nashuaworldcup Chapter 513 Ba Qing's Wisdom
Chapter 513 Ba Qing's Wisdom
Those who are still foolishly waiting for Chu's reinforcements and fantasizing that an alliance against Qin can succeed are like stubborn rocks at the bottom of a river, always thinking that their sharp edges can stop the surging torrent. Little do they know that the river has already flooded over their heads, carrying mud, sand, and gravel, rushing towards the unification of the world, and no one can stop it.
“I understand what Mother means.” Bapu suddenly stood up, the hem of his blue robe sweeping across the moss on the steps, bringing with it a damp, earthy smell.
His voice was a few decibels deeper than before, but the end of his tone revealed an undeniable firmness: "I will personally oversee the iron ore project. The next batch of iron will be purer and harder than the last, and the construction schedule in Xianyang will not be delayed."
He paused, his gaze passing over the courtyard wall and landing on the dim yellow light in the direction of the post station. "As for those who can't see the situation clearly..." As he paused, the wind on the eaves seemed to stop. "I will make them see clearly."
Ba Qing gazed at his straight back and slowly nodded. The glow of the oil lamp swirled around her temples, and the string of water-red agate beads on her wrist swayed gently with her gestures, reflecting tiny specks of light that flickered on the wall, much like the luminous pearl she had seen twenty years ago in Xianyang Palace—hanging from the eaves of Zichen Hall, its brilliance visible even through three layers of palace walls, dazzlingly bright and exuding an unstoppable majesty.
The rain in Ouyue always comes unexpectedly. One moment the sun is shining brightly, and the next, large raindrops are pelting down, pattering on the bluestone slabs of the prefectural government's backyard, the splashes forming small puddles under the pillars. The copper bells on the eaves, wet from the wind and rain, make a muffled sound when they shake, sounding less grand and more down-to-earth than the jade chimes under the eaves of Xianyang Palace.
"Young master, this rain is likely to last for three days." The voice of the old servant A Cang came from behind. He was holding a coarse cloth raincoat in his hands, with some freshly cut sugarcane leaf scraps still sticking to the surface, making it look bright green. "The early rice in the fields has just flowered and is thirsty. This rain is just in time."
Fusu turned around and took the raincoat, draping it over his arm. The coarse linen made his palms itch slightly, but it was a hundred times more comfortable than the brocade robe he wore when he first arrived in Ouyue three years ago—in the humid and hot weather of Baiyue, brocade felt like an airtight shell, making one feel sticky all over, while this coarse linen was breathable, and sweat would quickly dry in the sea breeze. He looked down at his wooden clogs, the surfaces of which were already wet from the rain, making a splashing sound as he walked through the puddles, much more comfortable than the cloud-patterned brocade boots he wore in Xianyang.
"Let's go check on the sugarcane field." He stepped out of the yard, and as his wooden clogs rolled over puddles, water droplets splashed up and soaked his trouser legs.
Leaving the prefectural government, the fields shrouded in rain resembled ink splashed in varying shades, layer upon layer. Vast sugarcane groves swayed in the wind and rain, their green leaves curling up to reveal the sugarcane stalks covered in white frost beneath, stretching from the city walls all the way to the sea. Three years ago, when he first arrived, this place was a desolate mudflat overgrown with weeds, leaving only foul-smelling silt after the tide receded. Now, not only Ouyue, but also Yuyue to the east and Minyue to the south, were covered by this green wave, and a sweet fragrance wafted in the wind.
"Young master, look!" A burly Yue man named A Wu, who was guarding the field, ran over holding a bamboo umbrella. The umbrella was billowing in the wind. He pointed to a patch of new seedlings by the edge of the field, and two wrinkles appeared on his dark face as he smiled. "This millet is growing even better than last year! Look at these roots, they've gone very deep!"
Fusu squatted down, his fingers gently brushing against the millet leaves. Raindrops on the tips of the leaves touched his fingertips, feeling cool and refreshing. Last year, he brought wheat seeds from Xianyang, hoping they could be promoted in Baiyue. However, the wheat stalks had just sprouted when the continuous rain soaked them and they became moldy, the ears filled with black ash. On the contrary, the old farmer who accompanied him suggested, "Try the local millet." A few handfuls of seeds he casually scattered grew lush and green on this damp slope, the ears heavy and much plumper than the millet from Guanzhong.
"Harvest the rest of the wheat seeds." He stood up, rainwater trickling down the edge of his straw hat, gathering into droplets on his chin, and dripping onto his clothes. "Next year, we'll only plant millet and rice, following the Yue people's method."
A-Wu grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth that shone brightly in the rain: "Young Master is so clever! Our ancestors said that the land of Baiyue is selective about what it grows; it only recognizes rice and millet, and it doesn't care for those precious wheat varieties!"
Fusu gazed at the distant rice paddies, where the early rice had already reached waist-high, its ears heavy and bowing low, the tips drooping over the water, gleaming with an oily sheen in the rain. The few acres of rice he had tried planting last year yielded a yield that was 20% higher than the best fertile fields in Guanzhong. This made him realize for the first time the immense wealth hidden within this land, which the people of the Central Plains considered barbaric—not gold and silver, but fertile soil and water that could sustain life, and the vitality that could sprout even when buried in the mud.
“Let’s go check out the shipyard,” he said to A Cang, his voice slightly damp from the rain.
The Yue people are said to have bones made of water. In the dock east of the prefecture, dozens of newly built multi-storied ships are moored in the harbor, their sails neatly furled, like a group of giant beasts lying on the water. The ship planks are made of local hardwood, which is moisture-resistant and rot-resistant, and can withstand the huge waves of typhoon days. The oars are also ingenious, made of the fiber left over from sugarcane stalks mixed with tung oil and pressed together. They are lightweight and strong, and require 30% less effort to row than peach wood oars.
Three years ago, when he had just recovered Ouyue, the Yue people here were still hiding in the reeds with bone spears and bamboo arrows to resist. Now they are the most skilled craftsmen in the dock. The sounds of hammering and chiseling, shouts and the sound of waves are more lively than the palace music in Xianyang.
"Young master!" Ou Luo, the Yue chief in charge of shipbuilding, jumped down from a multi-storied ship, holding a rough earthenware jar with its mouth plugged with cloth. "Freshly boiled sugar! Made from this year's first batch of sugarcane, please have a taste!"
Fusu took it, uncorked it, and a sweet fragrance mixed with the rain vapor wafted into his nostrils, washing away the dampness on his body. The cane sugar in the jar was amber in color, with distinct granules, purer than the maltose sold in Xianyang, and carried the warmth of sunshine.
Over the past three years, sugarcane has not only filled the stomachs of the Yue people, but has also become a link between Baiyue and the Central Plains. The ironware and cloth traded for sugarcane are gradually changing the appearance of this land: the thatched huts of the Yue people now have Qin-style wooden beds, the pottery bowls in the hands of children are imprinted with Qin patterns, and even the farm tools in the fields have been replaced with plowshares made by Shu ironworkers.
"The caravan from the north should be here by now, right?" Fusu asked, picking up a piece of cane sugar with his fingertips, putting it in his mouth, the sweetness spreading on his tongue, with a slight caramel aroma.
"Soon!" Ou Luo pointed towards the horizon, where the rain seemed to have thinned out. "Yesterday, a fishing boat returned and said it saw a merchant fleet in the Blackwater Ocean, a dozen or so ships carrying millet from Guanzhong and iron from Shu. The sails even had Qin flags painted on them!" He suddenly leaned closer and lowered his voice. "They also said... there was a letter from the young master on board."