Chapter Forty-Two: Taiyi Zhongnan, Clouds Stir in All Directions (Part Five)

Li Zhi, it must be said, was a pragmatic emperor. Yet Chang'an, after all, was the nation's face; except in these years of great famine when there was no other choice, the lands surrounding the capital were mostly imperial estates and noble family manors. With well-developed irrigation, even now, despite the drought, everything still appeared prosperous. Thus, Li Wei had journeyed farther afield, near the foot of Mount Zhongnan.

There, where the canals were fewer, noble estates still dotted the landscape, but the ordinary people's farmlands also became more frequent. Li Wei rode on horseback—though not skilled, he didn't need the horse to gallop at full tilt for war, so his journey was peaceful. Bi'er, beside him, was much the same; timid by nature, she looked pale with fright atop her mount. Before long, they neared Zhongnan Mountain, whose verdant slopes rose in layered green. The main road leading to the mountain was bustling with travelers.

But Li Wei had business to attend to. Even if he were in flight, he saw it as doing good for the common people; if not, and he hoped to remain safely emperor, then these people were his subjects, this land his own, and he ought to see to his tasks in earnest.

He glanced about, then turned off onto a small path that cut through fields under cultivation. Dismounting, he found that, unlike officials who might take holidays, the peasants worked even during festivals—though some, for the Cold Food Festival, did rest for a day. Yet the industrious ones continued to sow and till the ridged earth. To Li Wei's delight, he saw many farmers using the new plows; he even heard some praising his virtues and those of the Crown Prince to the skies, invoking all manner of spirits and deities in their gratitude. Even with his thick skin, Li Wei couldn't help but blush at such flattery.

He turned his gaze to the seeds: millet, sorghum, and soybeans. To his surprise, he even saw a field where rice was being sown directly, without transplanting seedlings—a method whose yield he doubted.

Even millet, sorghum, and beans required water, and he noticed many irrigation tools: hand-turned waterwheels, treadle pumps, ox-drawn wheels, and even bamboo tube chain pumps. Remote as this place was, there were still many canals, including a newly dug channel whose embankments showed fresh earth—proof of the court's attention to irrigation. Yet most of the ditches were dry, the situation far from promising.

Though he was a lecturer, he had no mastery of the ancient classics, nor was he well-versed in institutions, or even deeply knowledgeable in agriculture. But he had grown up in the countryside, in a time when rural life was still backward. Not an expert, yet as a youth he had worked in the fields, so he was no complete stranger to the land.

For instance, these waterwheels—perhaps Tang dynasty models were more advanced than Han, but still not optimal. The design of axles, upright and horizontal wheels was crude, lacking precision; each wheel had but a single set of wooden gears, making them inefficient and laborious to use.

He watched a brawny man turning a hand-cranked waterwheel, sweat pouring from his brow, and nearly spoke up, but restrained himself. One new plow had already given rise to endless rumors; if he introduced a new waterwheel now, how could he explain himself?

He continued his observations. Many patches of land lay fallow—a clear sign of efforts to restore soil fertility due to the lack of fertilizer, leaving rotation as the only recourse. Some used ashes or animal manure, but these were scarce; the ashes came mostly from household fires, plentiful enough, but with such vast fields and so few livestock, many poor peasants had none and pulled their plows themselves.

He stood in thought. Fertilizer was truly a difficult issue. He recalled the methods: farmyard manure, plant ash, compost. Suddenly, his eyes brightened, but he said nothing. Entering a field, he examined the seeds being sown and noticed some were of poor quality.

The peasants paid him little mind, thinking him just another idle rich youth come for amusement. After a while, he struck up a conversation with one of the farmers.

Composting was practiced: sometimes they cut green weeds and left them to rot in the dung pits. But when he mentioned Chinese milk vetch, the farmer looked blank. Fortunately, when he used its other names—purple cloudweed, feilian—the man recognized it, even saying some tender shoots were eaten as vegetables.

Li Wei was speechless—he'd eaten such things as a child, only to learn later they were toxic. This plant grew widely, mainly along the Yangtze, but also in northern China. Regardless of yield, better to plant vetch than let land lie fallow, for who knew how many years it would take for rains and dust to restore soil fertility? Beans were similar—people grew them as food and vaguely knew they enriched the earth, but not how much. Even a low-yield bean crop would accumulate more nitrogen than leaving land empty.

Sowing was also an issue: simply broadcasting seed onto the field, without using seedbeds for seedlings, meant poorer growth. True, transplanting crops like wheat was impractical, but for others, it would help.

It was now the season between two crops, but due to drought, the wheat was in poor condition—some fields had just a few scattered stalks, making Li Wei doubt there would be any harvest at all. Some farmers dug small pits among the wheat to plant beans and sorghum.

They knew to select the best seeds, but with extensive planting and poor yields, their method was only to save seed from the healthiest patches, each crop keeping its own. No wonder, he thought, that the noble Wang Rong drilled holes in every plum seed before selling them.

As for mass hybridization, single-plant selection, or saltwater seed selection, these concepts were unheard of. The prevailing practice of sowing vast areas with thin harvests limited their vision. Salt was expensive—three copper coins a jin, or four or five for finer grades, and the modern jin was likely half the weight of later times. On returning from the East Market, he had checked the records and found they had yet to develop solar evaporation, relying instead on boiling brine, mainly from salt ponds and some wells. With salt so dear, what farmer would waste it on seed selection?

He tried in another place, speaking to a seasoned farmer, but found the same result.

Most of these methods—apart from things like waterwheels—were recorded in the Essential Techniques for the Welfare of the People: single-plant seed selection, water selection before spring sowing (though they used freshwater, which wouldn't cull the weak seeds), and the ranking of fields by suitability for crops like mung beans, adzuki, and flax. He had pored over the book the day before, still puzzled—if it held so much advanced knowledge, why were yields so low?

He surmised that a few commoners had adopted some of its techniques, recognizing their value, but there was no systematic promotion. The book already advocated rotating beans instead of leaving land fallow, yet here lay great empty tracts, some even beside canals, showing the knowledge was not widely applied.

Of course, not all the book's advice was correct, but most was. By chance he knew a few ways to improve things, or at least to question them, but how to persuade his parents or the ministers to promote the book nationwide? Let alone correct its partial errors.

He wandered on, pondering, until noon, when he sat with his guards and Bi'er on a field ridge to eat the prepared wheat cakes and side dishes. So preoccupied was he that even eating, his brow remained furrowed.

Bi'er asked, "Your Highness, have you thought of a way to resolve this drought?"

He felt dizzy—not that he could solve droughts, but perhaps he could devise a method or two to raise yields. But to end the drought itself? As for karez wells—even in these backward times, one could not underestimate people's ingenuity. The Longshou Canal, built in the Western Han, ran through mount Songyan for miles, using tunnels and shafts to create forty-zhang-deep wells connected underground—essentially the same as a karez system. That was the Western Han, let alone the Tang.

He was not so capable as to build airplanes or induce artificial rain to bring relief to such a vast drought-stricken region.

"No, if Heaven withholds rain, there is little I can do but ponder other matters. Do you recall, yesterday, in preparation for today’s inspection, I read through the Essential Techniques for the Welfare of the People?"

"I remember—I fetched it from the shelf for you," Bi'er replied.

"And do you recall my words to Minister Dai at yesterday’s banquet, about the yields being too low?"

"I remember. But Minister Dai was right: compared to the Han dynasty, our yields have nearly doubled."

"If yields have doubled since Han times, why can't they double again?"

"But that would be so difficult..."

"Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Like my own persistent illness—it was hard to cure, yet with perseverance, I’m gradually recovering."

"Your Highness, you truly are a fine Crown Prince."

"Miss Jiang speaks most truly," said several guards at once, for he had brought ten with him out of the city.

His heart was moved. Inspections by other officials were but for show, as everyone knew. But the Crown Prince’s visit to the fields was genuine—he not only looked but asked questions, and now sat in thought. Whether he could find a solution was one thing; that he cared was another.

"You flatter me. The people place such hope in me, yet I am powerless to help—I feel uneasy. I long to do something in return."

By now, the midday sun was hot, and sweat beaded his brow. Bi'er, concerned, wiped it away and said, "Your Highness, you have looked and asked enough; shall we return to the palace?"

Her earnest gaze and the gentle spring breeze, carrying the faint fragrance of her maidenhood, touched Li Wei’s heart.

Spring was deepening, and a man’s heart could not help but stir. Many girls moved him—Xiangxue and Huailiu still in the Eastern Palace, or the fiery girl from the Xu family. Yet there were always considerations. Even with Yang Min, there were doubts, and he could not fully fathom her heart.

But with Bi'er, there was no such worry.

Was she still too young? Perhaps not; in this age, girls married and bore children at twelve or thirteen...

His mind wandered, yet he answered, "Since we're out, let’s look around a bit more."

Steadying his thoughts, he gazed over the endless fields and pondered anew. It was not an easy task—planting vetch or beans would take years to show results. One could not expect, after a single season of vetch and beans, to double yields and astound the world. To gain wide acceptance for these ideas could take decades.

It was too difficult. Speaking of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium—why, even the recently deceased "wizard" Li Chunfeng would not have believed it.

Still, some things could be done. There were many imperial estates outside Chang'an; both his parents and even his grandfather, Li Shimin, had always prioritized agriculture. If he were to hawk wares at the market, the censors would kneel from Taiji Palace to East Market, but to promote agriculture—no minister would object.

This gave him an advantage, and with time pressing, he could try seedling pots, irrigate the fields, and use vetch—which, though rare outside Chang'an, grew wild at the foot of Zhongnan Mountain, eaten by locals as a vegetable or used as medicine. As Crown Prince, he could easily order its collection, or have bean stalks gathered for composting. Once the seedlings grew, draining the fields, the green manure would be nearly ready, and more scientific methods could be applied.

He would not try too much at first; if cared for, even a modest yield increase would arouse curiosity among the locals, even if his parents did not promote it. Yet he worried—what if yields soared to four or five shi per mu and stunned the world? It was not impossible.

He truly worried... about his identity as Crown Prince.

Just then, a man rode up swiftly, dismounted before Li Wei, and asked, "Are you His Highness the Crown Prince?"

The guards immediately braced themselves, but Li Wei waved them off and replied, "I am."

"Your subject pays respects to Your Highness," the man said, bowing. "Your Highness, something unfortunate has happened."