15. The Farmstead

Lin Yun eagerly proposed her idea, looking straight at Wu Erni with an expectant gaze.

If the wheat seeds used in the "Nine Wheat Method" failed, Lin Yun was willing to cover the loss of the seeds herself. In this way, the "Nine Wheat Method" was all gain and no harm for Wu Erni and her group. Surely, Wu Erni would be delighted to accept this plan.

Yet, as Lin Yun observed Wu Erni’s face, devoid of any joy, she wondered if demanding one-tenth of the wheat was too much. She didn’t know whether the taxes in the Great Zhou Dynasty were heavy, or if taking one-tenth of the wheat would leave Erni’s family short of food.

Tentatively, Lin Yun amended her proposal: “If you can’t spare one-tenth, we can reduce it by half.”

No matter how Lin Yun explained, Wu Erni only gave her a look that seemed to say, “Stop messing around.”

Lin Yun felt as though a small hole had opened in her heart, letting in a cold wind that chilled her blood and left her shivering.

Why?

Where had she gone wrong?

She clearly had a method that could allow every citizen in the imperial city to plant an extra crop of wheat, which would certainly save many from starvation next year—so why was no one willing to accept it?

Still dissatisfied, Lin Yun left Wu Erni’s home. Glancing at the sky, she saw she still had about an hour before she had to depart. She decided to try again and, accompanied by a small group, knocked on the next door.

Inside Wu Erni’s house, Liu Cui lay in bed, sewing clothes. She asked her daughter, “I see you like that young lady quite a bit. Why did you reject her so decisively? When I heard her leave, she sounded so disappointed.”

Wu Erni entered the inner room and took the needle and thread from her mother’s hands. “I’ve told you many times, Mother, since you’re not well, don’t tire yourself with this. I’ll take care of it.”

Her mother had been ill for some time, and was only now showing signs of improvement—she must not be overworked.

While mending clothes, Wu Erni explained, “Miss Lin is just playing around. Whether she succeeds or fails, she has people to back her up. We farmers, who scrape a living from the land, if we follow her recklessly, it would be like wishing to die sooner.”

“Miss Lin said if the wheat doesn’t grow, she would compensate for the seed loss. Just because she’s willing to take the risk, she genuinely wants to make this work. But what about the labor we farmers put in?”

“If the ‘Nine Wheat Method’ causes the wheat seeds not to sprout at all, that would be one thing—just a waste of soaking and sowing time.”

“But what if the seeds germinate normally, tiller, and elongate as expected, and only during the heading or flowering stage do we realize the wheat won’t produce any grain?”

“Once the seeds are sown, we farmers would be stuck in the fields for four or five months, diligently watering, fertilizing, and weeding. If it all ends in vain, how do we make up for the lost time?”

“Even if our lives and time are worthless, once we work, we need to eat two meals a day, and the grain consumed is valuable.”

Wu Erni looked out the window and saw Lin Yun knocking on doors one after another. She sighed—no one would accept Miss Lin’s method.

Lin Yun persisted, knocking tirelessly and repeating her pitch: “I have a method that allows wheat to be sown in spring and harvested in summer, enabling you to plant an extra crop. The method is called the ‘Nine Wheat Method’...”

Seeing the small line of guards behind Lin Yun, villagers politely declined her offer.

“Miss, your idea is ingenious, but our family doesn’t need it. We won’t be planting wheat this year.” The door closed, leaving Lin Yun outside.

“Wheat planting is a tradition passed down through generations, with its own reason. If you go against the farming calendar, Miss, you’re bound to fail.” Lin Yun closed the door herself, as the old man inside insisted she abandon such unrealistic ideas.

“I can plant it,” came a sudden voice.

Expecting another refusal, Lin Yun’s weariness lifted at the unexpected answer. She detailed how to sow the wheat.

“The seeds are soaked every nine days and planted after the soil thaws. I also have a method for fertilizing—you can try making compost, and sprinkling bone meal on the soil works well...”

Lin Yun was especially patient with this first willing participant, eager to share all the methods she could think of. The man inside nodded frequently.

When she finished, he said, “I’m willing to try planting this way, but on one condition: Miss, you must give me ten taels of silver first.”

Lin Yun glanced at Shi Er beside her with a puzzled look. Shi Er whispered, “One tael of silver can buy three shi of rice in the imperial city.”

Last night, Lin Yun had flipped through books to learn about yields per mu, and though she hadn’t found exactly what she wanted, she learned that one shi of rice in Great Zhou weighed about 150 jin. Thus, ten taels of silver could buy 4,500 jin of rice.

Lin Yun originally wanted these farmers to harvest an extra crop, but according to this man, she had to pay him out of pocket just to get him to plant.

She stared incredulously at the greedy man before her—what a blatant extortion, treating her like a fool. Lin Yun wanted to turn and leave, but felt a surge of frustration.

She turned to the nearest guard and said, “Please give him a punch, somewhere painful but don’t hurt him seriously.”

She said this and walked away toward the next house. A cry of “Ouch!” came from behind her, easing her annoyance a little.

After knocking on several more doors and being rejected with practiced ease, Madam Yuan sent someone to remind Lin Yun that it was nearly time to set off; she should hurry to the Lin family estate.

Leaving the village, Lin Yun sat in the carriage, gazing at the bleak fields outside. Knowing there were no buried seeds sleeping beneath the soil, her mood was sour.

Ruyi noticed her mistress’s sullen expression through the window and exchanged a glance with Shi Er. What had happened to upset Miss so?

Shi Er shook her head silently. Her father was a butcher, and later she became a covert guard, so she had never worked the fields or understood farming.

But after only a few days with the second young lady, Shi Er inexplicably trusted her. Miss Lin wouldn’t lie—if she said it could be grown, it could be grown.

Shi Er decided to persuade the master in her letter that day to try the second young lady’s method. The master had considerable wealth and many ancestral fields; if he agreed to this plan, Miss Lin would no longer be isolated. That might make her happier.

***

Xie Jun, whom Shi Er had been thinking of, was leaving the Wen Yuan Pavilion after finishing his duty.

On his way out of the palace, he unexpectedly ran into the Taoist historian whom the emperor had trusted for years. They exchanged a few words.

The Taoist said, “To root out some corrupt practices, someone must lead by example.”

Xie Jun replied, “The wind has already begun to blow. When the court and officials all realize it, the Taoist can rise with the wind.”

They spoke in veiled riddles understood only between them. After parting ways, Xie Jun suddenly remembered his entanglement with Miss Lin. It was an inexplicable oddity. He turned and asked, “Taoist, have you noticed anything different about me these past few days?”

Hearing the Taoist say, “Deputy Xie’s demeanor remains unchanged,” Xie Jun chuckled lightly and said no more. As he walked away, he thought:

Indeed, his previous disbelief in all teachings was justified—there were many charlatans.

The Taoist stood still, recalling Xie Jun’s birth chart. The emperor had once gathered the charts of his ministers for the Taoist to analyze. Now, reassessing Xie Jun, there was something different.

The usually dispassionate Deputy Xie seemed to have a stirring of the Red Luan star.

***

Qian Da drove the carriage steadily. Lin Yun had risen early and labored for most of the day, falling asleep inside.

The carriage stopped. Ruyi gently tapped Lin Yun’s shoulder and said, “Second Miss, we’ve arrived at the estate.”

Lin Yun, still drowsy, got out and, seeing the sprawling mansion stretching endlessly ahead, asked Madam Yuan, “Is this the Lin family estate?”

Madam Yuan nodded. “I’ve long heard of the Lin Garden’s renown. Seeing it now, it truly is extraordinary.”

In Lin Yun’s imagination, the word “estate” sounded dull—some tile-roofed houses. The Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion was wealthy, but at best had a few nicer tile houses, a spacious courtyard, and some good farmland nearby.

But entering Lin Garden, the scene of “a lake within the garden, and a hall on the lake” unfolded before her eyes. She marveled: This was no mere estate; it was a true garden.

A few steps inside, they crossed a bridge. The guiding servant said, “Second Miss, once we cross this bridge, a short walk more and we’ll board a boat.”

As Lin Yun boarded the boat, she reflected on the wealth of the Ningyuan Marquis’s family and corrected her earlier misconceptions.

She had thought the estate would be less comfortable than the Marquis’s home, that the old madam and her mother had suffered hardship here. Now, she felt the greatest hardship in this garden might be the damp and cold winters that brought rheumatism.

After much effort, Lin Yun entered the main hall. The lady seated at the head wore a simple silk cross-collared jacket, topped with an autumn-hued armor-like outer garment, and an ivory-white cloud-patterned horse-face skirt. Besides a single bamboo-joint jade hairpin, she wore no adornments.

The lady’s attire was modest and scholarly. Lin Yun sensed a literary aura, though she couldn’t truly appreciate it—she described it this way because the lady was engrossed in a book.

So focused was she that she didn’t notice Lin Yun’s entrance until a maid at her side reminded her. “Are you A Yun?”

Lin Yun thought this must be the original occupant’s mother, Lady Song, considering her age and the moment. Yet, watching her expression—a faint smile without any emotional fluctuation—she felt uncertain.

Fifteen years apart, and it had been she and her father who decided to replace her. This woman held no trace of guilt?

The lady was too calm, too detached, as if the book in her hands mattered more than Lin Yun’s presence.

Lin Yun introduced herself, saying she had felt lonely at the Ningyuan Marquis’s and had come to find her grandmother and mother.

The lady closed her book. Even Lin Yun, slow as she was, saw the reluctant attachment in her eyes. Perhaps she had reached an important passage and, interrupted by Lin Yun, had to pause despite the pain.

She said, “A Yun, I am your mother.”

Lin Yun forced a dry laugh—not from happiness, but to ease the awkwardness.

Even though Lin Yun had imagined many reunion scenes, she never expected to meet her mother as if they were strangers encountering each other for the first time.

Normal people, even without feelings, would at least pretend, wouldn’t they?

Sure enough, her earlier suspicion was right—the people of the Ningyuan Marquis’s household were all a bit strange.