Ch 2: The Regent’s Farmer Husband

Amid a chorus of “Hail—Hail—” Jiang Ji and the others were ushered into the hall; everyone knelt.

Jiang Ji felt a little resistant to kneeling, but when in Rome… In ancient times, failing to kneel in the magistrate’s hall was seen as great disrespect—and would get you the cane.

Not wanting to be beaten, he knelt.

Above the county yamen’s main hall hung a large plaque that read “A Clear Mirror Hangs High.” Below it sat the magistrate’s bench where the county magistrate tried cases. To the left was a desk for clerks to record the proceedings. Attendants stood on either side, their long staves thudding on the floor as they intoned “Hail.”

“The magistrate has arrived—silence!”

The attendants’ chant stopped. The county magistrate took his seat behind the desk and struck the gavel once.

“Crack!” The sound rang out sharply, as if striking the conscience of everyone present; the people in the hall flinched and fell silent.

“Who kneels below the hall, and for what matter?”

Jiang Ji looked up. The magistrate appeared to be in his forties, lean and austere, wearing his official robe with an air of authority.

“Your honor, this commoner is Jiang Ji from Shanqian Village in the western part of the county. I accuse fellow villager Li Laosan. In broad daylight he tried to seize and assault my younger sister. My sister is only thirteen—this beastly dog of a man tried to defile her. The incident happened this morning; I beg your honor to hear my full statement.”

“Speak.”

Jiang Ji then recounted the morning’s events in full. When he finished he bowed once—an imitation of what he’d seen in dramas—and said, “Please, great official, vindicate this commoner and my sister.”

The magistrate studied the young man; Jiang Ji’s eyes were clear, his speech steady, his account orderly and convincing.

“And who is Li Laosan?”

Startled by the magistrate’s gavel, Li Laosan nearly wet himself. He trembled on the ground and didn’t dare look up. “I—I am Li Laosan, commoner.”

“Lift your head.”

Li Laosan shakily raised his eyes and met the magistrate’s gaze for a moment, then quickly bowed his head again.

“Li Laosan, is what Jiang Ji says true?”

Li Laosan lay on the floor shivering; he couldn’t form his words clearly. The magistrate, seeing him stammer, raised the gavel and struck it down again.

Crack!

Li Laosan jolted.

“Li Laosan, I ask you once more: are the accusations true? Confess honestly!”

Terrified, Li Laosan shrank back, refusing to speak. Jin Hua at the rear shouted, “That’s not true, Your Honor—my son did not assault Jiang Xia!”

Smack—!

“Who spoke? Give your name.”

Jin Hua trembled. Her former swagger in the village had vanished; even her voice quavered. “I—I am Jin Hua, Li Laosan’s mother.”

“You claim Li Laosan did not assault her—were you present at the scene?”

“N—no.”

“If you were not there, why do you speak?” The magistrate looked toward Li Laosan. “I’ll give you one more chance to defend yourself.”

Li Laosan shook like a sieve. “I’m innocent—this commoner is wrong—please, Your Honor, spare me.”

Jiang Ji immediately said, “Your Honor, my sister has marks from his grip on her wrist; his right wrist bears a bite mark from my sister; and Aunt Xiufang heard my sister’s cries for help.”

Jin Hua shouted back, “The bite mark is from him biting himself! The marks on Xia’er are from Jiang Ji grabbing her, not my son!”

The magistrate was not so easily fooled. The attendants checked the evidence one by one, then Aunt Xiufang and other villagers were summoned to the hall to testify. In the end the facts were clear.

“Li Laosan, do you have anything more to say?”

Li Laosan’s face went ashen. After the magistrate’s final pressure he confessed fully: “I—I was wrong. Please, Your Honor, have mercy…”

When the hearing concluded, the magistrate announced the ruling on the spot: “In the case of Jiang Ji of Shanqian Village accusing fellow villager Li Laosan of attempted assault upon his sister Jiang Xia—after on-the-spot examination, the evidence is conclusive and without doubt. According to the laws of our realm, I hereby sentence: Li Laosan of Shanqian Village—attempted assault upon Jiang Xia, punish with one hundred strokes of the bamboo and exile three thousand li.”

“As for his mother Jin Hua, for failing to properly teach her child, flouting the laws of the realm, and willfully deceiving the court—drag her away and administer ten strokes of the board as a warning to others.”

“Court dismissed!”

The magistrate’s sentence had barely fallen when Li Laosan went white and wet himself in fear; Jin Hua burst into tears, crying that she’d been wronged, but the constables had already dragged her away for punishment.

Jiang Ji helped Jiang Xia and Zhao Ru to their feet, and together with the village chief they watched as Jin Hua and Li Laosan were taken off.

When they left the yamen, the village chief and the others wiped sweat from their foreheads. The county magistrate’s authority was terrifying; it was everyone’s first time in court, and they were still shaken.

“One hundred strokes—Li Laosan might not survive that.”

“He deserved it. He once even set his eyes on my daughter.”

“And Jin Hua got ten strokes herself—serves her right!” Aunt Xiufang grabbed Zhao Ru’s hand. “Let’s see if they dare bully anyone again.”

Zhao Ru still felt a lingering chill but couldn’t help feeling satisfied. “Yes, evil meets its own end.”

Aunt Xiufang looked at Jiang Ji admiringly. “Never would’ve guessed—quiet little Ji turned out so brave when it mattered!”

Jiang Ji rubbed his head. “Auntie, don’t tease me.”

Jiang Xia stood beside her brother, feeling safe and at ease.

“Alright, that’s enough—everyone head home,” the village chief said, waving for the crowd to disperse.

Zhao Ru stepped forward to thank him. “Thank you, Village Chief. Thank you, everyone.”

“No need to thank us,” the chief replied. “You were right. He needed to be taught a lesson, or this village would never have peace.”

They all returned to the village. The trial had gone quickly; it was only just past noon. Everyone went home for lunch.

Zhao Ru and Jiang Xia busied themselves cooking, while the twins, Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei, clung to Jiang Ji, begging him to tell them what it was like in court. They were too young—Zhao Ru hadn’t allowed them to go and had asked a neighbor to watch them instead.

Sitting by the doorway, Jiang Ji told them the whole story.

The two boys listened with shining eyes, firing off questions: What did the magistrate look like? What was the court like? Were the officers really that fierce?

Jiang Ji answered them one by one.

Before long, lunch was ready. Zhao Ru called everyone to eat.

Because it was winter and no one in the countryside could afford coal, most families ate by the stove to keep warm.

Jiang Ji went inside. A small pot sat on the hearth, bubbling and steaming.

Beside it was a low table. Jiang Nan had already curled up beside the fire, warming himself and waiting eagerly for food.

Zhao Ru lifted the lid, and a cloud of steam filled the room. She deftly picked up the steamed cakes from the white cloth and placed them in a big bowl.

Jiang Ji leaned over to look. They were palm-sized, brownish cakes mixed with bits of green vegetables.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously.

Everyone turned to look at him. Jiang Nan stood up. “It’s bran cakes, brother—did you forget?”

Bran cakes? Jiang Ji had never even heard of such a thing.

He rubbed his nose awkwardly. “Oh, right—bran cakes. Just slipped my mind for a second.”

Zhao Ru set the cakes on the table and said worriedly, “After we eat, we’ll find a doctor to check your head—make sure you didn’t hurt it badly.”

Jiang Ji quickly said, “No need—it’ll be fine in a few days.”

“No, we’ll have it checked. Eat first.”

Looking at her face—so much like his mother’s—he nodded. “Alright.”

The kitchen was much warmer than outside thanks to the fire, though a bit smoky.

Jiang Ji sat on a small stool and stretched his hands toward the flames.

Zhao Ru brought the little table to the center. The family gathered around. In the pot was wild-vegetable soup; Zhao Ru ladled a bowl for each of them. The bran cakes were the main course.

“Eat. They’re fresh out of the pot—be careful, they’re hot,” Zhao Ru said, placing one cake into each twin’s bowl.

“Got it, mother,” the brothers chorused, then began eating seriously.

Jiang Nan took a big bite, yelped from the heat, and puffed out his cheeks, hissing.

Jiang Bei laughed. “Mother told you it was hot. You had to rush—burned yourself, didn’t you?”

When the food in his mouth cooled a bit, Jiang Nan swallowed it whole. “I was hungry!”

Zhao Ru said gently, “Eat slower.”

“Okay, mother.” Chastened, Jiang Nan blew on the cake and took small bites, then commented, “Today’s wild veggies aren’t as bitter as yesterday’s.”

Jiang Ji watched them eat, a little dazed.

Just a few bran cakes and a bowl of wild-vegetable soup?

That was it?

“Xiao Ji, what’s wrong? Does your head hurt too much to eat?” Zhao Ru asked when she saw him sitting there motionless. (T/N: Xiao = little/endearing term)

“…No, I’ll eat.”

Jiang Ji shook his head. From the memories of this body, he recalled that before the new year Zhao Ru had caught a cold that turned into a high fever. The village doctor couldn’t cure it, so the original Jiang Ji had taken her to town.

The medicine had been expensive. With little money left, he’d sold their stored grain and even all the cabbages and radishes from their field to pay for it—saving Zhao Ru’s life but leaving her weak and still coughing.

Now, the family had almost nothing left to eat except the coarse rice bran from old husks—no more radishes or cabbages, not even grain.

Jiang Ji was actually starving. He picked up a bran cake and took a bite, chewed twice, then frowned and spat it out.

It was coarse, hard, dry, with a bitter aftertaste from the wild greens.

Was this even edible?!

His reaction drew everyone’s eyes again.

“What’s wrong? Can’t you eat? Does your head hurt worse?” Zhao Ru asked anxiously.

Jiang Ji frowned. It really was inedible—but seeing their worried faces, he couldn’t say that. He mumbled, “No… it’s just too hot.”

Zhao Ru smiled gently. “Then eat slowly.”

Jiang Ji nodded, tried a sip of the soup—it was bitter, barely salty, and had no trace of oil.

He forced down a mouthful, but it was hard to swallow. His stomach rumbled loudly; the body’s owner had eaten only a bowl of wild-vegetable soup that morning and gone through so much since. He was starving.

Looking around the table, Jiang Ji saw Zhao Ru’s sallow, frail face and the children’s thin, bony frames—their hair dry and yellow, their height stunted. The signs of long-term malnutrition were painfully clear.

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei were only six years old—an age when children were usually the pickiest eaters. Yet the two calmly ate their bran cakes and wild vegetables without even frowning. When crumbs fell on the table, they picked them up and ate them too.

Watching Zhao Ru and Jiang Xia, whose faces so closely resembled his own mother and sister, Jiang Ji’s nose stung; his heart felt heavy.

Their life was far too bitter.

His stomach growled again, hunger twisting painfully inside him.

There was nothing else to eat at home. Whether this meal, the next, or the one after that—it would still be bran cakes and wild vegetables.

Afraid of passing out from low blood sugar, Jiang Ji took a deep breath and silently picked up a bran cake for another bite.

God, it was awful—coarse, dry, and bitter. Even though the rice bran had been ground as fine as possible, it was still hard to swallow.

His eyes burned. His chest ached. Still, he forced himself to chew and swallow a little at a time, brow furrowed.

He thought about the meals he’d had before crossing over—spotted grouper, giant lobster, A5 wagyu beef—and his eyes nearly filled with tears.

Was this Heaven’s way of sending him to some ancient “life transformation” show?

Using the wild-vegetable soup to wash it down, Jiang Ji finally choked down one whole bran cake.

【Ding——】

【“Farmers weeding at noon, sweat drips onto the soil below. Who knows, in the bowl of food, every grain is won with toil.” Congratulations, Mr. Jiang Ji. You have become the 89,989th host of the Farming System. Unit No. 2977 is honored to serve you.】

Jiang Ji: ??

System?

What system?

【Identity binding complete. Background data loading… estimated time: 60 minutes. Please wait patiently, Host.】

Jiang Ji: !

Could this be one of those systems from novels?

He sat up straight, suddenly energized. If so, he’d just landed himself a golden cheat!

Usually, systems like this let you earn skills or items by completing missions. That meant maybe—just maybe—there was hope ahead.

He just didn’t know what kind of system he had yet.

An hour. In one hour, he’d find out!

His earlier gloom vanished, replaced by excitement.

Jiang Xia blinked up at him with her big round eyes. Why was her brother’s mood swinging so much today? Sad one moment, happy the next.

With food and warm soup in his stomach, Jiang Ji finally felt a little better—though still only half full. The heat from the soup spread through his body, but then his pinky fingers began to itch.

He looked down and saw they were red and swollen.

He froze. Could that be… frostbite?

Young Master Jiang, raised in silk and luxury, had never even seen frostbite before. Curious, he touched it—it itched terribly. He scratched.

“Brother, don’t scratch. It’ll be hard to heal if it breaks,” Jiang Bei warned.

Jiang Ji looked at the boy’s small dark hands, covered with frostbite marks. Jiang Nan’s were the same.

All from the cold.

Jiang Ji sighed and glanced at his own hands—rough, the palms thick with calluses, marks of long, hard labor.

He sighed inwardly. His once smooth, elegant hands—gone just like that.

Wait. He suddenly froze, then reached up to touch his face. No pimples—but definitely not smooth either.

He looked down at Jiang Bei. “Am I dark?”

Jiang Bei blinked, not understanding why his brother would ask that, but he answered honestly. “You’re lighter now. Winter makes you paler.”

“…” Jiang Ji looked at the twins’ dark little faces. If this was “paler,” then his idea of “white” must have been a whole different concept.

Right, he hadn’t actually seen what this body looked like yet.

He recalled that his mother had a small bronze mirror—it was part of her wedding dowry.

“Mo—” Jiang Ji almost said “Mom,” then quickly corrected himself. “…Mother.”

The word made his throat tighten, and his chest filled with a strange warmth. It really felt like his mother had come back to life.

He thought to himself: I have a mother again.

“Hm?” Zhao Ru was washing dishes in the pot. She looked up. “What is it?”

Jiang Ji smiled slightly. “I want to check my head—can I use your little bronze mirror?”

“Go ahead. It’s in the room.”

Jiang Ji went inside.

Zhao Ru and Jiang Xia shared a room. Against the wall stood a small, old dressing table, bought when Zhao Ru married.

The bronze mirror lay face down on the tabletop.

Jiang Ji picked it up and peered into it. The reflection was warped, making his face look like a monster’s.

Jiang Ji: …

Still, he could make out the general shape—this body looked quite a lot like his original one.

Same name, same face—maybe that was why he’d ended up here.

Soon after, Jiang Nan came home with a doctor. The doctor checked Jiang Ji’s pulse and prescribed several packets of medicine for swelling and bruises.

“Mother, we shouldn’t waste money on this,” Jiang Ji said.

“No. Don’t you remember? Head injuries can’t be ignored. Last year, someone from the next village hit his head, thought it was nothing, didn’t see a doctor—and died.”

Jiang Ji blinked. The memory surfaced—it was true.

Right. This was ancient times, when even a cold could be fatal. With medicine and treatment so poor, a head injury could easily be deadly if there was bleeding inside.

He said no more.

Zhao Ru began boiling the medicine, and Jiang Ji stepped outside.

It was early spring, still cold and damp.

His hands were freezing. With no pockets in these old-fashioned clothes, he tucked them into his sleeves and leaned against the courtyard gate, looking out over the village.

The place was called Shanqian Village, home to more than eighty families—a fairly large settlement, mainly of two clans: the Jiangs and the Lis, the Lis being more numerous.

Looking around, he saw mostly wooden and thatched houses. Only two or three were brick and tile. In front of them stretched wide fields, where a few people worked the land.

Then he spotted Jiang Xia in a nearby field, pulling weeds.

That girl was truly hardworking—she’d barely finished lunch and was already out tending the crops.

Jiang Ji walked over. According to the memories in his head, this little patch of land was planted with chives. They had been harvested once before the new year, and now fresh green shoots had just started growing—about the same height as the weeds beside them.

He crouched down to help pull the weeds.

“Brother, you’re still hurt. Go rest, I’ll do it,” Jiang Xia said when she saw him. “I’ll finish soon.”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Ji replied casually. In truth, he was thinking about that system, waiting to see what it really was.

When she realized he wouldn’t listen, Jiang Xia said nothing more. Her small hands moved quickly, deftly plucking weeds and picking out the edible wild greens to toss into a little basket nearby.

This small chive patch was all the family had left. In another month, once it grew tall enough to harvest, they could sell it for a bit of bran money.

“Ah—Brother, why are you pulling up the chives?” Jiang Xia glanced over and noticed that he’d just uprooted a few.

“Huh?” Jiang Ji looked at the handful of green stalks in his hand. “I didn’t pull chives.”

Weren’t they all just grass?

Jiang Xia plucked two green stalks from his hand. “Look.”

Jiang Ji looked at the chives in her hand, then back at the grass in his: …

They looked exactly the same. Practically no difference!

But he didn’t argue. The real Jiang Ji would never have mistaken chives for weeds.

“Oh, I didn’t notice. Must’ve pulled the wrong one,” he said, making an excuse.

Jiang Xia placed the chives back into the basket without a word and quietly picked out the edible greens from the pile of weeds he had pulled.

After a while, Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei came running over.

“Big Brother, Second Sister, we’re here too!” Jiang Bei squatted next to him. Before he even started, he exclaimed, “Big Brother, you pulled up the chives!”

Jiang Ji: ?

He looked at the handful of bright green stalks. “Where?”

Jiang Bei fished one out from the weeds beside him. “You even pulled it out by the roots!”

“…” Jiang Ji blinked at the nearly identical stalks of chive and weed. “…Then plant it back.”

And Jiang Bei actually dug a little hole and replanted it carefully.

Jiang Ji looked over the patch—both weeds and chives were about the same lush green, ten or twelve centimeters tall. The weeds growing between the rows he could manage to pull, but the ones tangled among the chives? He really couldn’t tell them apart.

And there were several kinds of weeds—some looked exactly like chives. After squinting and comparing for a while, he concluded: maybe chive leaves were thicker? Roots a little whiter?

“Brother, you pulled another one,” Jiang Xia said anxiously, seeing more chives in his hand. “Brother, are you sure your head’s alright? Maybe your eyes were hurt?”

Jiang Ji: …

Struck down again and again, Jiang Ji gave up. He tossed the grass aside, clapped the dirt from his hands, and stood.

“You guys pull them. I’m going back!”

Chives, weeds—whatever! Let whoever wants to pull them, pull them!

Was this even a human life?

He, Young Master Jiang, had never suffered like this!

He stormed off without looking back.

The three siblings stared after him blankly.

Jiang Nan whispered, “What’s wrong with Brother? He’s never pulled up chives before.”

Jiang Bei murmured, “Maybe he really did hurt his head.”

All three looked worriedly at their big brother’s retreating figure.

Jiang Ji, fuming, went home. He washed his hands at the doorway and sat by the stove to warm himself.

Zhao Ru was sitting nearby, tending the boiling medicine while doing embroidery. Her stitching was skillful—she usually embroidered handkerchiefs to sell in town for a bit of extra money.

Seeing his sour expression, Zhao Ru asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jiang Ji muttered.

He just felt… defeated. Even six-year-old Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei could tell chives from weeds, and he couldn’t.

Zhao Ru, still weak, coughed lightly. “Does your head still hurt?”

“A little. It’s fine,” Jiang Ji said, then frowned. “You’ve been coughing for so long—it can hurt your lungs. Why don’t you go to the town clinic?”

Zhao Ru waved it off. “No need. Once it’s warmer, I’ll be fine.”

Jiang Ji stared into the fire, lost in thought. He had to think of a way to make money—or soon they wouldn’t even be able to afford bran, let alone medicine.

This was what poverty looked like.

But how could he make money?

If there was any trade that brought quick returns, it was food. As long as you had skill, you’d never lack customers.

But Young Master Jiang had never even washed rice before.

Clothing, food, housing, travel—he thought carefully about what skills he actually had.

Jiang Ji: …

Nineteen years alive, and now, for the first time, he realized—he only knew how to eat, drink, play, and enjoy life. Not a single money-making skill.

Utterly useless.

He couldn’t even tell chives from weeds.

Jiang Ji sighed deeply.

How was he supposed to make money?

No skills, no capital—what a headache!

【System data loaded. The Farming System is now active. The host may begin using it.】

Jiang Ji: !

Right—the system!

“You…”

Zhao Ru looked up. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just going out for a bit, Mother.”

He hurried out into the yard and whispered, “You—what kind of system are you exactly? Explain yourself.”

【This system’s real name is “Plow and Harvest.” It is a live-broadcast system, named after the poem Toiling Farmers. Its purpose is to let the user personally experience the hardship of the working people—through diligent labor and self-reliance, to achieve abundance, and to improve the living standards of people in this world, bringing benefit to all.】

Jiang Ji: …

“Self-reliance and hard work?” he repeated, stunned. “So I really am here for some kind of life-transformation program?!”

【If you wish to interpret it that way, that is acceptable.】

“…Was it you people who brought me here?” Jiang Ji snapped. “Send me back right now!”

【The host has already died in the original world. Returning will not bring you back to life. Are you sure you wish to return?】

“…” Jiang Ji immediately changed his tune. “Never mind. Forget I said that.”

So he really couldn’t go back—he’d have to live here.

He stayed silent for a moment, digesting that fact, then frowned. “How’s this ‘live broadcast system’ supposed to stream anything? There’s no phone here.”

【The host’s eyes serve as the camera. Everything the host sees will be broadcast live to the audience in real time. The host can earn system rewards and viewer donations. Accumulated points may be used in the system shop for exchanges.】

Suddenly, a translucent screen appeared before Jiang Ji’s eyes, displaying the Plow and Harvest Live System interface and usage guide.

After reading it, his spirits lifted instantly.

The system tasks were simple:
If viewership reached 10 people, he’d receive a reward of one jin (half a kilogram) of rice—and unlock the donation item “Rice.”
At 100 viewers, he’d earn one jin of pork and unlock “Peanuts.”
At 500 viewers, he’d gain the “Basic Farming Skill” and unlock “Instant Noodles.”

As viewership continued to grow, there would be even more rewards—vegetables, seeds, farming tools, medicines, various goods, and skills—all waiting to be unlocked.

Moreover, the daily viewer count would automatically convert into points redeemable in the system shop.

Rice!

Pork!

Instant noodles!

Just seeing those words made his stomach growl. Jiang Ji was momentarily stunned at himself.

Who would’ve thought—a former rich young master—reduced to drooling at the thought of rice and pork?

He couldn’t even remember the last time this body had eaten real white rice or meat.

But that didn’t matter. Soon, he’d have food again!

His eyes lit up, his spirit rekindled.

So it was just live streaming, right?!

He set himself a small goal: By tonight, the family’s going to eat white rice!

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾