Chapter 7: I Have Something That Grows in the Ground, Called a Potato

Xianyang City.

“Grandfather Wang Jian, how was the court assembly today? Was Ziji bullied?”

Inside the carriage.

Ying Yinman noticed Wang Jian’s strange expression and immediately worried that her brother had been bullied. She clenched her fists in anger and said, “I’ll see who dares to bully Little Seventeen. Grandpa Wang Jian, tell me, and I’ll go avenge him right now.”

Wang Jian was at a loss for words.

Bullied? The young master was the one who, on his very first day as regent, had executed Zhao Gao, the Director of the Imperial Chariot Department. Zhao Gao’s head was still displayed in the Qilin Hall, his eyes wide open in death, terrifying all the ministers who feared offending this ancestor and facing a similar fate.

Who would dare bully him? It was already lucky enough that he didn’t bully others!

A bitter smile crept across Wang Jian’s heavily wrinkled face. “Princess Yinman, Young Master Seventeen is even more formidable than you imagine.”

“That one? He’s been silly since childhood. If it weren’t for me, he’d have been bullied to death by Hu Hai and the others. How could he not be bullied now, facing all the bad people at court?”

Ying Yinman was still unaware of what had transpired in the court.

“Master, someone from Young Master Seventeen’s residence requests an audience.”

The coachman’s voice trembled, clearly having heard of this person’s fearsome reputation.

“General Wang, the young master invites you to come to the residence.”

The visitor was none other than Yu Huatian.

His pale face bore an icy killing intent, as if he were the grim reaper himself.

“Oh, you’re the new steward for Little Seventeen’s household? Quite imposing. How did Ziji recruit you?”

Ying Yinman was completely unafraid, instead curious.

“General Wang, please depart quickly. We must also inform Lord Fusu, Li Si, Meng Tian, and the others. We won’t keep you long.”

With that, the group vanished beneath the evening sky.

“Such a figure, willing to serve as a loyal hound, so devoted to the young master?”

Wang Jian watched Yu Huatian’s retreating figure, moved.

He had thought these people were the Emperor’s specially trained assassins.

But when Yu Huatian revealed Zhao Gao’s severed head, Wang Jian realized his mistake.

These killing machines were not servants of the First Emperor—they belonged to Young Master Ying Ziji!

He had underestimated the young master.

“Let’s go to Seventeen’s chambers.”

Wang Jian’s voice came through.

“Oh...” The coachman finally came to his senses.

“Why are you all so afraid of them?” Ying Yinman still didn’t understand.

“Princess, they are ruthless killers,” the coachman said, still shaken. “That one just sliced through Zhao Gao in a single stroke.”

“Zhao Gao is dead?”

Ying Yinman was shocked.

Then, realizing it, she clapped her fair jade hands and smiled: “No wonder he’s my Little Seventeen—well done!”

She didn’t care how they came; in any case, Little Seventeen was impressive!

Wang Jian could only sigh.

Goodness, this was definitely a sibling pair.

The carriage moved slowly onward.

***

Before long, they arrived at Young Master Seventeen’s chambers.

By then, other carriages had already stopped outside, from which stepped Fusu, Li Si, and Meng Tian.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Meng Tian greeted with a respectful bow.

“I wonder what matter the young master calls us here for so late,” Li Si, dressed as a scholar, asked.

After this morning’s court session, his impression of Ying Ziji had completely changed—from an ignorant child to a young prince with a commanding and heroic aura.

If not for his youth, he would surely soar to great heights, perhaps even rivaling the eldest prince, Fusu.

“Little Seventeen summoned us. It can’t be about the morning’s events, right? Well, I wanted to speak with him anyway,” Fusu murmured with a sigh.

After the morning assembly, Confucian officials had labeled Ying Ziji a petty tyrant, condemning him as an utterly evil villain for usurping regent power.

Could it be that his foolishness was just an act?

No, impossible—it was probably just youthful mischief.

Now that we’re here, I must reason with him and help him understand benevolence and compassion.

The door creaked open.

Yu Huatian remained as cold and stern as ever.

“Gentlemen, His Highness has been waiting. Please, enter.”

He stepped aside with a formal gesture, his back straight as a bow.

“What secret schemes is Little Seventeen up to?” Ying Yinman blinked, her adorable eyes leading the way inside.

The others followed closely.

Inside the chambers, they were led to a newly established garden in the rear courtyard.

“This… this is…”

The officials were stunned at the sight.

The rear garden, once filled with rare and exotic flowers and plants, had been completely leveled.

It was transformed into farmland.

“Heave-ho… heave-ho…”

A small figure wielded a whip, vigorously driving an ox.

Behind the ox was a strange contraption.

As the ox strained forward, sturdy rows of soil were overturned and refreshed.

Ying Ziji then placed grayish lumps, resembling clumps of earth, into the furrows and carefully filled them in.

Noticing the observers, he stood, wiping sweat from his brow, leaving three streaks of mud on his face.

“You’re all here. Come on, help out!”

Those present exchanged glances.

This was the same decisive and ruthless Little Seventeen from this morning, now playing in the dirt?

Fusu sighed with a darkened expression.

He took a deep breath to calm himself and said, “Little Seventeen, it’s fine to enjoy yourself at your age, but you bear the responsibility of regency. How can you afford such frivolity?”

Ying Ziji shook his head in surprise.

“You’re mistaken, elder brother. I’m not being frivolous.”

“Didn’t you all cry in court about having no grain? These are crops. When they grow, they’ll solve this famine.”

“For such an important matter, of course I must ask for your help.”

He then pointed to several curved plowshares and hoes nearby.

Clearly prepared in advance, inviting them to till together.

“You… sigh, I don’t even know how to advise you,” Fusu muttered, exasperated.

If farming could solve famine now, Qin would have sent troops to farm ages ago.

First, it was already autumn; crops wouldn’t mature before winter.

Second, the growth cycle was long—by the time harvest came, people in the northern frontier would starve.

While the young prince’s intentions were noble, he was still young and pampered, clueless about reality.

Planting grain now was a joke.

“Who says it won’t work? There’s still time.”

Unconcerned, Ying Ziji strode over carrying a bundle of farming tools.

“Sigh, gentlemen, you all have your duties. I can’t waste your time here. Quickly wash up and come to the main hall—there’s something I must tell you.”

Fusu said this, then turned away, hands clasped behind his back.

A scholar’s hands were meant for pens, not toiling in mud.

“Don’t mind elder brother; he’s a stubborn old man. Sister will help you.”

Ying Yinman pulled a face at Fusu’s retreating back.

Without regard for her noble status or her elegant gown, she rolled up her sleeves, revealing fair arms, and joined in the fieldwork.

“Young master, planting now won’t be in time,” Wang Jian sighed.

“You still have much to learn—too young yet,” Li Si shook his head but took up a hoe.

Still, it was commendable that Little Seventeen dared to think and act boldly, as seen in his slaying of Zhao Gao.

Yet, palace affairs were not enough to teach him about people’s livelihoods; hence this foolish attempt.

Exchanging a glance with Wang Jian, they both saw the helplessness in each other’s eyes.

“Eh? What kind of crop is this? I’ve never seen it before,” Wang Jian finally noticed the “clumps of earth” and picked one up for inspection.

“Oh? General Wang, are there crops you’re unfamiliar with?” Li Si asked with surprise, stepping over to examine one himself.

The tubers were yellowish, irregularly round.

No wonder they looked like earth at first glance.

“Young master, is this edible?” Li Si inquired.

“Of course. This crop grows underground, so it’s called potato. Two of these can fill a person’s stomach. If carefully cultivated, an acre can yield seven to eight thousand jin.”

“And they grow quickly. If planted now, they can be harvested before winter.”

!!!

Clatter—

Two potatoes rolled to the ground with a muffled sound.

Meng Tian and Wang Jian stared wide-eyed, utterly incredulous.

“Seven to eight thousand jin per acre?”

“Mature in two or three months?”

These two facts nearly stunned the high ministers of mighty Qin to death.