Chapter 523: Puzhou Cotton
Li Zicheng led his detachment up a small hill, but they could go no further. Every one of his subordinates gasped for breath, utterly spent.
After Wang Jiayin's death, the immense rebel army fractured, scattering in all directions. Government forces pursued them relentlessly. Cao Wenzhao, picking a target at random, began a furious chase. Unfortunately for Li Zicheng, he was inexplicably the one chosen.
Cao Wenzhao's relentless pursuit had kept Li Zicheng constantly on the run, leaving no opportunity to plunder the common folk. Food supplies were now critically low.
Without food, there was no strength, and even escaping became an increasingly arduous task.
He knew that if the chase continued like this, he would soon collapse.
Gazing at Cao Wenzhao's army below, preparing to advance into the mountains, Li Zicheng couldn't help but sigh, "I never imagined Li Zicheng would meet his end in this place."
Just then, a messenger galloped furiously from behind Cao Wenzhao's army. The rider burst into Cao Wenzhao's main camp, and not long after, Cao Wenzhao's troops halted their advance. They wouldn't be entering the mountains; instead, they turned... and marched out!
Li Zicheng murmured, "Huh? What? What's happening?"
His nephew, Li Guo, popped his head out from beside him, overjoyed. "Uncle, Cao Wenzhao is retreating! This is incredible, we're saved! Hahaha, Cao Wenzhao is pulling back!"
Li Zicheng watched Cao Wenzhao's forces recede into the distance, letting out a long sigh. "Another rebel army must have caused some significant trouble, forcing Cao Wenzhao to deal with a greater threat... As the saying goes, the tallest trees attract the fiercest winds. Whoever makes the most noise becomes the government's primary target. Our Old Eighth Squad must always remember this: operate discreetly and avoid drawing the attention of government troops."
"It's raining! It's raining!"
Inside Puzhou City, a farmer, looking utterly frenzied, burst through the city gates, screaming wildly at the refugees within: "It's raining! It's raining in the west!"
His shout galvanized the crowd of refugees for a moment, but that surge of hope quickly gave way to disbelief. "How could that be?"
The drought had lasted so long that the common people no longer believed rain would ever fall upon their world again.
But then, a second farmer entered, followed by a third...
People streamed into the city, one after another, all roaring, "It's raining in the west!"
This time, the crowd could no longer disbelieve.
A large throng of refugees, who had been begging for food in the city, began to pour out through the west city gate.
Here, one couldn't help but mention Puzhou's distinctive cash crop: cotton!
The Puzhou Prefecture Gazetteer recorded: "When years are free of prolonged floods, and the river does not breach its banks, a great harvest of warm fibers is reaped."
This meant that given favorable conditions, the cotton harvest here would be bountiful.
Regrettably, since the great drought had begun, cotton had not been harvested here for a very long time. Now, with the arrival of rain, the farmers rejoiced. Many sprinted frantically towards their homes, disregarding whether it was the right season for sowing. They rushed into their fields, believing that even just scratching at the soil with a hoe would be a good start.
Just then, the farmers noticed two agile porters carrying a sedan chair. Seated on its sliding poles was a man dressed as a scholar. Behind them followed a large group of people, pushing several carts, which were covered with oilcloth to protect against the rain.
This entourage walked along the edge of the fields, lightly showered by the rain.
The cotton farmers by the fields paused their work. Farmers like them, seeing someone in a scholar's robe being carried, immediately knew it was an "esteemed gentleman," someone not to be trifled with.
As such a lord passed by, it was best to stand respectfully, hands clasped low. Any perceived lack of deference could result in their household retainers being ordered to beat them half to death. The best outcome was for the esteemed gentleman to pass quickly, to keep his distance, and to ignore them entirely.
If a lord's sedan chair stopped right in front of them, it almost always spelled trouble.
However...
What they feared most came to pass!
The esteemed gentleman's sedan chair truly did halt before them.
The cotton farmers gasped in fright, trembling. "Esteemed sir... is there... something you require?"
The "esteemed gentleman" spoke, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Though I ride in this sedan chair, it is not because I am a lord. It is due to my poor health; I suffer from an ailment that leaves me breathless if I walk too much. These two kind men are merely assisting me. Do not call me 'sir.' My name is Zhao Sheng; you may simply call me Mr. Zhao."
The cotton farmers, of course, didn't believe him for a second. This was undoubtedly a great lord. But even if a great lord spoke falsehoods, one had to listen. They quickly responded, "Mr. Zhao!"
Zhao Sheng inquired, "I heard from General Xing that this region is renowned for its cotton? And the fields you are tending are indeed cotton fields?"
The cotton farmers swiftly confirmed, "Yes, sir."
Zhao Sheng looked up at the sky. "It is autumn now, isn't it? Is it possible to sow cotton at this time of year?"
The cotton farmers shook their heads pitifully. "The best season for planting cotton is April. With the rain only now arriving, it's certainly too late to plant. We were simply excited by the downpour and came out to scratch at the soil."
Zhao Sheng nodded. Though a scholar, he possessed a wealth of agricultural knowledge, a common advantage for scholars from humble backgrounds. Furthermore, he had spent years assisting farmers in various regions, accumulating even greater expertise in the field.
A smile spread across Zhao Sheng's face. "Have you ever heard this children's rhyme? 'Prepare the soil in winter's cold, a fine cotton harvest to unfold. Water the land when winter's still, and planting cotton takes no toil. Winter plowing and deep irrigation, means fewer pests, abundant cotton creation!'"
The cotton farmers stared, bewildered. "We haven't heard that rhyme, but we know a little something about the things it talks about."
Zhao Sheng nodded again. Farmers certainly possessed their own cultivation experience, but their methods were often unsystematic, relying purely on tradition rather than scientific principles.
Zhao Sheng declared, "I know some excellent techniques that can help you cultivate a bountiful cotton harvest next year."
The cotton farmers exchanged uncertain glances.
They were hesitant to believe him.
Zhao Sheng chuckled. "Tell you what, I'll sign a contract with you. You'll plant cotton according to my methods. If your cotton income next year doesn't reach your usual annual yield, I will compensate you. If your harvest exceeds your normal annual income, then all the cotton you produce must be sold to me. Naturally, my purchasing price will be fair, based on the standard market rate."
This proposal, at first hearing, sounded quite profitable.
The cotton farmers quickly ran the numbers in their minds and realized that this plan offered only benefits, with no discernible downsides. If it failed, he would compensate them. If it succeeded, they would grow more cotton, earn more money, and no longer worry about selling their harvest.
But how could they truly trust this man? What if he was trying to trick them?
Just as these thoughts crossed their minds, they heard Zhao Sheng softly say, "How about this: we go to Pujiu Temple, with Master Zhan Seng as our guarantor, and sign the contract before the Buddha?"
The cotton farmers no longer needed to think. "Agreed!"
Comments