Chapter 115

The Great King stays cooped up in the mansion every day, feeling resentful and thinking that he cannot just let this huge injustice go unanswered! The capital still doesn't know—this is unacceptable!

I, the king, am bearing the burden for you all—when you chose this fief for me, did you ever think how dangerous this place is? I'm too miserable!

The Great King, who is skilled at lodging complaints, decided to immediately send up a memorial.

The gist is: 【Father Emperor, my son almost got killed while strolling in his own fief! The other side were still death warriors—do you dare believe it？

If it weren't for the son having enough manpower at hand, and if it weren't for the three thousand personal guards arriving in time, you wouldn't have three sons left! Thank you again, Father Emperor, for supplying the son's personal guard battalion.

Last time the Eastern Xianbei came south to raid and failed; this time they are definitely coming back for revenge—my son is so scared!

A dozen or so assassins swaggered into Secluded Prefecture City, and the city guards didn't notice—why? Because our Secluded Prefecture is so poor it has no reliable guards; the newly posted ones lack experience and have never seen the world, my son really has it rough!

Actually, none of this is a big deal; what truly grieves my son isn't these.

But… Father Emperor, the Xianbei cutting down your son in the street—isn't that too disrespectful to you?

If they regarded the Great Jin with importance, they would never do this! The Xianbei have wolfish ambitions; my son worries constantly at the border, and Your Majesty should also be extra vigilant!】

It's fine that the assassins left no direct evidence; Your Majesty, with the letter, send over the two swords the Eastern Xianbei used last time that were seized—now we have material proof too.

The king's simple idea is: if you won't let me call the shots, that's fine—just stop sending people to demand tribute. Our Secluded Prefecture is tempestuous; I, this king, may not survive from morning to evening, so you might as well pretend Secluded Prefecture doesn't exist. Last year I, this king, was planning to renege on it; this year we'll see how things go.

Moreover, those three thousand men aren't a big windfall for me, this king; regardless who exerted the effort, they are now the emperor's provisioned personal guard battalion that every princely king receives—it's what I'm entitled to.

Having written and sealed it, I directly sent someone to deliver it to Everlasting Peace.

When the Secretariat sorted it out, they were utterly speechless—this Prince of Secluded Prefecture may be young, but he certainly knows how to elevate matters when trouble arises.

And what exactly is this you've written? If it's a memorial, follow the memorial's format; if it's a family letter, couldn't you just send it straight to the emperor's hands?

But you insisted on sending it to the Secretariat, planning to bring it up at the next court audience—who knew the emperor would skip work?

By the time it reached the emperor's hands, he was deep in debauchery.

He was happily enjoying the song and dance, but after reading his son's tearful plea, he sighed and left it at that. At this moment the atmosphere was too sorrowful to shake off, yet he turned his head and forgot it entirely.

Fortunately, the king wasn't counting on his father either; the first spring planting since arriving in Secluded Prefecture has finally begun.

Before that, the king's 'Rising Peace Agricultural Tools Shop' finally opened.

His older brother Bai, who runs a big supermarket in a first-tier city, scrambled to gather these farm tools, exhausting himself. After all, in the age of mechanized agriculture, custom‑making a batch of plow blades for a curved‑shaft plow is really odd. Buying iron pitchforks and sickles in bulk would draw government scrutiny, so he could only pick up a few here and there, ordering online from different shopping sites and scraping together supplies at rural hardware stores.

Besides the curved‑shaft plow, the shop stocks all sorts of iron hoes, pitchforks, sickles, and other iron farm implements, priced at wholesale. He didn't open the shop to make money; he hopes everyone will learn these farm tools forged over a thousand years, and best of all immediately copy them to promote throughout the Great Jin.

Sometimes, even after painstaking promotion, the effect isn't guaranteed.

Last year, most of the potatoes and sweet potatoes grown at Wang Village were kept for seed; the king was reluctant to eat them, but even that wasn't enough. He early on had Baiyang stir up a batch of new seeds, which he distributed to the people to plant on the newly cleared wasteland after a spring's labor.

And that's not all—this year Secluded Prefecture's new crops also include a bit of wheat seed bought at great expense. The king's expectation was spot on: the higher‑yielding modern wheat variety was ruthlessly stripped of its husk by Dreamy, and the king could only let it be as it is.

This year, potato seeds and sweet‑potato seedlings are encouraged for land reclamation and to solve food‑and‑clothing needs; they're distributed free. Next year, to keep the potato yield from dropping, you either must grow your own seeds or bring potatoes to the Rising Peace Grain Shop to exchange for seed—these planting manuals teach that. In other words, from the second year onward you're on your own; the king is quite shrewd, not letting them develop a habit of reaching out for help whenever something comes up.

The wheat seed is also sold directly at the Rising Peace Grain Shop; the only difference is that the king absorbs the extra cost added to the price.

Actually, there's no real communication problem, because most of the Great Jin's commoners also buy wheat seed to sow. For example, when Secluded Prefecture suffered drought last year, the shriveled grain they harvested—commoners wouldn't use it as seed.

The people were busy with spring plowing, and the king wasn't idle either.

The land for the military colonies had already been plotted and allocated, all of it north of the Prince of Secluded Prefecture's residence.

The king himself was allocated a two‑mu plot right next to the Prince of Secluded Prefecture's residence; farming expert Tong Hui personally returned to help the king clear the land and turn it over twice, and after letting it dry for a few days, the king began sowing.

The manor had no draft oxen, and his horse met with disaster.

Little Jujube was harnessed to the curved‑shaft plow; they didn't even spare the eight‑mu‑tall Eighty Thousand Taels, and the Palace Affairs Office helped him make a miniature version of the curved‑shaft plow. The king himself held it from behind, while he and Eighty Thousand Taels were responsible for planting winter melon.

A miniature horse pulled a miniature plow, and behind it, holding the plow, was a short, stout figure—the comic effect was maxed out.

Even the peasants' households could pitch in this big, but this guy's equipment is unprecedentedly awesome.

The king left the manor, and outside his two‑mu plot a number of soldiers stood, all of them straining to keep their expressions under control. They undoubtedly came from the lower‑class poor folk, which is why they took the path of enlistment. Farming is inherently a bone‑deep, painful, exhausting chore—so why does the scene change so dramatically when it's the king's plot?!

One felt a strong urge to join in, even wanting to clock off right away and really make a difference on one's own few mu of land.

Don't let the mere two mu fool you—the king intends to grow over a dozen varieties; this is a serious undertaking.

Wei Shen, who was seized to serve as labor, felt terrible—oh, he felt bad for Little Jujube.

Little Jujube takes a few steps, and he always has to follow along, sighing. The king could take no more: 'Why don't your older cousin take its place? Have your older cousin pull the plow? There's only that much tomato; if you add more, I'll fire you and let Winnie take over!'

Winnie, covered head to toe in dirt, immediately lifted his head and stood up, guiltily shaking off the dirt, then stretched out his two front paws and patted his own head, saying, 'I'm being honest and clean!'

Older cousin: ……

He wanted to say, 'Trouble you, let this idiot take my place!' but also felt that being replaced by Winnie would sound neither good nor bad.

'I know!' he endured.