Ch 22: The Regent’s Farmer Husband

During lunch, Jiang Ji discussed with Zhao Ru about buying an ox. Since he was heading to town anyway to buy notebooks, he figured he’d get one while he was there.

With so much farmland now, life without an ox would be inconvenient. They still had some silver saved, so Zhao Ru agreed immediately.

“I’ll clean out the pigsty later so we can use it for now.”

“Alright. Once I’m back, I’ll reinforce it and turn it properly into a cowshed.”

Jiang Ji thought the villagers would take time to decide—after all, these were all new crops, and hesitation was natural. But unexpectedly, just after lunch, someone knocked on the door to register for seeds.

It was the village head.

He had gone home, thought things over carefully, discussed it with his family, and then made up his mind.

“I’ll take enough seeds for three mu of rice, two mu of sweet potatoes, one mu of cotton, one mu of peanuts, half a mu of potatoes, half a mu of soybeans, and four mu of corn. You can help me calculate how many jin I’ll need.”

Jiang Ji thought for a moment. “You plan to intercrop all your corn with the sweet potatoes and potatoes, right?”

“That’s right.”

From what Jiang Ji knew of the village head’s land, it seemed he was planting half in the new varieties and half in the old—steady growth through cautious change. That would probably be most people’s approach.

“Village Head, I also have vegetable and fruit seeds. Want some?”

The village head looked intrigued. “What kinds? New varieties?”

“All sorts.” Jiang Ji scratched his head. “We’ve got improved versions of the vegetables we already grow, and some entirely new ones. I’m heading to town this afternoon. When I get back, I’ll write everything down. In ten days or half a month, when it’s time to sow them, I’ll show everyone the list—then they can decide if they want to buy.”

“Alright, write it up first,” said the village head, pleased that Jiang Ji seemed organized. “Need someone to help you copy it down?”

“No need, Jiang Yan can help me.” Jiang Ji paused, then added, “Village Head, if you trust me, set aside half a mu or a full mu of good land. I want to try growing something new—it’ll make more money than vegetables.”

The village head’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“Watermelons,” Jiang Ji said. “Come by tonight and we’ll talk it over.”

“Alright.”

“Oh, and Village Head—I want to go into town to buy an ox. Could you come help me take a look? I don’t know how to pick one.”

“Sure thing. You going now?”

“Yes. I want to start plowing tomorrow.”

“Alright, let’s go. Jiang Nan, go tell the family I’m heading to town with your brother.”

Jiang Nan nodded obediently. “Okay.”

Before leaving, Jiang Ji opened his notebook for Jiang Yan. “If anyone comes to register for seeds, write it down for me. Here’s the amount of seed each crop needs per mu—help them calculate it. Just jot it down; I’ll be back soon.”

He handed over a new notebook. “Use this one. Write like I do—this column for name, this one for seed type, this one for quantity. And don’t write too big.”

When Jiang Yan wrote with a pen, he still carried his brushwriting habits—his characters were huge, taking up half a page.

“Got it,” Jiang Yan said readily.

“Oh, and if Uncle Tu Gen comes to register, tell him not to rush. I’ll discuss things with him tonight when I return.”

“Alright.”

With that, Jiang Ji and the village head headed to town.

Not long after they left, Uncle Tu Gen arrived. Jiang Yan relayed Jiang Ji’s message, and the man agreed without complaint.

In town, Jiang Ji first stopped by a shop to buy blank notebooks—twenty in all—and a large stack of paper sheets.

The village head asked, “What are you doing with so many notebooks?”

“To write down the planting methods. I’m having Jiang Yan copy each crop’s instructions so it’ll be easier to share later,” Jiang Ji explained.

The village head’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah, so you want other villages to grow them too—and they can just follow what’s written?”

“Exactly. I can’t go to every single village to explain how to plant; there’s no time. It’s better to pass it along person to person—or through writing.”

The village head nodded secretly, impressed. For someone so young, Jiang Ji was already planning things so thoroughly.

When they reached the livestock market, the village head helped him pick out a three-year-old water buffalo, already trained for plowing, for seven taels of silver.

In their area, the fields were mostly flat. Jiang Ji’s family had many paddies, so a water buffalo was better suited than a yellow ox—it had greater strength and endurance, perfect for deep tilling both wet and dry fields.

Deep tilling improved soil aeration, prevented compaction, and reduced pests and weeds.

In a time without pesticides or chemical fertilizers, deep tilling was vital.

Once the purchase was made, the two led the ox home at a leisurely pace.

When they arrived, Jiang Ji was surprised to see the pigsty already cleaned out and converted into a proper cowshed. The surrounding fence had been repaired and reinforced with wooden planks, and a thick layer of straw had been laid inside for bedding.

“Mother, you already got it all done? I said I’d fix it when I came back.”

Zhao Ru smiled. “Jiang Yan helped.”

Jiang Ji looked over at him. Jiang Yan’s face was calm as ever. “I had nothing else to do. It was simple.”

Jiang Ji was speechless.

Nearby, Jiang Bei piped up cheerfully, “Brother Jiang Yan didn’t actually know how to build a cowshed—Uncle Tu Gen came to teach him.”

Jiang Yan: “…”

Seeing his usually composed expression crack a little, Jiang Ji burst out laughing, leading the ox into its new home, untying the rope, and tossing it a bundle of straw to eat.

The family gathered outside the pen to watch, full of curiosity. Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei were especially excited, chattering nonstop.

“It’s huge!”

“Not as big as Uncle Fugui’s buffalo, though.”

“His ox is old. Ours looks younger.”

“Brother, how old is it?”

Jiang Ji grinned. “Three years and two months.”

“Wow, it’s only three years old? And it’s already going to work the fields?”

The two little rascals immediately looked at the ox with sympathetic eyes.

“It’s already grown,” Jiang Ji chuckled, giving each of them a light pat. “When you’ve got time, go cut some grass to feed it. And when you’re not in school, you can take it out to graze.”

Jiang Nan lit up. “Okay! I like herding oxen!”

Jiang Ji was surprised—this kid liked herding oxen?

From what he remembered, watching cattle meant following them constantly, never letting them out of sight—if they wandered off or trampled someone else’s crops, that would be trouble.

And this child actually liked that?

He couldn’t quite understand it, but he respected it. “Alright then, you can start tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay!”

Jiang Ji washed his hands, brought the notebooks and paper back to his room, and asked Jiang Yan, “Did anyone else come this afternoon to register for seeds?”

“Twenty-seven people. I wrote them all down.” Jiang Yan handed him the notebook. “Most bought enough rice seed for one or two mu, others about half a mu. Corn was the most popular.”

Jiang Ji flipped through it. Just as Jiang Yan said, most villagers followed the same cautious plan as the village head—half old crops, half new.

“Reasonable,” Jiang Ji said. “There’s always risk.”

“But one family bought a lot more,” Jiang Yan said, pointing to a name—Jiang Daguì. “See? He bought nearly double the others.”

Jiang Ji glanced at the name. “Ah, Uncle Daguì.”

“Does he have more land?” Jiang Yan asked.

“Not really. About three mu of farmland and three mu of wasteland—it’s been fallow for four years now. I think he’s got another three mu of paddies.”

Jiang Yan raised his brows. “So he’s going all in on the new crops.”

At that moment, Jiang Bei came in and overheard them. “Uncle Daguì went to rent land this afternoon! His son Xiao Shitou said he rented several more mu.”

“Oh, that explains it,” Jiang Ji said.

Jiang Bei went on, “I heard Aunt Xiufang telling Mother that lots of people went to buy or rent land this afternoon. Some bought, some rented—either way, half the village went out. Uncle Tu Gen even rented two more mu from the landlord.”

Jiang Ji and Jiang Yan exchanged a glance and smiled. The villagers reacted faster than he’d expected.

Looking at the stack of notebooks, Jiang Yan asked, “So how are you planning to copy all these down?”

Jiang Ji had already thought it through. “One crop per notebook. I’ll start with what I’ve written down already. If new problems come up later, I’ll keep adding to the end.”

Jiang Yan nodded. “Makes sense.”

He rolled up his sleeves to start writing, and Jiang Ji frowned. “You’re not planning to start right now, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t.” Jiang Ji stopped him. “It’s getting dark. You’ll strain your eyes. Do it in daylight—it’s not urgent.”

The tung oil lamp here gave off such dim light that if he ruined his eyesight, there’d be no way to fix it. Glasses didn’t even exist yet.

Jiang Yan paused, let his sleeves fall, and lowered his gaze. “Alright.”

That night after dinner, the village head, Uncle Tu Gen, and Aunt Xiufang all came to Jiang Ji’s house. Everyone gathered in the kitchen.

Jiang Ji brought out a watermelon and several tomatoes he’d exchanged from the system.

Everyone stared curiously at the unfamiliar things—a green fruit the size of a small pot, and several red ones about the size of fists.

“What are those?” Jiang Nan asked curiously.

“The green one’s called watermelon. These red ones are called tomatoes—or xihongshi.” Jiang Ji washed the tomatoes, cut them in half with a knife, and handed each person a piece. “Try it. You can eat it raw or cook it as a dish.”

Everyone trusted him, so they didn’t hesitate. They sniffed first, then took a bite.

Juice burst out at the first bite, the flesh sweet and tangy with a unique fruity aroma.

“It tastes refreshing,” Aunt Xiufang said—she liked it immediately.

The village head frowned slightly. “Smells a bit odd, but the taste’s fine.”

Jiang Xia curved her brows in delight. “I like it.”

Tomatoes did have a distinctive scent—some people loved it, others didn’t.

Jiang Ji turned to Jiang Yan. “What do you think?”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Yan nodded.

Jiang Ji finished his half quickly. “This tastes great stir-fried with eggs—or made into tomato egg soup.”

When everyone finished, Jiang Ji had them rinse their mouths, then started cutting the watermelon.

As soon as the knife pierced the rind, the melon split open with a crisp crack, and a wave of fresh sweetness filled the air.

“This one’s a good melon,” Jiang Ji said, pleased with the sound. He sliced it into wedges and told everyone, “Eat the red flesh, spit out the seeds.”

One by one, everyone took a piece.

Zhao Ru habitually smelled it first—the sweet scent hit her nose, and she said, “It smells so sweet already.”

The others nodded.

Uncle Tu Gen bit in first, took two chews, and his eyes lit up as he gave a big thumbs-up.

“This is delicious! So sweet!”

The others followed, all wearing the same look of delighted surprise.

“It’s so good!”

“Sweet but light—not cloying at all.”

“And you barely have to chew—it’s full of juice!”

“So refreshing!”

Watching their reactions, Jiang Ji turned to Jiang Yan again. “Well? How’s this one?”

Jiang Yan nodded, his expression relaxed. “Sweet and crisp—leaves a fragrance in the mouth.”

When everyone finished the watermelon and washed their hands, Aunt Xiufang asked, “Xiao Ji, you’re planning to grow these two, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Our family definitely will,” Jiang Ji nodded, looking at Aunt Xiufang, Uncle Tu Gen, and the village head. “Would you like to plant them with me?”

When Aunt Xiufang and the others saw Jiang Ji bring out the tomatoes and watermelon, they already guessed what he meant to do—otherwise, he wouldn’t have called them over specifically.

After tasting the two fruits and then hearing him confirm that he wanted to grow them together, everyone was immediately excited.

With flavors like those, they’d have no trouble selling, and since only they would have them, the prices would surely be good.

Aunt Xiufang didn’t hesitate. “We’ll plant them with you!”

“Count me in too,” said the village head with a nod.

He understood perfectly. Unlike corn or rice that everyone would soon be planting, this was different—only their three families would have these crops. If sales went well this year, next year everyone in the village would want to buy seeds from Jiang Ji. They couldn’t miss this first opportunity.

This outcome was exactly what Jiang Ji had expected. The moment he decided to let them taste the fruits, he’d known they’d agree.

“Let me explain first,” he said. “Tomatoes are relatively easy to grow, but watermelons are trickier—they need more attention and effort. Think about how much land you want to set aside for them.”

Aunt Xiufang exchanged a glance with Uncle Tu Gen and asked, “How much are you planning to plant yourself?”

Jiang Ji had already discussed it with Zhao Ru earlier.

“We have over seventeen mu of dry land. We’re planting all of it with new crops, leaving just a little bit for old vegetables for home use—but even those will be grown from new seeds. Four mu of watermelon, two mu of tomatoes, two mu of chili peppers, two mu of cotton, one mu of potatoes, one mu of bitter melon, one mu of pumpkin, one mu of lettuce, two mu of sweet potatoes, one mu of onions—and corn intercropped.”

The village head and the others were stunned.

“Half the things you just said—we’ve never even heard of them,” Aunt Xiufang said.

Jiang Ji nodded. “Right. None of these grow around here. But rarity makes them valuable—the things others don’t have are the ones that sell for the best prices.”

That made sense, though Aunt Xiufang sighed. “We don’t have that much land to plant.”

“That’s why I suggested you focus on watermelons and tomatoes,” Jiang Ji said. “Those two should sell best. It’s better to grow more watermelons—they keep longer and can be transported farther. Tomatoes don’t store or travel as well. Or, if you don’t want tomatoes, you can grow pumpkins instead. They also keep for a long time, can be eaten in many ways—stir-fried, made into porridge—and you can store them to sell slowly.”

While he spoke, Jiang Yan and the others listened quietly. The warm candlelight flickered over Jiang Ji’s face as he talked about planting and planning, and everyone could almost see the golden harvest months ahead shining in his expression.

The village head and Uncle Tu Gen discussed for a while. Jiang Ji didn’t interrupt; he just went to drink some water.

In the end, the village head decided to plant one mu of watermelon and a small patch of tomatoes as a test.

Uncle Tu Gen and Aunt Xiufang chose to take a gamble—they’d plant two mu total, half watermelon and half tomato. The rest of their land, aside from a small vegetable plot for their own food, would be filled with sweet potatoes and corn, enough to make sure their family wouldn’t go hungry.

After seeing them off, Jiang Ji, Jiang Yan, and Zhao Ru talked more about field work.

With so much land now, there was a lot to manage—so many things to plan ahead.

As they spoke, a pot of water simmered on the stove. Zhao Ru sent the two little monkeys off to bathe, while Jiang Ji sat down with a notebook and began writing.

They were about to start plowing and seedling preparation—he’d need to hire labor. How much should he pay per day?

They also had to start composting fertilizer. For forty mu of land, the family’s current manure was far from enough. They’d need to hire people to collect more from town…

Fertilizer was a major issue. Urban waste was probably already claimed by regular collectors—whether they could get any was uncertain.

Oh, and school would start soon. He’d have to visit the teacher tomorrow afternoon to arrange for Jiang Nan, Jiang Bei, and Jiang Xia’s enrollment.

There was too much to do. Afraid he’d forget, Jiang Ji wrote everything down one by one, ranking them by priority—first, second, third, fourth—and planning to tackle them step by step.

Jiang Yan watched him bent over the small table and frowned. “Didn’t you say writing at night would strain your eyes?”

Jiang Ji’s hand paused. He looked up. “…There’s just too much to remember. I’m afraid I’ll forget.”

Jiang Yan gazed at him quietly.

Realizing he’d just contradicted himself, Jiang Ji sighed. “Fine, then help me think—what should we do about fertilizer? Forty mu of land, and what we have isn’t nearly enough.”

Jiang Yan thought for a moment. “Go collect from the city?”

“Probably not easy—people there already have regular hauling arrangements.”

Jiang Yan had only learned about farming by observing these past few days. “Are there other kinds of fertilizer?”

“Yes,” Jiang Ji said. “Manure from chickens, ducks, pigs, cows, humans—mixed with fallen leaves, silt from ponds, and so on. Combine them and you get compost.”

“Then tomorrow, let’s collect fallen leaves in the forest. Once it’s warmer, we can dig pond mud.”

Jiang Ji smiled. “That’s right. But during spring plowing, we won’t have time to ferment compost—it won’t be ready for at least two months, and even then, it won’t be enough. Crops need a lot of fertilizer during growth…”

He stopped suddenly.

Jiang Yan asked, “What is it?”

“…Nothing.”

Jiang Ji blinked, set down his pen, and quietly opened his system interface on the table.

He suddenly remembered—he hadn’t yet claimed his intermediate farming skill reward.

He opened the task panel, found the mission, and clicked “Claim Reward.”

In an instant, countless modern agricultural techniques flooded his mind.

The sheer amount of information made him dizzy for a moment, but he quickly recovered.

As he processed the memory, he was surprised to find new methods from modern organic farming that could solve the fertilizer shortage during the rice-growing season.

“Wow, that’s brilliant,” Jiang Ji couldn’t help exclaiming aloud.

Jiang Yan, seeing him suddenly speak while staring down at something, looked puzzled. “What?”

Jiang Ji looked up at him. “Nothing. I just thought of something. I’ll step out for a bit.”

With that, he went outside.

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei, fresh from their baths and still unwilling to go to bed, ran into the kitchen. “Brother Jiang Yan, where’s my brother?”

“He went out to take care of something.”

“Oh.”

Since Jiang Yan couldn’t bathe yet, he filled a basin with water and took it to his room to wipe himself down.

After washing up and putting on clean clothes, he came out carrying the basin—and saw Jiang Ji crouched in the corner of the courtyard, back turned toward him, apparently talking to someone. But from the distance, Jiang Ji’s voice was low, and Jiang Yan couldn’t make out the words.

He looked more closely. It didn’t seem like there was anyone in front of Jiang Ji.

After pouring out the water, he turned to Jiang Bei, who was standing at the kitchen door. “Who’s your brother talking to?”

Jiang Bei glanced over and answered casually, used to the sight. “Oh, he’s talking to the imm—”

Jiang Yan: “?”

Before he could finish, Jiang Bei clapped a hand over his mouth. He suddenly remembered his brother had told him not to mention anything about gods or spirits to others. His little brain spun fast. “…Who? No one! There’s no one there. My brother—he’s just talking to himself. Yeah, just to himself.”

Jiang Yan: …

He looked at Jiang Ji’s silhouette, thoughtful.

Jiang Bei, sweating nervously, added again for emphasis, “Brother Jiang Yan, my brother really is talking to himself.”

“Mhm. I know,” Jiang Yan replied softly, not pressing further, and went back into the kitchen.

There was something unusual about Jiang Ji—some secret, perhaps. Like today, when he’d somehow produced watermelons and tomatoes out of nowhere; clearly, they hadn’t come from town, since even the village head didn’t know about them.

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei must know something too; children weren’t good at hiding that sort of thing.

Still, since Jiang Ji didn’t speak of it, Jiang Yan didn’t pry.

As a guest, that much respect was the least he could offer.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾