Chapter 68: 067 — Farming Matters

In the Hanzhu Academy, at the library.

As expected, in the first two days after the debate ended, many people came to borrow books — all of them various works by Zhu Xi.

But from the third day on, the number of teachers and students reading dwindled day by day.

After five days, only a scattered few remained.

Carefully returning the "Classified Conversations of Master Zhu," Liu Ziren put away his copied notes, cupped his hands, and said, "Fellow students, I must take my leave. My family is harvesting sweet potatoes today, and I must hurry to the fields to work."

"If there is farm work, it must not be delayed," Zhao Han said, setting down his book as well. "I happen to have nothing to do, so I'll go down the mountain and help."

Liu Ziren repeatedly declined: "No need, no need."

Zhao Han wanted more contact with peasants, so naturally he had to learn farm work first — otherwise, genuine communication would be impossible.

Under Zhao Han's insistent urging, Liu Ziren could only take him to the fields to work.

The two left together. Fei Ruyi, unwilling to read alone, returned "Dream Pool Essays" and departed.

No matter whose library it was, books were never permitted to be taken out. You either read in the library hall, or you copied the contents and took those away.

As they walked, Zhao Han asked, "How is the sweet potato harvest this year?"

Liu Ziren explained in detail: "We began trial planting last year, and only now do we understand its nature. I've heard that sweet potato vines must be turned to control rampant growth. Otherwise, the better the vines grow, the poorer the tubers. Last year we didn't know this principle and just planted blindly. Perhaps this year we can have a bumper harvest."

"So that's how it is — truly, each craft has its own mastery," Zhao Han said. He really had never been exposed to farming.

Sweet potatoes entered China in the twenty-first year of Wanli.

A Fujian xiucai named Chen Zhenlong, while doing business in the Philippines, bribed natives to obtain vines. He then twisted the vines into a water-drawing rope to evade inspection by Spanish colonizers, and thus brought the sweet potato vines back to Fujian for planting.

That same year, several other merchants brought vines back from Japan and planted them in the temple fields of Mount Putuo in Zhejiang.

Thirty years on, thanks to promotion by local officials, sweet potatoes had spread throughout Fujian and Guangdong.

In Zhejiang, however, propagation was slower, with only small-scale planting in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region.

Jiangxi, sandwiched between these three provinces — how could it possibly remain unaffected?

Sweet potatoes introduced from Guangdong now covered the entire southern Jiangxi region.

In recent years, they had also spread from Fujian to Yanshan County. Almost one town per year — the common people scrambled to plant them, and some farming households made a tidy profit selling vines.

The sweet potatoes Liu Ziren's family planted were bought as vines from the neighboring town and transplanted.

The two walked down the mountain together and soon reached their destination.

Like Xu Ying's family, Liu Ziren's family also owned a few mu of private land. But it was not enough to support the family, so they also tenant-farmed academy land. After failing the provincial exam twice, he spent more and more time personally working the fields.

"This is the academy land my family tenant-farms," Liu Ziren said, pointing ahead.

People were already working in the field — Liu Ziren's parents, wife, younger brother, and sister-in-law. Even Liu Ziren's six-year-old son and three-year-old daughter were helping pick up missed sweet potatoes.

Zhao Han had met the family before. After a round of insistence, he finally rolled up his trouser legs and sleeves and pitched in.

There weren't enough hoes, so Zhao Han had no chance to dig.

Liu Ziren said, "The vines still have a few tender leaves — those can be picked for cooking. The old vines shouldn't be discarded either; they can feed poultry and livestock. There's a pig farmer who buys them specially at the town entrance. If you wish to work, worthy brother, go pick the tender leaves."

Zhao Han followed the good advice and crouched in the field picking sweet potato leaves.

Sweet potato tender leaves can indeed be cooked as a dish, but the season had long passed. No matter how Zhao Han selected, he found only a few that were fresh and palatable.

Turning his head, he saw that Liu's mother had already picked a basketful — mostly old leaves that were hard to swallow.

Most likely, for the next several days, the Liu family would subsist on sweet potato leaves, at most adding a bit of coarse grain or brown rice to cook porridge.

And Liu Ziren, a full-fledged xiucai, was at this moment vigorously swinging a hoe, digging sweet potatoes one by one from the earth.

Although he received support from the Fei clan, Liu Ziren had not passed the exam for stipend student, much less become a juren. As the years passed, the support he received grew less and less. If he still failed the provincial exam next year, he would only be able to read for free in the library — all other support items would be canceled.

The more Liu Ziren dug, the more excited he grew. Delighted, he said, "After turning the vines to control growth, the sweet potatoes really have formed better — at least a twenty to thirty percent increase in yield over last year."

"Congratulations, congratulations — a bumper harvest this year," Zhao Han said with a smile. "Let me teach you a method, Brother Liu. You can cut the sweet potatoes into strips, then dry and bake them into dried sweet potato to sell. That way you can earn more silver."

"Is that true?" Liu Ziren said happily.

Zhao Han smiled and said, "If you don't believe it, Brother Liu, first make a small batch of dried sweet potato and try selling it in town."

"Then I shall try it," Liu Ziren said, smiling.

In the blink of an eye, two baskets were already full of sweet potatoes. Liu Ziren's younger brother immediately carried them away.

Zhao Han hurriedly picked up the hoe and asked Liu Ziren to teach him the knack of digging.

After digging for a while, his back ached — this was more exhausting than martial arts training!

Zhao Han could only grit his teeth and persist. He asked, "Brother Liu, how is your family's land rent?"

Liu Ziren explained: "It's all right for now. After I passed the xiucai exam, I asked the academy head to let me tenant-farm academy land. The rent on academy land is somewhat lower. I also tenant-farm a few mu of private land for someone else — the rent on private land is much higher. It also depends on the quality of the land. Top-grade fields pay over two shi of rent per year; the lowest-grade fields pay at least one shi."

Zhao Han then went to ask Liu's father, wanting more general data.

He soon learned that whether land rent was high or low depended entirely on the landlord's benevolence.

Rent was not collected as a proportion, but was set as a fixed amount in advance based on the quality of the land. In good years it was tolerable; in disaster years it was extremely hard, and one could only brace oneself and fall into arrears. People often sold their children because of unpaid rent.

Not only that — as natural disasters grew more frequent, landlords began collecting rent in advance. That is: you may tenant-farm, but first hand over some rent as a deposit.

Benevolent landlords charged rent at about thirty percent of the yield.

Average landlords charged rent at about forty percent of the yield.

Greedy landlords charged rent at over fifty percent of the yield!

Moreover, nearly all landlords used a large measure for collecting and a small measure for lending. That is, when lending grain to peasants, they used a small dou to measure it; when collecting rent, they used a large dou.

Even if the landlord was kind, the household slaves would still practice deceit — there was no great difference.

Of course, to grasp more detailed data, Zhao Han would still need to visit more peasants. It would be best to write it up as a peasant survey report.

In the mid-afternoon, Liu Ziren called his wife aside and told her to hurry home to cook. He whispered, "When you make the porridge, don't just put in sweet potato leaves — add a couple more sweet potatoes."

"I understand," his wife, of the Li family, nodded.

Seeing Mrs. Li suddenly stop work, Zhao Han immediately threw down his hoe, cupped his hands, and smiled. "Brother Liu, I still have books to read, so I won't help you dig sweet potatoes any longer. Until tomorrow!"

Liu Ziren was both embarrassed and moved. "This... how can this be proper? At least have a meal before going back up the mountain."

"If I stayed for a meal before heading back to the academy, it'd be pitch dark by then. You're all busy — I'm off." Zhao Han finished speaking and left at once, giving them no chance to detain him.

Liu Ziren watched Zhao Han walk up the mountain, his heart heavy, then bent back to digging sweet potatoes.

Strolling back to the dormitory, he found neither Fei Ruhe nor Fei Chun there; instead, Zhu Zhiyu had been waiting a long while.

"Brother Chuyu!" Zhao Han cupped his hands in greeting.

Zhu Zhiyu returned the cupped-hand salute and handed over a letter. "From Superintendent Cai."

"Superintendent Cai has left?" Zhao Han asked.

"He has," Zhu Zhiyu said with a smile. "He dislikes disturbing people whether coming or going. He only left a letter for Academy Head Fei."

Zhao Han opened the letter and saw several pages, all newly written essays by Cai Maode.

Skimming through, Zhao Han found little of interest. Perhaps useful to a disciple of the School of Mind, but to him it offered no real help.

Noticing the dirt on Zhao Han's clothes, Zhu Zhiyu could not help asking, "Worthy brother, have you been out farming?"

"Brother Changqing's family was harvesting sweet potatoes — I just went to lend a hand," Zhao Han said.

Zhu Zhiyu sighed. "Farm work is bitter toil. I've tried tilling myself, and a few days during the busy season left me utterly exhausted."

Zhao Han said with a smile, "You come from a distinguished line — there is naturally no need for you to do such lowly work."

"How can farm work be called lowly? It is the foremost great enterprise under Heaven!" Zhu Zhiyu retorted at once, his expression grief-stricken. "In the last years of Wanli, a great disaster struck Zhejiang. With my own eyes I saw refugees exchanging their children to eat! Do you know that such horrors exist in this world?"

Zhao Han put away his smile. "Brother Chuyu, I was once a refugee myself. How could I not know the plight of refugees?"

Zhu Zhiyu said in surprise, "Worthy brother, are you not a son of the Fei family?"

Zhao Han explained: "In the first year of Chongzhen, a great drought struck the northern capital region. My eldest brother starved to death. My elder sister was sold for grain. My parents were plundered and killed by bandits. I was only ten then, leading my six-year-old little sister, drifting among the famine victims. What horror have I not seen? As for the Fei family, I may be called an adopted son, or I may be called a household slave. Strike my name from the household register, and I become a refugee at once."

"So it was like that." Zhu Zhiyu could scarcely believe it.

Among the people Zhao Han had come into contact with, Pang Chunlai was a committed rebel, Xu Ying was a rebel who could be cultivated, and Liu Ziren was a rebel who could be won over.

This Zhu Zhiyu before him — perhaps he too could be sounded out.

Zhao Han asked, "Brother Chuyu, have you ever tasted the bitterness of starvation?"

"I have. There was a stretch when I never ate my fill each day," Zhu Zhiyu replied.

"Eating every day — how is that starvation?" Zhao Han found it rather laughable.

Zhu Zhiyu nodded. "You're right. That hardly counts as starvation."

The decline of a gentry clan is not what ordinary people imagine.

At the Zhu family's lowest point, they had only a few dozen servants left… because famine struck and they could not pay wages, the household slaves all fled.

How wretched!

Even then, kinsmen came to mock them, pointing at their house and saying, "Look — this is the home of upright officials."

And it truly was a home of upright officials.

Zhu Zhiyu's great-grandfather was posthumously honored as Grand Master for Glorious Fortune. His grandfather was posthumously honored as Grand Master for Splendid Fortune. His father was posthumously honored as Grand Master for Splendid Fortune, Upper Pillar of State.

Three successive generations all held first-rank offices, and living in Jiangnan at that — yet they had only a few dozen household slaves. And because of natural disaster they could not pay wages, so the slaves fled until none remained. If that is not an upright official, what is?

The two went together to the dining hall, eating and talking as they went.

As they talked, Zhao Han increasingly felt that the name Zhu Zhiyu sounded familiar, but he simply could not recall where he had heard it before.

Zhejiang?

A flash of insight struck Zhao Han, and he quickly asked, "Brother Zhu, is your home in Yuyao?"

"Exactly so," Zhu Zhiyu said.

"In Brother Zhu's hometown, is there a river called Shun River?" Zhao Han pressed.

"You have been to Yuyao?" Zhu Zhiyu said, astonished.

Zhao Han at last broke into a delighted smile. "I have not, but I have heard others speak of it."

Zhu Shunshui!

(End of Chapter)