I started on a deserted island and encountered Ying Zheng, who insisted I was an immortal.

The salty sea breeze blew across the beach, whipping up a few grains of sand that hit Zhang Ying's face.

Three men were lying in front of him, dressed in clothes he had only ever seen in period dramas.

The middle-aged man at the head of the group had a dignified face, and even when he was unconscious, his brows seemed to be furrowed.

The two beside them, one dressed as a scholar and the other as a military officer, were also unconscious.

"Holy crap, this production crew is really going all out, filming a survival movie on a deserted island?" Zhang Ying muttered.

He stepped forward and checked the three of them's breaths; thankfully, they were all still warm.

It took a lot of effort to drag the people back to the wooden hut they had built, especially the armored general, who was incredibly heavy.

Three years ago, the flight he was on encountered severe turbulence and plunged into the Pacific Ocean.

He clung to a piece of plane wreckage and drifted at sea for an unknown amount of time before finally washing ashore on this deserted island.

Just when he thought he was about to kick the bucket, a "ding" sounded in his mind, and something calling itself a "survival system" appeared.

The system gave him a handful of seeds, saying they could adapt to saline-alkali soil and could be irrigated with seawater.

Then, the system crashed and became completely silent.

As a national-level agricultural expert, Zhang Ying is far more interested in seeds than in systems.

He cleared the wasteland, sowed the seeds, and was shocked to discover that the yield was simply outrageous.

The potatoes grew bigger than a human head, and the rice stalks were thicker than an arm.

Over the course of three years, he single-handedly transformed a part of the deserted island into high-yield farmland.

The food was piled up so high that they couldn't finish it all, so they had to be used to feed the wild boars and pheasants that he had caught and kept in captivity.

He tried various methods to call for help, such as setting fires to create thick smoke and displaying an SOS sign on the beach, but nothing worked.

This place feels like a corner forgotten by the world.

Loneliness is a more terrifying enemy than wild beasts.

Now, finally, some living people have arrived on the island, though they are three men who seem to be mentally unstable.

"Immortal Master, is this Penglai Immortal Island?" The scholar who called himself Meng Yi stood up and bowed deeply to Zhang Ying.

Zhang Ying almost choked on her own saliva.

Immortal? Penglai?

What is all this about?

"Hey buddy, which film crew are you guys from? Where's the director? You're just sitting here in the middle of nowhere, are you guys just going to leave us like this? That's so inhumane."

"Film crew? Director?" Meng Yi looked bewildered.

"I am the First Emperor of Qin, Ying Zheng." The middle-aged man at the head stood up. Although his clothes were tattered, his posture was upright and his demeanor was extraordinary. "This is Minister Meng Yi, and this is Marquis Wang Ben of Tongwu. We were on a sea voyage when we encountered a storm and were stranded here. We thank you for your rescue."

Zhang Ying picked at her ears, thinking she had misheard.

Ying Zheng?

Qin Shi Huang?

He looked the man up and down, and to be honest, the man's aura was quite something.

But that's ridiculous.

"Alright, alright, you're Qin Shi Huang, and I'm the Jade Emperor." Zhang Ying waved her hand. "Stop acting, hurry up and eat something, let's see if we can get us out of here."

Ying Zheng, or rather the man who called himself Ying Zheng, was not angry because of Zhang Ying's disrespect.

Zhang Ying scooped out several large spoonfuls of steamed mashed potatoes that had become soft and tender from the earthenware pot, and cut several large pieces of roasted wild boar meat that was sizzling with oil, and placed them in the wooden bowls in front of the three people.

"Is this meat from a mountain pig?" Ying Zheng pointed to the roasted meat in the bowl.

"Mountain pig?" Zhang Ying was taken aback. "You mean wild boar? What the hell is 'mountain pig'? Is that your local dialect?"

Ying Zheng stopped worrying about the form of address and began to swallow his food in large gulps.

The other two were like reincarnated starving ghosts, sweeping away everything in their path like a whirlwind.

Ying Zheng picked up a wooden spoon, scooped up a large mouthful of mashed potatoes, and stuffed it into his mouth.

His movements stopped.

Seeing this, the other two also started eating, and then all three of them stopped eating at the same time.

Zhang Ying leaned against the door frame, arms crossed: "What, you don't like it? This is pure, natural, and pollution-free organic food; you can't buy it anywhere else even if you have the money."

Ying Zheng ignored him, but simply scooped out another spoonful and savored it carefully.

"What is the name of this thing?"

"Potatoes, buddy," Zhang Ying replied casually. "Never had them before?"

"Potatoes..." Ying Zheng repeated the word, then turned to the scholar beside him, "Meng Yi, write it down."

"Yes," the scribe replied respectfully, but he had neither pen nor paper on him.

Zhang Ying felt that these people were getting carried away with their acting.

Looking at these three drama queens, Zhang Ying felt her patience being blown away little by little by the sea breeze.

He turned and went into the cabin, randomly picked out a potato from a small pile in the corner, weighed it in his hand, and threw it over.

"Here are the potatoes, raw. You can figure them out yourselves."

The military officer named Wang Ben instinctively lunged forward and caught the potato with both hands, his movements so agile that he didn't seem like a survivor who had just been pulled from the sea.

He held the potato in his palm as if he were holding some kind of imperial seal.

Meng Yi and Ying Zheng immediately joined in, the three heads huddled together, staring at an ordinary potato with expressions of curiosity.

"Rough skin, with buds..." Meng Yi gently rubbed the surface of the potato with his fingers, muttering to himself, "Hard texture, heavy in the hand."

Wang Ben took the potato over, held it under his nose and smelled it: "It has an earthy smell, but no strange odor."

He pinched the potato skin hard with his thumbnail, breaking a small hole to reveal the pale yellow inside.

"This thing can be stored for a long time without cooking?" Wang Ben's voice carried the keen insight characteristic of a soldier.

Zhang Ying leaned against the door frame and replied lazily, "Yeah, put it in the cellar. As long as it doesn't sprout, it should last for more than half a year."

Wang Ben's breathing suddenly became heavier.

As a general who had been leading troops in the field for many years, he knew all too well the weight of the words "can be preserved for a long time".

The soldiers of the Qin Dynasty mainly ate coarse grain cakes made from millet and wheat, which were not only dry and hard to swallow, but also very susceptible to dampness and mold.

In every major war, the loss of food supplies is astronomical.

This thing called "potato" can be eaten as a vegetable or a meal. It makes you feel full and satisfied after eating it.

Most importantly, it can last for so long.

If this were used as military rations...

Wang Ben dared not think any further.

Ying Zheng took the potato from Wang Ben's hand, his long, strong fingers gently stroking the potato's uneven surface.

He did not think about the issue of military rations like Wang Ben did, nor did he delve into its intricacies like Meng Yi did.

He was thinking about something else.

"Sir," Ying Zheng raised his head, his form of address unconsciously changing from "you" to "sir," "what is the yield of this crop per acre?"

His question hit the nail on the head.

Zhang Ying scratched her head and thought for a moment.

"Yield per mu... I haven't calculated it in detail, but planting one mu should yield four or five thousand jin without any problem."