The frontier is bitterly cold, with winters lasting up to six months and hot summers lasting no more than two months. Aside from the unstable factor of the Tartars, goods there are relatively durable.
The real question is where to transport the goods and which route is the shortest and safest.
The Great Yu Dynasty had good public security and not many bandits or outlaws. As long as you had a travel permit and did business honestly and paid taxes, you were protected by the law.
This is where the advantage of traveling all over the country comes in. Zheng Ruqian used a twig to write and draw on the ground, marking this and that.
The few people who were willing to go with the cargo were confused. The young man, as the representative, asked, "Young master, what is this?"
"You don't understand, do you? This is a map showing the distribution of prefectures and cities in our Great Yu Dynasty," Wang Xiaosong said proudly. "It was all discovered by our master after traveling all over the country."
The younger children were all stunned, but one older man frowned and asked, "Maps are a secret of our dynasty, how can they be drawn like this?"
This is actually true. In any dynasty, a detailed map of a country is a deadly asset. If it falls into the hands of the enemy, it could even lead to the destruction of the country.
But the prerequisite is that it must be detailed. A map that can be called confidential not only shows the distribution of various cities, but also where the mountains are, where the lakes are, where the wheat fields are, and even how many acres they cover.
Zheng Ruqian only drew a rough map of the county seat, which was far from having such an impact.
But Wang Xiaosong didn't know that although he wanted to defend his employer, he couldn't come up with a coherent explanation and could only stammer, "You're the one who asked us to transport things, and you're still questioning this and that. Who exactly is the employer..."
"Alright, Xiaosong." Zheng Ruqian interrupted him, clapping his hands and standing up. "See, my drawing is correct, isn't it?"
"Boss," Wang Xiaosong said, his face turning red with anxiety, "He just questioned you, why didn't you refute him?"
Leaking secrets is a capital offense; how could we allow a farmhand to slander us with just a few words?
"What's there to refute?" Zheng Ruqian laughed. "Once you become the boss, you'll realize that there are plenty of people who question you every few days. If I had to explain to each and every one of them, I'd be exhausted."
"I'm the boss. I'm paying you to work. If you want to, then work; if you don't, then forget it. Why all the nonsense?"
The boy spoke calmly and casually, and although he didn't seem to be angry, his words sent a chill down the spines of those who heard him.
Wang Xiaosong was dumbfounded, as if he were seeing his employer all over again.
The soon-to-be-hired farmhands shrank back, and from then on developed a sense of awe towards their young employer.
“Although the border is in turmoil, the people on the outer edges can still live a normal farming life, especially in the area bordering Hebei Prefecture.” Zheng Ruqian circled several lines. “It’s just that because the winter is too long, only one harvest can be made a year, so most of the grain still has to be transported from Jiangnan.”
Jiangnan, which is the area of Danyang County, is a relatively prosperous place with plenty of fertile land.
But all they had was food.
The Dayu Dynasty prioritized agriculture over animal husbandry, and rarely raised cattle or sheep. Even pork was a rare treat for ordinary people in recent decades. Hundreds of years ago, commoners could only afford to eat vegetarian food.
Slaughtering a chicken or duck occasionally is a privilege reserved for the Lunar New Year.
Forget about cattle and sheep; they were exclusively for the nobility. If commoners were to have a bite, it would only be from cattle that had died of disease or old age while working the fields.
The only option left that can be transported and that is affordable is pork.
Zheng Ruqian quickly made a decision: to transport fresh pork to the fifth team in winter and sausages and cured meat in other seasons to reduce spoilage.
The cured pork and sausages must be transported from Anshui County, but for pork, we only need to choose the closest and most cost-effective source.
Fortunately, the reason why the Northern Frontier is called this name is because it is located at the northernmost edge of the Dayu Dynasty. When drawn on the ground, it is a long line that borders Rehe in Hebei Prefecture, overlaps with Shangjun, the northernmost part of Fengjing, and also passes through Ningxia Prefecture.
Prices in these cities are not high, they are cold enough, and transportation is not a problem.
The biggest remaining problem, and the reason why many merchants dare not set foot in the northern frontier, is that they would encounter the Tartars from time to time.
At best, all the goods will be lost; at worst, one's life will be in danger.
Zheng Ruqian was there to improve the lives of his soldiers, not to send them to their deaths.
He found Fang Heng, and the two brothers whispered for a long time before Fang Heng finally made a decision: "Send a small team to guard the border. The farmhands can deliver the goods to the army and then leave, ensuring their safety to the greatest extent possible."
This was already the greatest convenience that Fang Heng, as the team leader, could provide for his brother.
Unexpectedly, Zheng Ruqian refused outright.
"Second Brother, do you have other ideas?" Fang Heng asked, his face full of doubt.
Zheng Ruqian chuckled, "Second brother is a businessman. These deliveries, not counting the cost, cost a lot of money just for labor. Although it's to improve the soldiers' lives, we can't lose too much money."
Fang Heng nodded, "I will give all of my monthly salary to my second brother."
"You only have a few coins," Zheng Ruqian waved his hand, then sneakily leaned closer and asked, "Your entire military camp can't be made up of ordinary people. There must be some from wealthy families, right? There must be some well-off people, right?"
"When their children don't go back home for two or three years, the elders will always worry and want to send something or a letter to let them know they are safe."
Zheng Ruqian patted his chest, his tone sincere and earnest, "From now on, your second brother will take care of all these things. As long as you pay a little money, I'll deliver everything to your door."
If he hadn't been grinning wickedly, his eyes gleaming with cunning.
Fang Heng was both amused and exasperated. He hadn't expected his second brother to be so ambitious, but he also knew it was a win-win situation.
According to military regulations, soldiers only have one opportunity to write a letter per year and one opportunity to go home on leave every two years. Their longing for their loved ones can only be soothed in their dreams.
Those from well-off families occasionally receive small packages from their parents or elders, unlike Zheng Ruqian's truckload deliveries.
If this line were to actually be put into operation, the biggest beneficiaries would be the soldiers in the barracks.
Fang Heng nodded seriously, "I will report this to the general."
As the captain of the fifth squad in the third battalion, he could manage the few hundred men under his command, but he couldn't manage the soldiers of the entire northern frontier.
Zheng Ruqian said there was no rush, or rather, there was no way to rush it. At present, the soldiers in the entire northern frontier were resisting the hungry Tartars, and peace would not be restored until spring arrived.
He simply signed six new farmhands, then took them on a carriage, bid farewell to his brother under the bright blue sky, and headed towards Anshui County.
"You brat, wait here. I'll make sure you eat meat every meal."
Fang Heng chuckled as he watched his loved ones depart, a hint of reluctance still showing on his resolute face.
He took out a pastry from his pocket, intending to take a bite, but seeing that there was very little left, he carefully put it back.
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