Chapter 65: Holy Monk 31 (Building a House on the Grassland)

Holy Monk 31 (Building a House on the Grassland)

While Jiang Yin was studying hard, Sang Ya and the group of little companions also became more hardworking.

Without realizing it, a group of children began chasing each other, getting swept up in competition.

The reason was that when the master and Jiang Yin went out, the neighboring tribe had a cow experiencing difficult labor. The cow's owner—a barbarian old lady with already gray hair—could not find the master. Upon hearing that Sang Ya and the master had studied medicine, in her desperation she directly asked her to come over and take a look.

Sang Ya originally did not want to go, but the barbarian old lady cried so bitterly that she had no choice but to agree to go and have a look, and she also told the barbarian old lady to simultaneously find other shamans; if she couldn't do it, let the other shamans take over.

The barbarian old lady nodded repeatedly at the time, pulling her along as they left.

Sang Ya originally wanted to linger a bit longer, hoping to wait for more experienced shamans to arrive, but when she got there and took a look, she saw the mother cow was about to die, and she immediately had no other thoughts, rushing forward to help deliver the calf.

The calf's position was abnormal, but it was fine; the master had taught her how to respond.

Although she only had theory and little practical experience, her theoretical knowledge was very clear in her mind: first she needed to calm the cow's emotions, then push back the leg of the calf that was stuck……

Afterward, Sang Ya sat there with a dazed expression, still with cow's blood on her.

She still couldn't believe it—she had actually succeeded in delivering the calf.

But she didn't forget to remind the cow's owner: 'Um, it's best that the cow not get pregnant again this year; she needs to be well-nourished, let her body recover first.'

The barbarian old lady tightly gripped Sang Ya's dirty, bloody hand, and a string of thanks poured out.

The watching barbarian people also cheered, praising her without end.

After all, they are the children of the grassland; no amount of praise is excessive.

This is also the barbarian people's selfishness; no matter how skilled the Central Plains monks and Daoists are, they are ultimately not grassland natives and will eventually leave; only if the grassland children learn medicine can they feel at ease.

Sang Ya's face turned red from the praise, feeling she wasn't that good.

She really wasn't that good; it was all thanks to her younger brother Batu's good theoretical explanations and the master's good practical teaching.

Akesan and the others, however, were envious and jealous; they had studied no less time than Sang Ya, and they had also done some hands‑on practice—even if only once or twice, it counted as having done it.

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The barbarian old lady sent Sang Ya's family milk and jerky and many other things as thanks; the companions looked on with great envy, this consultation fee was too luxurious, they would certainly also want to learn how to deliver calves and lambs.

When Jiang Yin noticed their learning direction had gone awry, his brows involuntarily knotted.

One or two of them, blinded by the consultation fees, now focus solely on learning to treat livestock, not even looking at medical texts for treating people.

Besides Sang Ya, they still study medicine for both humans and livestock simultaneously.

After her family gradually became prosperous, she was especially willing to buy candles, staying up late every night; her level of effort was such that even Master Jiang He couldn't bear to watch, so he specially made an eye‑soothing medicine pouch.

In ancient times, if one became nearsighted, there were no such things as glasses.

Jiang He shook his head, 'Sang Ya is a smart child, your little companions…'

He didn't finish his sentence, but Jiang Yin also understood—being too short‑sighted, not even a girl could see far ahead.

Jiang Yin could only defend the companions: 'They're still young; I'm surprised they've managed to learn this much.'

After all, they usually just grab a stick to play horse‑games, shouting they want to be the number one warrior, going to the Central Plains to plunder the autumn wind.

Active grassland children being able to settle down and study medicine for this long is already quite good; this is a martial grassland, and there is no yearning for study like among the Central Plains people.

'Dad, I've been really busy lately,' Jiang Yin complained; there are two barbarian men at home to teach, and outside there are companions to teach, keeping him running in circles.

Especially the two barbarian men at home who pretend not to understand while actually doing so, and the companions who pretend to understand while actually not—he is truly mentally exhausted.

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The parrot swung a wing at him and sneered, 'Who made you your father's only weakness! If I were you, I'd say don't let those two name‑hurting, brain‑hurting barbarian people brainwash you—stay alert!'

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Those two barbarian men always silently promote to him how great the grassland is, how crafty the Central Plains people are, how the old supreme leader values their family so highly, and how the barbarian people respect their family……

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Jiang Yin sneered; he had known how to guard against his step‑grandmother since he was seven, and these two barbarian men, being unrelated to him, would never trust them.

This is the biggest reason for his recent mental exhaustion; heaven knows, at his tender age, having to match wits in acting with those ill‑intentioned adults is agonizing—he's still just a child!

Jiang He sat to the side, fingering his prayer beads, smiling without speaking.

The parrot quickly gave him a glare; the dog host's calculations are truly accurate—these adolescent‑phase kids, if you tell them to go east they go west, let alone spoiled kids with tempers.

Now it's fine; the adolescent‑phase kids have gained two whetstones, their adolescent phase won't rise, and in the process of wits and courage battles with those two barbarian men, his growth is practically skyrocketing.

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The parrot deeply suspects the dog host deliberately brought in those two barbarian men to whet his son; he must have inadvertently revealed something when speaking with the old supreme leader, who then sent three serving barbarian people—actually also the dog host's intention, only no one noticed.

Jiang He gave the parrot a light glance, seeing through but not saying anything, 'System!'

He put on a benevolent fatherly expression: 'It's only because I, as a father, am too indulgent toward my child and can't bear to discipline him.'

Adolescent‑phase kids are hard to communicate with; their brains are all muddled, they think up one crazy idea after another, and when impulsive they want to pierce the heavens. He's a good father—if his son wants to pierce the heavens, he naturally has to hand him a bamboo pole, and incidentally set up obstacles—before piercing the heavens, first take out those two little soldiers.

The parrot remained silent for a while, then murmured in the dog host's consciousness: 'I've heard a saying: if you're unwilling to educate your child, society will later educate him for you! Host, you're truly a good dog—just to keep a perfect indulgent‑father image, you push your son forward to let others whet him…'

The pure and lofty master sighed: 'You say I don't educate, but now I am educating, and those who have objections are also you.'

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The parrot gave a dead‑fish stare; as whetstones, those two barbarian men are utterly innocent, desperately studying scriptures they're not good at, yet still serving as your son's whetstone.

And you? You just hang a carrot called 'disciple' in front of them, not even sure they'll get to eat it.

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'Dad, the border market is open.' He said enthusiastically, 'Shall we go take a look together?'

For two consecutive years, the barbarian people and the Great Qing have not fought; relations between the two peoples have eased considerably, so this market naturally opened as well.

Jiang He naturally refused.

There are many people at the border market, both Great Qing and barbarian people; with his current fame, he will surely be recognized.

When people see him, their first thought is certainly not to invite him to give a lecture at their door, but to have him come for a consultation; moreover, most patients are women from the inner quarters wanting to bear sons, and the monk says he does not want to be a divine doctor, only a holy monk.

Jiang Siyin couldn't help but feel a sudden realization, recalling that his father's reputation was so great that now wherever he goes he's summoned for medical attention—whether livestock or people—truly unable to live in peace.

He didn't press further, "Alright then, I'll go find Sister Sang Ya and go together."

The herders attach great importance to the mutual market.

They bring powdered milk, wool, and sun‑dried black‑feather grass to the market, and even shrewd Hu people have made wooden or bamboo milk bottles, plus a huge pile of lamb‑intestine pacifiers.

The Hu man laughed, "The steppe doesn't grow bamboo or wood; I mainly sell pacifiers."

The milk bottles are mainly for the Central Plains folk to see the effect.

Besides the steppe, where do so many dried lamb intestines come from? As for pacifiers, you have to replace one every two or three days—that's the real profit.

"Once we get familiar with those Central Plains people, I'll have someone fire‑up a batch of ceramic milk bottles!" The business‑savvy Hu man glanced at Sang Ya's father, chuckled, "This comes from your family; I'll give you a ten‑percent profit."

Sang Ya's father naturally refused, "Give it to the Master; this is the Master's idea."

Jiang Siyin stood nearby, smiling as he listened; no matter how many times, he loves hearing others praise his father.

He looked up at the oat‑like millet and black‑feather grass among the bluish‑green thickets, common everywhere on the steppe, and wondered if the whole barren land had been planted.

Hey, that's also his father's merit!

Jiang Siyin's eyes flicked to the Halababa Ge ahead; he deliberately took the sharp‑eyed Halababa Ge away, fearing his father couldn't fight two Hu men alone.

He must study hard, to protect his frail father!

Jiang Siyin bought a heap of goods at the market—food, supplies, and even two pristine, outrageously expensive bolts of white cloth, saying he would make a monk's robe for his father.

Sang Ya stared in amazement, then, recalling the Master's almost celestial looks and demeanor, thought the cloth wasn't so pricey after all.

The cloth barely matches the Master!

As the market grew more prosperous, the herders could trade ever more items.

Many even complained that their yurts were too small to hold all the goods.

The prosperity of the border market brought a population surge, the formation of a large border city, and a rising demand for road construction leading to the frontier.

The main thoroughfare of Daqing Capital has been paved with cement; carriages run down the center, pedestrians on both sides—a customary practice.

During festivals, the crowd was so large that officials had to dispatch staff to direct traffic, gradually creating a position called "Road Marshal."

The cement roads radiated to neighboring states, and the emperor even decided to summon merchants to a conference.

He let merchants claim a road; the road would bear the name of the constructing merchant, and they were allowed to set up toll stations, sharing the revenue, with the plan to repay within ten years.

As merchants multiplied, a fairly influential merchants' guild formed.

The frontier is full of treasures; cattle, sheep, and horses are in demand in the Central Plains, let alone powdered milk and wool.

But the road was terribly bumpy; the guild calculated that a cement road would cut travel time by a third—time is money, and that's real money!

As long as the emperor doesn't foot the bill, he'll be especially generous.

The Third Prince twitched his mouth, a fart‑like wolf, of course he goes to attack the Central Plains people!

Hmph, a merchant as perceptive as him will surely buy up all the Hu's horses! Once the Hu have no horses, they won't desire war; horse‑less Hu are like toothless tigers—nothing to fear.

"It shouldn't have anything to do with your training," Jiang He still thought the tent wasn't warm enough, "it's just the steppe's huge day‑night temperature swing."

The old Chanyu wished he could cover his face with his sleeve; his son is so foolish that he, as a father, has no face left!

Only the war‑monger faction led by the Second and Third Princes were displeased.

The dumber the Third Prince, the happier he became.

That bitter medicine that makes one want to die makes the sweet‑toothed child want to weep into the wind; he swore that once he recovers, he'll train even harder, truly not wanting to fall ill again.

He muttered again in his mind that the Master was careless, letting the Hu learn the secret of powdered milk.

They still sleep on the ground, which is far colder than a bed; perhaps they're accustomed to it, making them less prone to colds.

For a child that big to still kick the blanket and catch a cold is no surprise.

The Second and Third Princes are both murderous; they think without powdered milk and oat‑like millet, the Hu couldn't be so wealthy, and they'd gladly go to the Central Plains to raid!

"Indeed, a peaceful era is best; horses aren't that hard to buy anymore," Wang Daxing said contentedly.

"Besides, the fields where we grow oat‑like millet are barren; the lush water‑grass areas can't be farmed, and just plowing is troublesome enough," a herder whispered.

Following the child, Halababa Ge wore a helpless expression: "Master, he refuses to stay in the temple."

The Hu are still enamored with the taste of flour; Jiang He, the master leading the steppe's transformation, suddenly began sun‑drying mud bricks.

Master Xuanji's pastries are all made from flour—fragrant and tasty, plus noodles; the generous master freely offers the Hu at least ten ways to eat wheat.

The Third Prince leapt up again, "Father, you must decree that our people may not plant oat‑like millet! That millet occupies the grassland, leaving nothing for cattle and sheep; where will we graze them later?"

They won't, firmly not! Now there's food and drink, life is so prosperous and peaceful; if war breaks out, the market disappears, and there's no time to harvest the millet.

Thinking of those lively little companions that bounce all year round, Jiang Siyin couldn't help but rub his nose.

This year's millet was sown early and can be harvested as autumn arrives.

"It's all the Central Plains' fault! Especially that Master Xuanji, he should be killed!"

Jiang Siyin beamed, "Dad, everyone is so happy! Ake Shan says the best thing he's ever eaten in his life is a bun." Lamb buns are so fragrant; with black‑feather grass, Ake Shan feels he could eat buns every day.

The yield per mu again shocked the Hu; they never imagined the steppe could actually produce so much grain!

As a merchant who witnesses and participates in history, this is an unprecedented way to eliminate war; how fortunate he is!

Yet it's not little; a strong herder who farms twenty mu can have his whole family eat a bowl of wheat porridge every day!

"Chanyu, look, our steppe will never starve again."

Jiang He walked over, patted the child's forehead, and asked, "Did you take the medicine?"

Wang Daxing laughed, "Indeed, I've heard many malnourished kids have grown strong because the doctor told them to drink more powdered milk; that stuff really builds people."

They are brave, adept at fighting on horseback, and among these grassland Hu who only think of profit, they seem so out of place.

"That's all future talk; the steppe's land is still sufficient now," Jiang He said lazily, "What's so strange? When the Hu were at their peak, there were said to be over a thousand tribes, fighting and merging over the abundant water‑grass lands, and now only a few hundred remain."

Jiang He smiled quietly, his large hand gently rubbing his son's belly; only the parrot that could read his thoughts rolled its dead‑fish eyes.

Yet the voice that emerged in his mind was indifferent, like an observer, "Once they have fields, to seize more they will fear that after migration the land will be taken by others! Since millet is already enough to eat, more people will refuse to move; when they settle, they'll become half an agrarian people."

They aren't as clever as the Great Prince; they run businesses that make their purses bulge, and they've also bought a bunch of poor herders to support him.

Seeing him come out, Jiang He asked anxiously, "Why did you come out?"

Since recognizing his son again, he has been making restorative honey dumplings for the child, and only after a year of eating them was he fully recovered.

In autumn the steppe smelled of wheat everywhere; every household followed Master Xuanji's recipe, steaming mantou, making noodles, steaming buns and dumplings together, and the more luxurious used milk in the dough to fry pastries.

Jiang He gently massaged the belly of the overstuffed child, gazing at the steppe sky beyond the tent.

Beside the royal wheat fields, Chanyu Shu Wu and a group of ministers held a ceremonious harvest celebration; Hu nobles took sickles to reap, and after finishing a mu of land, everyone gathered to see how much yield they had.

Although these aren't warhorses, they are first‑rate steeds; he again marveled at the Emperor's profound scheming, no wonder he's the Emperor.

Moreover, the Chamber of Commerce funds road building, and the tolls ten years later go to the court; the Emperor wants as many such merchants as possible.

Supervisor Zhang thought of something else and asked, "By the way, has your main family funded road construction? If the border roads are finished, we could come three times a year, easily."

The Right Prime Minister is already in his fifties; his beard and hair are half‑white, and as he lifts the oat, both his hands and his voice tremble.

The steppe's wars are no fewer than elsewhere.

As the liaison between Master Xuanji and the Emperor, Supervisor Zhang is clever and vaguely suspects their plan.

Supervisor Zhang made a round at the market and then hauled back a large number of horses.

As for sheep, Wang Daxing is too lazy to comment; the Hu now rely on wool and sheep milk powder and won't sell them.

Supervisor Zhang opened his mouth and said, "What's so strange? That's the essence of milk, after all."

Jiang Siyin's foundation is decent, but during the half‑year he was trafficked, he was uprooted and even once ran a fever that caused memory loss.

Facts show that the Hu can only harvest two shih of grain per mu.

Wang Daxing also bought many fine horses; they were a bit pricey, but once back in the Central Plains, they yielded double or even three‑ to four‑fold profit.

Find wheat porridge hard on the teeth? No problem; you can grind it with a stone mill into flour and make all kinds of noodles.

Someone couldn't help but say, "Third Prince, wheat straw can also feed cattle and sheep, and wheat bran is even finer feed."

The clan members waved their hands repeatedly after hearing it.

In winter there is no grass; feeding livestock wheat bran keeps cattle and sheep from losing flesh, as the master who devised the feed formula says.

Jiang He couldn't help but furrow his brows.

There's only this much arable land on the steppe; it's no wonder conflicts arise.

Supervisor Zhang, upon hearing that, showed an inscrutable smile.

Wang Daxing's branch originally had a poor relative who relied on a cart, hauling passengers to the big city four or five times a day; his family finally had no worries about food and drink, and now the clan expects him to buy more horses to bring back.

People eat wheat, livestock eat wheat straw; everyone gets something to eat.

Everyone rejoiced at the market's prosperity; the Hu's purses grew fatter each day, and they were addicted to making money.

"They are all very grateful to father, saying you brought such fine oat to the steppe."

From wool to oat, even to milk powder, the Emperor intends to use merchant methods to neutralize the steppe's threat.

Under the Chamber of Commerce's maneuvering, the Central Plains Emperor approved the road‑building request.

He caught a chill two days ago, which startled everyone, but fortunately it wasn't serious.

The Second Prince couldn't help but become angry.

"Drank it," Jiang Siyin replied weakly.

Jiang Siyin ate a dumpling at the east house and a pastry at the west house; soon his stomach was overfilled.

This has nothing to do with a peaceful era; it's all the Emperor's and the master's strategy.

"Nomadic peoples are a scourge, agricultural peoples are not,"

A parrot perched atop the yurt lazily flapped its wings, saying, "You two clueless fools, haven't you seen your father growing increasingly impatient with you?"

The Left Prime Minister stayed calmer, putting down his hand and saying, "Where does the steppe get so much arable land? Moreover, the Chanyu's lands are cultivated by Central Plains slaves who are skilled, while we Hu are not adept at farming; two and a half shih is already good."

Jiang He gave a slight nod, and didn't conceal from him,

"Right, father alone can't lay many bricks; we need to call others to help."

Old Chanyu asked impatiently, "How's the yield?"

There's no choice; the Central Plains now have smooth cement roads everywhere, even passenger wagons have appeared, and everywhere needs horses, driving their prices ever higher.

Upon hearing that, the Great Prince couldn't help but twitch his mouth corner.

"Then, we can proceed to the next step."

It chuckled, "Host, when you brought oat to the steppe, did you already anticipate the herders would fight over the steppe?"

"Three shih!" Right Prime Minister's tears fell, "If one person cultivates ten mu, both people and livestock will have enough to eat."

He waddled back to the temple, letting his father rub his belly.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but look at the sun‑drying mud bricks outside the tent and asked, "Father, do you want to build a house?"

"Cows, especially cows, are hard to buy," Wang Daxing sighed, "It was hard before, now it's even harder. The Hu say their cows keep calves to produce milk, and that milk powder is expensive—over ten times the price of milk."

They wanted to train troops, but the clan members stared blankly at them, even asking, "Why train troops? To hunt wolves?"

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