary talent alone.”

"Even if he really is a Jinshi (a successful candidate in the highest imperial examinations), if he only talks the talk but doesn't walk the walk, he'll still have to go to the countryside and do manual labor. Everything is based on actual results, without exception. If you want to use your Ming Dynasty academic achievements to come to my Xinhua and freeload, you've come to the wrong place!"

The dampness from the river outside the window swirls against the glass, making a rustling sound.

In the iron stove in the corner of the room, pine branches were crackling and burning, making the room warm and cozy.

Gao Wenrui picked up the manuscript and flipped through a couple more pages. Seeing the words "Willing to serve as a dog or horse, to expand the territory of Xinhua" at the end, he couldn't help but shake his head.

"Does he know the rules of Xinhua?" He pushed the manuscript to Ye Qing. "That scholar from Guangdong who came last year, he talks about 'propriety, righteousness, integrity, and a sense of shame' all the time, and 'managing the world and benefiting the people,' but when you ask him to measure fields, he can't even use a ruler. When you ask him to calculate the labor service hours for immigrants, he can't even do simple arithmetic. In the end, he could only be sent to teach children to read." Ye Qing took the manuscript and glanced at the beautiful handwriting again: "The commissioner means... to arrange for him to teach in a primary school?"

“No rush.” Gao Wenrui stood up and walked to the map of the Ziwu River Special Zone hanging on the wall. The Qiongjiang River Valley was clearly outlined in red ink, and the villages and towns were marked with red dots. The flow rate and length of the water system were also written next to the river.

He pointed to the valley: "Although this man loves to boast, you can see some insight in his writing. Look at what he wrote about 'abundant water power' and 'taking advantage of the terrain,' and he even mentioned the alluvial plain where the Ziwu River and the Qiongjiang River meet. He's not entirely without insight."

Ye Qing leaned closer to examine it and saw that the manuscript did indeed describe the hydrological course of the valley in detail, and also mentioned that a dam could be built in the middle and lower reaches of the Ziqiong River to divert water. "But he is, after all, a scholar of the old Ming Dynasty, and I'm afraid he can't endure the hardships of pioneering."

"Whether someone can endure hardship or not, you'll only know after trying." Gao Wenrui turned back to his desk, took out a carbon pen from the pen holder, and wrote "Liu Wencheng, trial period at Yongping Fort" on the official paper. "Since he wants to serve my Xinhua, let's give him a chance to prove himself."

"In a few days, you will be going to Yongping Fort (now Salem, Oregon) to take up your post and oversee the colonization work in the middle section of the Qiongjiang River Valley. Take him with you and let him do some grassroots work to get some experience. If he proves to be a good candidate, it wouldn't be a bad idea to give him an official position."

Ye Qing was somewhat surprised: "Yongping Fort? They're currently reclaiming wasteland and building water conservancy projects there; it's all heavy and laborious work..."

“That’s precisely why we’re sending him.” Gao Wenrui put down his pen, the ink from the tip spreading into a small black dot on the paper. “He’ll be responsible for measuring the fields, calculating the volume of earthwork for irrigation ditches, recording daily work hours, and calculating material consumption. These are all real jobs. If he does them well, it will show that he is indeed capable. If he doesn’t do them well, it’s not too late to send him to school.”

He paused, then added, "After you bring him to Yongping Fort, don't treat him like a scholar. He still has to do all the work he's supposed to do. Let him experience how much harder it is to wield a hoe than to hold a pen, and let him know that our Xinhua officials aren't made by writing articles, but by measuring with their own feet."

Ye Qing nodded in agreement and was about to pack up the documents when Gao Wenrui stopped her.

"And..." He looked out the window at the gloomy sky, his tone softening, "The dozen or so settlements under Yongping Fort are still severely lacking in school teachers. If he really can't do farm work or adapt to the work pressure of our Xinhua officials, then let him teach the children to read. That would be making the best use of him. After all, being able to write so fluently shows he has some knowledge."

As he spoke, he picked up the "Xinhua General Literacy Textbook" from the table and gently stroked the cover with his fingertips. "But there is one rule: we must teach according to our textbook. We are not allowed to talk nonsense about classical Chinese, and we are even less allowed to instill any 'righteousness between ruler and subject'."

"I will make the arrangements immediately. When we set off tomorrow, I will take him with me," Ye Qing replied with a bow.

Gao Wenrui waved his hand, his gaze returning to the Colonization Monthly Report on his desk.

Stacks of official documents were covered with densely packed numbers written in charcoal: Huichuan County harvested 6,500 tons of wheat in the autumn, built seven new granaries, and twelve sections of irrigation canals totaling 34 kilometers awaiting repair...

Next to these simple handwritings are simple diagrams and special notes.

In his eyes, these documents, reports, and materials were a hundred times more valuable than Liu Wencheng's eloquent articles.

The north wind outside the window gradually picked up, making the eaves of the government office whistle and howl.

Gao Wenrui added a few pieces of pine firewood to the iron stove, sparks crackling and flying, reflecting a warm glow in his eyes.

The glory of Xinhua was not built with words and ink, but by countless ordinary yet tenacious hard workers who dug it out with hoes and picks.

If Liu Wencheng is truly a rough gem, he will shine through the trials at the grassroots level; if he is a piece of rotten wood, he should be made to understand sooner rather than later that empty talk leads to failure, while hard work builds the nation.
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(End of this chapter)