Three Kingdoms: A Million Soldiers Grown from the Fields

Chapter 159 New Elephant
The official fields outside Jinyang City were bustling with activity, a stark contrast to the biting cold wind.

The massive granary was wide open, its heavy wooden doors gleaming like the gaping mouth of a giant beast. Bags of heavy, plump "Xidong wheat" seeds were being carried out by shirtless laborers, who were shouting work chants, and piled onto waiting oxcarts.

"Be careful! These are divine seeds brought by the magistrate! Not a single grain can be wasted!" The warehouse official in charge of the transport had a loud voice and eyes as wide as copper bells, watching closely as each bag of seed grain was loaded and unloaded.

Beside him, several men dressed as county officials were checking the roster and shouting, "Xixiang! Ox-carts from Xixiang, come forward! Collect 120 shi of wheat seeds!"

"Those of you in Nanguan, make sure your eighty shi (a unit of grain) are counted!"

Beside the oxcart, besides the village heads, there were many unfamiliar faces with pale complexions but hopeful eyes.

They were refugees from all over Bingzhou, who came here with a sliver of hope after hearing that Taiyuan had changed its allegiance, and now they have all been re-registered.

At this moment, they were crowded at the edge of the line to receive their grain, listening to the officials' proclamation.

"...By order of Lord Xun! All those who register and wish to settle in Bingzhou may be allocated land and settle down! This winter, reclaim the wasteland and plant this 'Winter-Joyful Wheat,' and there will be a harvest in early summer next year! The wheat seeds will be lent out by the prefectural government and returned after the harvest! In the first year of wasteland reclamation, taxes will be reduced by half!"

A woman wrapped in a tattered single garment and holding her young child listened intently, her eyes welling up with tears. She timidly asked an old farmer beside her, "Old man, can... can this wheat really grow in winter? Won't it freeze to death?"

The old farmer grinned, revealing a gap in his missing front tooth, and pointed to the fields not far away where a few tender green shoots were already peeking out: "See that? That's what our village planted a few days ago! How could the things the magistrate brought be fake? I've lived in Jinyang for over forty years and I've never seen wheat still ready to be planted at the end of October! Just take the seeds and plant them according to the government's instructions, you can't go wrong! The magistrate is kind and generous, giving us a way to survive!"

The woman looked at the stubborn new green shoots in the cold wind, then at the bewildered child in her arms, hugged the child tighter, and nodded vigorously.

The cold wind didn't seem so biting anymore.

Inside the prefectural governor's mansion, Xun Yu had just seen off a group of officials who came to report on the progress of replanting in various counties, and his desk was piled high with documents.

He picked up a briefing from Yuci, a barely perceptible hint of satisfaction on his face.

Chen Ji implemented new governance policies and winter wheat replanting in Yuci with swift and decisive measures, achieving remarkable results.

He picked up his pen, dipped it in ink, and signed his name on an official document concerning the allocation of the last batch of farm tools to Yangqu, his gaze calm.

With granaries full and the people's hearts at ease, the foundation of Bingzhou is being strengthened inch by inch.

The fields outside Yuci City present a different scene from those in Jinyang.

It's less noisy and crowded, and more orderly.

The newly appointed acting magistrate was an old official surnamed Sun, dispatched by the Gongcao Office. At this moment, he was personally inspecting the fields with several young officials who were also dressed in the new style of black robes and looked energetic and capable.

Many of these young faces were promoted from humble or respectable families or passed preliminary examinations after the rectification of officialdom this autumn. They had a sharp edge in their eyes and the cautious diligence of new officials.

"Wang, the furrows in your village aren't deep enough! Winter wheat is cold-resistant, but its root system needs to be strong! Follow the instructions in the booklet issued by the agricultural official!"

A young official squatted at the edge of the field, pointing to the newly cleared ridges, and spoke clearly to an old village head.

He held a simple wooden ruler in his hand, clearly a newly made farm tool.

The old man nodded repeatedly: "Yes, yes, yes, I've got it. I'll have them redo it right away!"

He turned and shouted to the field, "Ergou! Take a few men and dig this furrow three inches deeper! Do as the official says!"

Not far away, another official was explaining to a group of displaced people who had gathered around: "...Watch carefully, the seeds must be sown evenly, and the soil covering must be thin. If it's too thick, the seedlings won't be able to sprout! This winter wheat likes cool weather, so it's actually better if it's covered with snow in winter, but the soil shouldn't be pressed down too tightly when it's first planted..."

In the fields, besides local farmers from Yuci, there were also a considerable number of migrants who had been allocated land.

They were dressed in various tattered clothes, and their movements might have been a little clumsy, but under the guidance of local farmers and officials, they all worked extremely diligently.

The hoe flew, and wheat seeds fell into the freshly turned, cool, and moist soil.

They knew that what they were burying was not just seeds, but also their family's hope for survival in the coming year.

Chen Ji, dressed in a slightly worn dark blue official robe, stood on a slightly elevated ridge in the field, silently observing everything. The cold wind blew his sleeves, and his figure stood tall and straight like a pine tree.

The swift and decisive measures taken to eliminate corrupt officials like Zhou Min had created a climate of fear and unease in the area. However, the subsequent fair distribution of land, the provision of seed loans for farming, and the efficiency and pragmatism brought by these energetic new officials, like a gentle spring breeze, quickly calmed the unrest and united the people's hearts on this hopeful land.

The bustling scene in the fields was the best testament to his new policies. He nodded slightly and said to Magistrate Sun beside him, "The rush to plant winter wheat is the most important task this year. Officials must go down to the grassroots level, and agricultural officials must provide guidance in place. We must not miss the planting season."

"Your subordinate obeys."

The fields of Yangqu exude a vibrant and triumphant vitality.

The land that was once occupied and suffocated by the powerful Zhang Yu has now truly returned to the hands of the farmers.

The bountiful autumn harvest has barely faded, and the rush to plant winter wheat has already begun.

Li Ran, the former village head who once lived in fear under the shadow of Changyu, now stands tall with a remarkably loud voice.

He brandished his newly acquired, gleaming iron hoe and worked diligently to dig ditches on the fertile land near the riverbank that he had been allocated.

Sweat streamed down his face, but he grinned.

"Old Li, you're really going all out!" joked a man from the neighboring village.

"Of course!" Li Ran wiped his sweat and brought the hoe down heavily.

"We used to be slaves to the Zhang family, and all the harvest went into their granary. The women and children were starving and crying! Now this land is our own! The magistrate has even given us this miraculous wheat seed that can grow in winter! How could we not be enthusiastic?"

He pointed to a large area of ​​riverbank wasteland being reclaimed not far away: "See that? That area was all agreed upon by several families to be reclaimed together! Planting winter wheat will bring in a few more bushels of grain next year!"

A few teenagers, carrying willow baskets, carefully scattered golden wheat seeds along the ridges of the field.

They were no longer numb little servants in the estates of powerful families; their eyes were filled with a deep appreciation for their own land.

"Sprinkle it evenly! Don't waste it!" Li Ran reminded him.

"Okay, Grandpa!" the children replied cheerfully.

On the path beside the field, an oxcart creaked past, loaded with millet still fragrant with the scent of earth.

This is the last harvest after the autumn harvest, being transported to the county market. The man driving the cart has a satisfied smile on his face and greets the people working in the fields loudly.

The air in Yangqu is filled with the sense of security and hope brought about by free farming.

Zhang Yu's fortified village has been converted into a county granary and a patrol camp. The towering walls can no longer contain the burgeoning vitality of this land.

If we're talking about the place where winter wheat replanting is most vigorous and systematic, then Luqi is the place to be.

The "Taoyuan Model" has been operating here for a year and has become deeply ingrained.

Outside Luqi City, on the vast alluvial plain, as far as the eye can see, there is newly turned fertile soil and neat field ridges.

After the autumn harvest, the more than 100,000 mu of farmland in Lüchi County were immediately put into planting winter wheat without any pause.

The massive herd of government-owned cattle was efficiently organized and rotated among different villages.

Strong yellow and black oxen pull sturdy curved plows, which, under the skillful control of the farmers, steadily and powerfully till the land.

The new seed drill evenly sows wheat seeds on the leveled land, followed by farmers covering them with soil, the whole process completed in one go.

Along the field ridges, there are many simple wooden frames with waterproof "farming guide" boards hanging on them. The boards are clearly drawn with charcoal pencils, showing the depth and spacing of sowing for winter wheat, as well as the key points of winter field management.

This was a rule established by Han Ji when he was in Lusi, and it was explained by literate teenagers or village heads.

"Wang Laosan! You need to clean the drainage ditch at the edge of your field again! This wheat is cold-resistant but also susceptible to waterlogging!" A man wearing an "Agricultural Technician" vest rode a mule and patrolled the fields, shouting loudly.

"Alright! I'll get right to it!" The man called Wang Laosan immediately responded and told his family to pick up the shovel.

Even more striking is the newly built sprawling workshop area in the north of Luqi City. Although it is currently the busy farming season, the workshops are still filled with roaring fires and the clanging of hammers.

The blacksmiths were working day and night to produce iron parts needed to reinforce the Jingxing Pass and farm tools for next year's spring planting. The carpenters were processing planks for widening the plank road and beams and pillars needed for the post station. In the newly built, larger-scale brewery, the rising heat carried a rich aroma of wine. The autumn harvest of sorghum had been stored in large quantities, and Taoyuan wine was being produced in a steady stream, becoming an important bargaining chip for Luqi and even the entire Bingzhou to exchange for foreign goods.

Luqi, the starting point of Zhang Xian's new policies, is like a sophisticated and powerful engine, not only operating efficiently on its own, but also continuously supplying the entire Taiyuan Prefecture with good seeds, agricultural tools, technology, and even confidence.

The fields here, orderly yet brimming with amazing power, and the workshops here, bustling with activity, radiate hope for the future.

When the biting north wind sweeps across Yanmen Pass and rushes towards the vast golden grasslands beyond the Great Wall, it brings not only chill but also a peculiar order and vitality unlike any other year.

Beneath the walls of Qiangyin City, the once-empty grasslands have now transformed into a sizable, spontaneous "trade market" area. Yurts are mixed with simple wooden sheds and tents, and Han banners and Hu (non-Han) leather banners flutter in the wind.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of cattle and sheep, the pungent smell of fur, the aroma of spices, and the fragrance of ironware, tea, and biscuits.

Near the city gate, a long row of sturdy wooden tables was set up. Behind the tables sat several clerks dressed in the uniform of the Lüqi Army, with serious expressions, as well as interpreters fluent in both Chinese and Lüqi.

Beside the table stood a conspicuous wooden sign, on which the core provisions of the "Naturalization and Grazing Order" were written in Chinese and several major Hu languages.

A long line stood before the table—all leaders or representatives from various tribes, large and small, on the grasslands.

"Next! Wolf Valley, Urhan tribe!" the interpreter called out loudly.

A burly, middle-aged man with a thick fur robe and ruddy cheeks from the high altitude quickly stepped forward and respectfully handed over a wooden plaque engraved with the tribe's totem and a sheepskin scroll recording the tribe's approximate population and livestock numbers.

The clerk carefully checked the roster and asked a few questions, which were smoothly translated by the interpreter beside him.

After confirming that everything was correct, the clerk picked up a brand-new, heavy wooden plaque, about the size of a palm.

One side of the wooden plaque was branded with the seal script of "Bingzhou Protectorate of the Xiongnu" and the year, while the other side was clearly engraved with the Chinese characters "Wild Wolf Valley Urhan Tribe" and the corresponding Hu language symbols.

The clerk then produced a copy of the parchment document, also stamped with the fire seal and containing detailed terms, and handed it to the chief.

"Here you go! This is your tribe's 'Naturalization Grazing Permit'! With this permit, you may graze your livestock within the designated protected grazing area and be under the protection of our army!"
This year's pasture tax will be levied according to the number of livestock recorded in the register: 1/10 for horses, 1/15 for cattle, and 1/20 for sheep! The livestock to be taxed, or their equivalent value in hides, dried meat, or fine horses, must be delivered to the tax office in the east of the city before November!

"Failure to pay by the deadline, or unauthorized departure from designated pastures, intrusion into other areas, or plunder of merchants and travelers—" The official's voice suddenly turned stern: "Severe punishment without exception! Revoke this order and expel them from the protected pasture area!"

The chieftain of Urhan accepted the heavy wooden plaque and documents with both hands, as if holding a precious treasure. His rough fingers caressed the clear engravings and warm wax marks on the plaque, and his face showed an expression of relief and great appreciation.

He bowed deeply and spoke excitedly in the Hu language.

The interpreter said to the clerk, "He said, 'Thank you for your kindness, General! Thank you for your kindness, Commandant's Office! The Urhan tribe will certainly abide by the law and pay taxes on time! We would never dare to disobey!'"

The chief stepped down, carefully hanging the wooden plaque on the most conspicuous part of his fur robe and belt. He then walked out of the crowd with his head held high and headed towards his tribe's yurt.

The other tribal chiefs waiting in line all looked on with envy and eagerness.

The changes brought about by the planned grazing order are like ripples spreading quickly to every naturalized yurt deep in the grassland, just like a stone thrown into a calm lake.

On a lush, sunny grassy slope to the east of Yehuling, dozens of gray-white felt tents are scattered, belonging to the Urhan tribe, who have just received their grazing permits.

Unlike previous years in late autumn, the yurts were less tense and anxious about migration, and more peaceful.

In front of the largest yurt, the chief of Urhan was waving the wooden plaque he had just received, speaking loudly to the surrounding tribesmen, his expression excited.

As the tribespeople listened, their faces initially showed surprise and doubt, but gradually their expressions were replaced by immense joy and reassurance.

Especially the elderly and women, some even had tears welling up in their eyes.

No longer need to worry about being annexed by other large tribes, no longer need to fear the sudden arrival of the Liao army's iron hooves, just guard the designated grasslands and pay taxes according to the rules, and you can enjoy a peaceful winter and the coming year!
For the small grassland tribes that had suffered from war and migration, this was like a godsend.

Several teenagers curiously gathered around a few carts that had just returned from the Qiangyin border market.

What was unloaded from the truck were no longer the rare iron arrowheads or inferior short knives of previous years, but several gleaming and sturdy cast iron pots, several bundles of thick burlap, several packets of brick tea wrapped in oil paper, and even a small bag of snow-white salt and a packet of sweet-smelling maltose!

These were all obtained by the Urhan chieftain in exchange for some of the best furs he had accumulated in the tribe and a few old and weak sheep.

"Mom! Look! An iron pot! A huge pot!" A child excitedly touched the cold rim of the pot.

"This cloth is thick and sturdy; it's perfect for making a new winter robe for Batel!" A woman stroked the linen, her face beaming with joy.

The old woman broke off a small piece of maltose and stuffed it into the mouth of her eagerly watching grandson.

The child's eyes widened at first, then his face scrunched up in surprise at the unprecedented sweetness, followed by a burst of delighted giggles.

The laughter echoed through the yurt, dispelling the chill of late autumn.

The leader of Urhan was filled with emotion as he looked at the scene before him.

At this time of year, tribes would either be fighting over winter pastures or preparing to migrate to avoid heavy snow and war.

How could we not be able to settle down in the bountiful autumn camp with peace of mind, exchanging the surplus produce for these tangible things that improve our lives?

Although taxes had to be paid, the taxes were paid transparently, which brought unprecedented stability and convenience in trading with Han areas.

He looked up towards the direction of Qiangyin City in the south, his gaze complex, which finally turned into a long, relieved sigh.

In the more lush and fertile areas closer to Qiangyin City, the changes were even more pronounced.

Some assimilated tribes, quick to adapt and act, have already learned from the Han farmers and carefully cultivated small plots of land near their sheltered, sunny camps.

They clumsily but expectantly sowed the small amount of "Xidongmai" seeds they had obtained through trade or by exchanging furs with the logistics officers of the Duliao Army.

An elderly herdsman with white hair and beard squatted beside his yurt on a patch of land no bigger than a kang mat, carefully pressing a few golden wheat seeds into the soil with his calloused hands, muttering to himself as if praying to the Eternal Heaven.

His little grandson squatted down beside him, watching curiously.

Perhaps even the old herders themselves don't know if these tiny grains of wheat can survive the harsh winter on the grassland, but this attempt itself represents a new hope, a yearning for and a test of a stable life under the "naturalization order".

The cold wind swept across the grassland, swirling up withered yellow grass blades, but it could not dispel the warmth of hope for a new life rising from these small furrows.

Qiangyin City Wall.

The banner bearing the inscription "Commander Huang of the Liaodong Region" fluttered in the north wind.

Huang Zhong stood with his hand on his sword, his gaze sweeping across the vast pastureland like that of a hawk.

The hustle and bustle of the market below the city could be faintly heard, and in the distance, wisps of smoke rising from the yurts of the Guihua tribe blended together in the twilight.

Xi Zhong and Guo Jia stood side by side beside him.

"Fengxiao, what do you think of this phenomenon?" Xi Zhong asked, stroking his beard, his gaze deep.

Guo Jia took a swig of strong liquor from his leather pouch to ward off the chill, his face bearing his usual nonchalant smile: "Sheep are everywhere, and the aroma of iron pots fills the air. The docile pasture is gnawing at the claws of wild wolves."

This is an achievement of subduing the barbarians without a fight, a subtle and pervasive success—truly a grand strategy. Our lord's ambition lies in long-term peace and stability.

He looked at the smoke rising from the chimneys and the faintly visible newly reclaimed fields: "The wind on the grassland here seems to carry a hint of wheat and milk, which is more reassuring than the smell of horse manure alone."

　"I retired and became a streamer, but the system wants me to play professionally."

　　-

　　"You said I could play in the Shanghai Masters, so I watched CS:GO on your stream for a whole month."

　　Valorant, Valorant, Born to Livestream, Wealth from All Directions

　　
　
(End of this chapter)