Courtyard House: My Hidden Wheat Seeds Caused a National Sensation

He froze, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his clothes, the rough texture of the cloth rubbing against his fingertips.

There was a moment of silence, then cheers erupted like a surging tide.

The wrinkles on people's faces smoothed out, and their dark complexions shone with a light that was almost reverent.

He wiped his face; it was wet, and he couldn't tell if it was sweat or something else.

"quick!"

He snapped out of his daze, his voice hoarse with excitement, "Weigh the rest too! Be quick!"

The weighing beam was passed from one rough hand to another, and the rustling sound of wheat grains sliding into the baskets sounded like celestial music at that moment.

The numbers were verified repeatedly before being finalized.

A louder cheer erupted from the crowd, and someone threw their hat into the air.

The captain's eyes welled up with tears as he looked at the heavy sacks.

He thought of his comrades in the city who were also gritting their teeth and persevering, and how they were tightening their belts to support this land.

He looked into the void, as if addressing all his unseen comrades, and murmured, "We... didn't let you down."

He turned to the crowd, his voice rising in a loud, unwavering determination: "Report it! Send it all up, not a single grain left! We can't let our brothers work on empty stomachs anymore!"

……

The scene in the fields of Red Star Commune was completely different.

There was no deafening noise here, but rather a palpable sense of anticipation, almost as if holding one's breath.

The ridges of the fields were filled with people, from farmers holding sickles to cadres of all levels who were simply dressed but had an extraordinary air about them. All eyes were focused on the wheat field that was about to be harvested.

The wind swept by, and the wheat waves rolled, making a deep and full rustling sound, the golden color seeming to flow down.

The eldest son rolled up his sleeves and was the first to step down from the ridge.

The sickle swung up and fell, clean and decisive.

It was like a silent command; people quickly dispersed into the golden sea, with only the sound of orderly cutting echoing through the air.

Sweat quickly soaked their backs, but no one stopped; their movements carried a solemn rhythm.

Harvesting, bundling, transporting, threshing... everything proceeded smoothly and incredibly quickly.

Finally, all the harvest was piled up beside the huge scale, forming a small mountain of gold that exuded the scent of sunshine and earth.

Sweat beaded on the forehead of the young technician in charge of weighing the scales. He repeatedly checked the markings on the scales and fiddled with the abacus a few times, his fingers trembling slightly uncontrollably.

Finally, he raised his head, his face flushed red, and shouted with all his might, "11,142 jin! Wet weight! Nine mu and nine fen of land!"

He paused, swallowed, and then uttered the number that seemed to freeze the air: "Converted to dry weight... yield per mu, nearly a thousand jin!"

On the ridges of the fields, even the wind seemed to have stopped.

Absolute silence.

All that could be heard were the distant chirping of unknown insects and the suppressed, slightly heavy breathing of people.

Everyone seemed frozen in place, their gazes fixed on the mountain of wheat, then shifting to the slender young man standing at the edge of the crowd—Li Jianye.

Even the seasoned leader, who had seen it all, stared at it for several seconds, his eyes gleaming with an indescribable light.

Li Jianye himself was also somewhat taken aback.

He gazed at the astonishing output, his mind racing with calculations.

The previous results were already impressive, but this leap forward is truly astonishing.

The unassuming bag of "Golden Fertilizer" flashed through his mind.

He secretly gasped.

"good!"

A loud laugh broke the silence. The big man strode towards Li Jianye, patted him hard on the shoulder so hard that Li Jianye swayed. "Comrade Jianye, you've done a great job! Not a single one of these seeds can be lost; we must ensure they grow all over our land!"

The foreign journalists present could no longer contain themselves, and their camera shutters clicked rapidly.

Screams rose and fell, and flashes of light illuminated shocked and incredulous faces.

The constantly flickering flashes of light seemed to add a series of exclamation marks to this silent, golden hill.

**The clean text content retained after text cleanup:**

Even in the world's most agriculturally developed country, the average wheat yield per acre is only 411 jin (approximately 275 catties)! Yet here, the wheat yield per acre is nearly 1000 jin (approximately 500 kg)! This… they can only describe it as "terrifying."

To express their shock.

Simultaneously.

They were journalists.

They all came with a mission.

After taking the photos.

They immediately relayed the relevant intelligence back to their respective countries.

And after this news was spread.

This immediately shocked countries around the world! Meanwhile...

The US was also dumbfounded.

"How could our huge, strongest agricultural nation suddenly disappear?!"

.

Americans believe in one principle.

That is.

Whoever controls oil controls all countries.

Whoever controls food controls all of humanity! That's a fact.

Simultaneously.

The Americans have always been doing this.

They tackled both food and oil production simultaneously.

I won't let go of either of them.

The United States has vast, fertile plains with suitable temperatures.

It is very suitable for growing various grains.

In addition, they have advanced agricultural technology.

therefore.

Today, the United States is the world's strongest agricultural power.

But now...

Their status as the world's strongest agricultural nation has been severely threatened! "This is impossible!"

The Grand Elder of the US Army slammed the intelligence report he was holding onto his desk.

Then he suddenly stood up.

"Under the influence of that so-called 'Golden Fertilizer,' the average yield of ordinary wheat in rabbits has reached 211.5 kilograms per mu."

Our wheat yield, after conversion.

Their average yield is 206 kilograms per mu! They actually surpassed us! What's even more outrageous is that...

They even managed to cultivate a completely new wheat variety.

The yield per mu (a Chinese unit of area, approximately 0.165 acres) reached nearly 500 kilograms! This is absolutely insane!

The Grand Elder was both alarmed and furious.

Being surpassed in wheat production was a major blow to him.

First of all.

The United States' status as the world's strongest agricultural nation has been shaken.

Second.

Wheat is a staple food of the US military.

If we are crushed in terms of production output.

Then they will become extremely passive.

At last.

Their proud eagle has actually been surpassed in grain production by the despised rabbit! Where does this leave their proud faces? How can they still hold their heads high? "Elder!"

The secretary standing nearby noticed this.

He said cautiously, "Please go ahead."

Could this just be a hoax?

"Fake?"

Yes! Not long ago.

Doesn't the rabbit side always release amazing data? Like claiming yields of 10,000 jin per mu in a flash.

"A few thousand catties per mu in a short time... could this be one too?"

"You make a lot of sense."

The Grand Elder suddenly smiled and nodded.

He glanced at his secretary with a rather approving look.

Then it raised its proud head once again.

"That wretched place, like the rabbit's."

How could they possibly have a higher wheat yield than us?

"Elder!"

Just at this time.

An intelligence officer rushed in.

"Elder! The early rice harvest has started over in the rabbit area as well."

The yield data was also transmitted back to us from there! In their words, it was an average of 981 jin per mu.

After calculating the conversion...

That's 151 bushels per acre!

"151 bushels..."

The elder suddenly felt weak all over.

He plopped down in the chair.

"Why...why...why did their rice yield surpass ours?!"

Although the US uses rice as a side dish.

I hardly eat anything.

but.

However, they also cultivated a large amount of rice.

Moreover, the yield of this rice is not low.

It has an average yield of 800 jin per mu!

**Core elements locked:**

* **Key Plot Points:** 1) Global journalists witnessed and reported that the rabbit (referring to the country) had a wheat yield of nearly 1,000 jin per mu, far exceeding the 411 jin per mu of the eagle (referring to another country), causing global shock; 2) When the eagle's elder statesman learned of this news, he was initially suspicious of the data being fabricated, but was eventually shocked when it was confirmed that the rabbit's rice yield also exceeded that of the eagle.

* **Character Relationships:** The Grand Elder of the United States (national leader), Secretary (raises doubts), Intelligence Officer (transmits confirmed information), Journalists from various countries (witnesses and disseminators).

* **Proprietary Names:** Eagle, Rabbit, Jin Ke La (product name), Li Jianye.

**Rewritten version:**

The numbers themselves are alarming enough.

When the yield data of nearly 500 kilograms per mu was transmitted from the vast experimental fields in the East to the world through countless lenses and pens, the entire planet seemed to fall silent for a moment.

The reporters exchanged bewildered glances, their throats bobbing, and could only manage a few dry, incoherent gasps of astonishment.

They came with a mission, and at this moment, the sound of the shutter and encrypted radio waves became the fastest messengers, capturing the heavy golden waves of this land in photographs, turning them into intelligence, and sending them to their respective distant rear areas.

The shockwave first reached the top of that power pyramid across the ocean.

Behind the large desk stood the man known as the "Grand Elder".

The man slammed a report onto the smooth wooden surface with such force that the ice cubes in the glass clattered.

He stood up, his chest heaving, as if he couldn't process those cold numbers.

"Impossible... Absolutely impossible!"

His voice was low, but filled with offended anger. "Their ordinary variety, using that 'Golden Fertilizer,' can reach 210 kilograms? While we, with our best land and most advanced technology, can barely break 205 kilograms? Not to mention that damned new variety—500 kilograms! Are they growing gold in their fields?"

Panic and anger were intertwined.

This is not just a numerical breakthrough, but a symbolic collapse.

Food, a vital commodity on par with black gold and oil, and one of the cornerstones upon which they maintain their hegemony and look down upon all living beings, has been shaken in full view of the public.

Proud as he was, he could almost hear the faint cracking sound emanating from that invisible crown.

"Your Mightiness,"

The secretary standing beside him noticed the unease in his eyes, took a step forward, and said cautiously, as if walking on thin ice, "The records from the East... are not always so reliable."

As you recall, they often made astonishing announcements of "miracles" in the past.

Could this, too, be just... a meticulously choreographed performance?

The elder's brows relaxed slightly, and a familiar, superior sneer appeared at the corner of his mouth.

That makes sense.

He glanced approvingly at his secretary, then leaned back in his high-backed chair as if he had found his footing again. "How could such land, such a foundation, possibly produce abundance that surpasses ours? It's just another bubble that needs to be popped."

He tried to raise his head again, soothing himself with his inherent arrogance.

However, this fragile balance did not last long.

There was a rapid knock on the office door, and before anyone could answer, an intelligence chief rushed in, his face ashen with barely concealed despair.

"Elder! Urgent telegram!"

He practically handed him another document. "Their early rice harvest in the south is complete, and preliminary statistics show... the average yield is close to 500 kilograms per mu! In our unit of measurement, that's 151 bushels per acre!"

"One hundred and fifty-one... bushels?"

As he repeated this number, the last trace of color drained from the Grand Elder's face.

His straightened back seemed to have all its strength drained away in an instant, and he slumped back into the chair, the expensive leather groaning softly.

His broad shoulders slumped, and all his previous doubts, anger, and even his pitiful self-comfort were crushed by a larger, colder reality.

Rice.

Even though they don't rely on it as their staple food, they have never relaxed their pursuit and control over its production.

The yield of 800 jin per mu was once one of their proudest benchmarks.

Today, this benchmark has been easily and cruelly surpassed on that once barren land in the East.

Why...?