Chapter 93: Man Conquers Heaven

Clang-clang-clang—!

A team of yamen runners pushed several wheelbarrows to a halt behind the crowd.

The carts were piled high with copper coins, their handlers drenched in sweat.

The leading scribe stepped onto the cart frame and raised a trumpet rolled from sheet iron.

"The court is buying locusts!"

"One jin of live insects exchanges for two cash; dead ones still fetch one cash!"

the scribe shouted.

The starving people turned and saw the copper coins on the carts.

Yet no one moved; awe still held them in its grip.

A yamen runner carried a heavy hemp sack to the open ground and untied its mouth.

A pungent aroma of scorched grain drifted out.

The sack was filled with roasted-dry, ground locust powder.

It appeared dark brown.

Several soldiers led over ten emaciated warhorses, their bones protruding.

They mixed the powder into black beans and dry hay, then poured it into the mangers.

The warhorses snorted loudly.

They lowered their heads and began chewing in great mouthfuls.

They ate with relish.

From among the starving crowd, a man so hungry his eyes glowed green stepped forward.

He stared at the powder in the manger and swallowed hard.

The man turned, drew a strip of tattered cloth from his waist, and fashioned a makeshift net.

He spun around and dashed into the fields.

Dodging the flock of ducks, he pounced on a swarm of fluttering locusts.

One sweep of the net.

More than a dozen locusts fell into the trap.

Holding the net, the man walked to the yamen runner's scale pan and emptied its contents in.

The scribe slid the scale weight.

"Half a jin, one cash."

The scribe tossed out a copper coin.

The coin struck the ground with a crisp ring.

The man picked up the copper coin and bit down on it.

It was real!

Enough to buy half a bran cake!

"How can this be a harbinger of disaster..." the man's eyes bloodshot, gripping his net tight, "These are flying copper coins!"

He let out a joyful whoop and charged back toward the fields.

That single shout completely shattered the fear of Heaven held by all the common people present.

Divine punishment? The wrath of the gods?

Before hunger and cold, hard cash, they were worth nothing.

Several hundred starving people rushed into the fields like madmen.

Those without nets took off their outer garments to scoop them up.

Those without outer garments used their bare hands to catch them.

After all, nothing is more unbearable than doing nothing and waiting here to die.

"This one's mine! Get lost!"

Two starving men wrestled each other, trading blows, fighting over a patch of withered bushes crawling with locusts.

More common folk arrived from distant villages.

Men and women, old and young.

Carrying winnowing baskets, raising brooms.

The locust-hunting army, covering mountains and plains, merged with the formation of domestic fowl.

An ecological disaster capable of destroying the empire's foundations.

Under a casual remark of modern common sense from Lin Xuan, had transformed into a frenzied resource grab by the entire populace.

Seven days later.

North bank of the Weishui.

The sun tilted westward.

Several wisps of blue smoke rose from the parched farmland.

The farmer Wang Er squatted on the ridge, holding a sharpened branch in his hand.

Five large flying locusts were skewered on the branch.

He brought the branch close to the bonfire at his feet.

Orange-red tongues of flame licked at the locusts' exoskeletons.

Within a few breaths, the shells contracted from the heat.

Emitting a faint "crack-pop" sound.

The fine hairs on the insect's body instantly charred, releasing a stench of burnt soil and roasted protein.

A drop of oil oozed from the insect's belly and dripped into the fire.

The flames leapt upward.

Wang Er swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

He had been hungry for three days; his stomach felt as if he'd swallowed a handful of razor blades, twisting in pain.

He pulled out the branch, ignoring the heat.

With rough fingers, he pried off a charred locust and shoved it straight into his mouth.

The barbed legs scraped against his throat.

It scratched his throat raw.

The taste was bitter, heavy with the stink of earth.

Wang Er closed his eyes and chewed with all his strength.

His Adam's apple rolled as he forced it down.

The insect meat landed in his belly.

A warm sense of fullness spread along his esophagus, slowly soothing the stomach's spasms.

Wang Er opened his eyes; red veins streaked his gaze.

He turned to the starving masses around him and bellowed in a hoarse voice, "This is meat—it's edible, tastes decent, just hard to swallow."

Catching insects for coins had indeed earned these famine victims a good deal of copper.

It even surpassed what they'd made from a year of farming.

But due to the locust plague, grain on the market was now extremely scarce.

A few days ago, grain prices had skyrocketed, doubling and tripling.

And by yesterday, inside and outside the city, even money couldn't buy grain.

After hearing Wang Er's evaluation of the roasted locusts,

hundreds and thousands of civilians tossed aside their nets meant for exchanging coins.

They picked up dry branches and lit piles of straw.

Countless bonfires blazed along both banks of the Weishui.

Thousands of famine-stricken people huddled around the fires, snatching up live insects from the ground and hurling them into the flames.

They chewed voraciously on the disaster they had once feared enough to kneel and bang their heads on the ground.

Their mouths caked in black ash, their eyes gleaming.

On a barren stretch of land less than a li from the starving crowd,

Cheng Yaojin leaned against a dead willow tree, holding the green bamboo pole he used to herd ducks.

The ten thousand ducks ahead were unnaturally quiet.

No duck ran about; no duck quacked.

They lay sprawled on the ground.

Their round bellies pressed against the soil.

Many ducks' flat beaks hung half-open, belching.

A free-range chicken tried flapping its wings twice, but its body was too heavy—it collapsed into a haystack and fell into a deep sleep.

Clearly, they'd eaten their fill, stuffed to bursting.

For seven full days, this army of poultry had devoured eighty percent of the flying locusts across the Guanzhong Plain.

"Damn strange," Cheng Yaojin scratched his bald chin and grinned wide.

He kicked a sleeping mallard at his feet.

"These feathered beasts fight harder than my Xuanjia Army—they've eaten their way into a time of peace."

…

Chang'an.

The Mingde Gate tower.

The wind whipped the large Li banner atop the wall.

Li Shimin, clad in golden-lacquered bright armor, gazed down from above.

On the road, over a dozen carts loaded with dried, ground locust powder were lining up to enter the city.

The soldiers escorting the carts chatted and laughed.

Crowds of townsfolk lined the roadside to welcome them.

Lijia Village on the city's outskirts.

Before the dilapidated Dragon King Temple at the village entrance,

several old farmers swung iron hammers, smashing the clay statue of the Dragon King.

The clay cracked; the Dragon King's head rolled to the ground, shattering into fragments.

"We begged for rain for half a month, banged our heads bloody—didn't get a single drop."

The lead farmer spat, "Wasted the offerings!"

The farmer dropped the hammer.

He walked to the dried riverbed and dug up two lumps of red clay.

He sat cross-legged before the temple, kneading the clay with his hands.

He stretched it into strips, molded a flat mouth, shaped a round belly, and added two webbed feet.

Less than half an hour.

A clay duck with a comical shape and a round, bloated belly took form.

The old farmer placed the clay duck on the stone altar once dedicated to the Dragon King.

He set a plate of freshly roasted locusts before the clay duck and lit three sticks of earthen incense.

The old farmer clasped his hands together and bowed.

"God Duck, eat more insects, grow more fat."

"Protect our village's crops."

Modern times.

Lin Xuan held an eraser.

The food chain on the whiteboard had been wiped clean.

He tossed the eraser and marker into the drawer.

Xiao Sizi jumped off the sofa and walked to Lin Xuan's side.

"Brother, could the people of the Great Tang also think of raising ducks to eat those insects?"

Lin Xuan pulled the drawer shut and turned to look at her.

"As long as no one scares them, as long as they know it's food."

"Human will to survive can chew up and swallow any natural disaster."

Then, Lin Xuan took a kraft paper envelope from Xiao Sizi's schoolbag.

Inside was a document printed with the school's letterhead—《Autumn Social Practice Activity Consent Form》.

"Stop thinking about those insects. Look at this."

"You forgot to tell me—thank goodness the teacher sent another reminder in the parent group."

"Sorry, Brother Lin Xuan, I forgot." Xiao Sizi shyly stuck out her pink tongue.

"Next Tuesday, the whole school is organizing an outing to the suburbs, and parents must accompany as volunteers."

Xiao Sizi blinked. "A spring outing in the countryside?"

In the Great Tang, students on holiday often went to Qujiang Pool to recite poetry, compose couplets, admire flowers, and drink wine.

Lin Xuan signed his name in the family approval section of the consent form.

"It's probably not a countryside outing—that's for spring or autumn excursions."

"We're going to visit a modern factory."

"To see how modern people produce mountains of goods without manual labor."