The beginning of the story of the Tang Dynasty's Imperial Son-in-Law: A rhinoceros comes knocki

Chapter 116 Fang Xuanling

The tenth day of the seventh month in the ninth year of Zhenguan.

Time flies like water; the summer heat has subsided somewhat, and a faint coolness has been added to the morning breeze.

Daylight still came early, but Wang Zhihuan woke up even earlier than the sky.

He lay on the bamboo mat and turned over.

Huihui, curled up on the pillow, was startled by his movement. Her ears twitched, and she fell back into a deep sleep.

He didn't get up immediately, but stared at the roof beam above his head, going over the events of the past few days in his mind.

The county government office, Yuwen Ren, adoption documents, winery license, copper pot registration, and gift documents from the Cheng family.

Each and every item, like stones on a field ridge, was moved away one by one.

But he knew that moving the stones didn't make the road smooth. He still had to walk it himself.

Cheng Chumo never mentioned Yuwen Ren's matter again.

Wang Zhi didn't ask. Some things, knowing the result is enough; there's no need to delve into the process.

A few days later, in the early morning, Li Shimin summoned Fang Xuanling to his study.

The air in the Imperial Study was filled with the fragrance of sandalwood.

When Fang Xuanling entered, Li Shimin was sitting behind his desk, holding a land register from the Ministry of Revenue in his hand. He flipped through a couple of pages, then closed it and put it aside.

"Xuanling, sit down."

Fang Xuanling sat down as instructed, his back ramrod straight.

"I visited Lantian a few days ago." Li Shimin picked up his teacup, took a sip, and spoke as if he were talking about everyday matters.

Fang Xuanling bowed slightly but did not reply.

He knew that His Majesty would leave the palace incognito, but he never asked where he went or who he met.

Have you ever heard of a young man in Lantian named Wang Zhihuan?

Li Shimin put down his teacup. "A branch of the Wang family from Taiyuan moved to Lantian last year, inherited his father's two hundred mu of land, and settled down there."

Fang Xuanling nodded. He had heard the name from Cheng Chumo. As for the collateral branch of the Taiyuan Wang family, their lineage was neither high nor low.

"I first heard of him because of Sizi."

As Li Shimin said this, the corners of his mouth unconsciously curved slightly. "That little girl got lost while chasing butterflies and ended up at his estate."

He cooked a meal for Sizi, scrambled eggs with tomatoes. "Xuanling, have you ever eaten tomatoes before?"

Fang Xuanling paused for a moment, then shook his head: "I do not know what a tomato is, nor have I ever eaten one."

"I've never eaten it either," Li Shimin said. "I heard from that little girl, Sizi, that it's red and sweet and sour, and Sizi loves it. It's grown on his estate; I've never seen it anywhere else."

Fang Xuanling silently noted in his mind: Tomato, a new species, edible.

"Later, I had someone investigate."

Li Shimin continued, "This person has done a lot of things in Lantian."

Teach tenants to use earthworms to feed chickens, which makes the chickens grow faster and lay eggs earlier; teach them to use distiller's grains to feed pigs, which makes the pigs grow strong and the meat less fishy.

The tenants in the village gave him a nickname: "Little Philanthropist Wang".

""

Fang Xuanling's brow twitched slightly.

Raising chickens and pigs may sound like small things, but if they can be promoted, many farmers will benefit.

"And another thing," Li Shimin said, taking another sip of tea. "He tried planting a new type of rice on the estate, called Champa rice."

I went to see it, and the rice ears were heavy, with eight or nine branches per stalk. I asked him how much the yield was per mu, and he said, conservatively estimated, three shi (a unit of dry measure).

""

Fang Xuanling almost dropped the ceremonial tablet in his hand.

"Three shi?" he blurted out, then realized his rudeness and quickly bowed. "Your Majesty, the best fields in Guanzhong yield no more than one shi and two dou per mu. Three shi, this—"

He couldn't continue. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk, but that he was afraid to.

The yield of three shi per mu was too astonishing. If someone else had said it, he would have dismissed it as nonsense.

But these words came from His Majesty's mouth.

"I know you don't believe me."

Li Shimin chuckled, a chuckle devoid of reproach, but bearing the same shock he felt when he witnessed it firsthand. "I didn't believe it either. So I went to see for myself, squatting on the edge of the field, and counted them by hand."

Fang Xuanling raised his head and looked at Li Shimin.

"One plant produces eight or nine branches, each branch forming an ear of grain, each ear five inches long." Li Shimin's gaze fell on Fang Xuanling's face. "I have farmed before, I know what this means."

Fang Xuanling remained silent.

Your Majesty worked as a farmer in Taiyuan when you were young. You actually worked in the fields, not just sat in the palace listening to reports.

"Anything else?"

Li Shimin was unusually talkative today, as if he had a bellyful of things to say and had finally found someone to confide in. "He can brew wine. The Songlao and Yunmenchun that Cheng Chumo sells in Chang'an are brewed by him. Have you tried them?"

Fang Xuanling was startled.

He had drunk Songlao before, at that old scoundrel Cheng Yaojin's banquet last time.

Later, Cheng Chumo sent some more. At the time, he thought it was just a normal social interaction. He tasted it and found it to be quite good, even better than the wine served at Cheng Yaojin's banquet.

It is even more mellow than the tribute wine in the palace.

He thought at the time that Wang Zhi was quite a talented person.

It turns out it was the same person.

"I have tried it," Fang Xuanling said. "Cheng Chumo sent some, and I tasted it; it is indeed delicious."

"Did you know that the beauty of that wine goes beyond just drinking it?"

Li Shimin leaned forward slightly. "That wine is strong; it can wash wounds and prevent them from festering."

I had someone try it, and it's more effective than ordinary ointments.

Of course, there are some side effects, but overall the benefits outweigh the drawbacks.

Fang Xuanling's pupils contracted slightly.

The army is short of medical supplies. If this wine can really be used to treat external injuries, its value cannot be measured in mere strings of cash.

"And medical skills."

Li Shimin leaned back in his chair, his tone softening, "It was he who treated Guanyinbi's illness. The Imperial Hospital was helpless, but he stabilized her condition with a few doses of medicine and a few acupuncture needles."

The other day when he coughed up blood, it was he who rushed into the mansion overnight to administer acupuncture, which saved him from the clutches of death.

Fang Xuanling was completely stunned.

After a moment, he slowly lowered his head, his voice hoarse: "If only—if only this person had been born a few years earlier—"

He didn't continue.

But Li Shimin understood.

Du Ruhui.

In the fourth year of the Zhenguan era, Du Ruhui fell seriously ill, and the Imperial Medical Academy was at a loss.

Li Shimin personally visited the mansion to see him, and remained silent for an entire day after returning.

Fang Xuanling stayed by the bedside, watching helplessly as his old friend, who had come from the Qin Prince's mansion with him, was slowly dragged away by illness.

Back then, if there had been a boy like that—

The unfinished words of Fang Xuanling silently permeated the imperial study.

Li Shimin remained silent.

He picked up the teacup, but didn't drink from it, then put it down again. The teacup landed on the table with a very soft "tap".

"It's all about timing and fate," he said.

Four words, as light as a sigh.

Fang Xuanling raised his head and looked at Li Shimin.

A very faint, fleeting sadness flickered in His Majesty's eyes.

It wasn't for the imperial court, nor for the country, but for an old friend.

An old friend who is no longer with us.

"Xuanling," Li Shimin's voice regained some of its composure, "he's gone now, there's no point in saying these things. Just focus on handling the matters at hand."

Fang Xuanling took a deep breath, suppressed the surging thoughts in his heart, and sat up straight again.

"I have lost my composure," he said.

"Don't lose your composure." Li Shimin waved his hand. "This is the first time I've heard him say such things; he's even more pathetic than you."

Fang Xuanling recalled his rudeness when he pressed Fang Xuanling about his age, and then recalled the feelings in his heart at that moment, and suddenly felt a little ashamed.

He was the prime minister, in charge of the entire country.

Such a talented person has emerged in the world, yet he was completely unaware of it and had to be told to him personally by His Majesty.

Growing rice, raising chickens, raising pigs, brewing wine, and practicing medicine are all real skills, and each one can benefit the people.

"Your Majesty," Fang Xuanling carefully chose his words, "how old is this person?"

"In his early twenties," Li Shimin said.

Fang Xuanling opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was in his early twenties.

When he was in his early twenties, he was still studying in Taiyuan and hadn't even passed the imperial examination yet.

Li Shimin looked at Fang Xuanling's appearance and suddenly laughed.

"I haven't finished speaking yet."

Fang Xuanling raised his head.

"This person has considerable literary talent, and his poems are quite good." Li Shimin picked up his teacup and took a leisurely sip. "When Chang Le returned from the farm, she said a few words to me, which I have noted down."

Fang Xuanling was slightly taken aback. Poetry? A young farmer, capable of writing poetry?

Li Shimin put down his teacup, leaned back in his chair, and slowly recited: "If only I could have ten thousand mansions, to shelter all the poor scholars of the world and make them all smile, unshaken by wind and rain, as firm as a mountain."

The imperial study suddenly fell silent.

Fang Xuanling held his official tablet on his lap, motionless.

He was a scholar. He devoted his life to scholarship, reading, and compiling classic texts.

He dared not claim to have read all the poems and prose in the world, but he could discern their quality and level with just one reading.

These three short sentences are majestic in style and profound in meaning.

These are not the kind of words piled up for commission; they are sentences that can only be written if one has the world in their heart.

"If only I could have ten thousand mansions, to shelter all the poor scholars of the world and make them smile with joy."

Fang Xuanling repeated it in a low voice, his voice slightly strained, "Your Majesty, this—was it really done by that young man?"

"That's what Chang Le said," Li Shimin said. "That day, when he used earthworm castings to fertilize the fields, he also said a sentence: 'How can the canal be so clear? Because there is a source of living water.'"

Then one day, Chang Le asked him where his poems and essays came from. He replied, "..." Li Shimin paused, his gaze falling on Fang Xuanling's face.

"A masterpiece is born of nature; a stroke of genius may be a chance occurrence."

Fang Xuanling's hand trembled slightly.

These ten words startled him even more than the previous four lines. Not because they were more ornate, but because they were more insightful.

A good article is born of nature, and a skillful hand may occasionally bring it to fruition.

He spent half his life studying, reading, and compiling classics, but he never thought that literature was something that already existed in the world, and that people just happened to come across it.

This is not a level of understanding that can be achieved through reading. It is something that comes from enlightenment, a natural talent.

A young man in his early twenties, who farms, raises chickens, brews wine, and treats illnesses, speaks with a witty and insightful tone that surpasses even the most profound commentaries on poetry and literature he has ever read.

"Your Majesty," Fang Xuanling's voice lowered, carrying a solemnity he himself was unaware of, "this person—"

"I wish to see him in person."

Li Shimin glanced at him and smiled.

"No rush," he said. "Let's get the rice business sorted out first. We're in Lantian; we can't run away."