Spring arrives earlier in Huangxian County than elsewhere.
The willows along the official road have sprouted tender buds, their slender branches swaying gently in the wind, like emerald curtains.
In the distance, the outlines of factories stretched out, resembling one colossal structure after another.
Ling Xian reined in his horse, his blue robe stained with a few mud spots, but he paid no attention to them, instead staring blankly ahead.
The county town ahead, built of blue bricks, has the words "Desolate County" written in vigorous strokes on its city gate.
"Mr. Ling, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
Xu Rurong stood at the city gate, her indigo official robe faded from washing, with a worn leather belt around her waist.
But the bronze seal hanging from his waist was polished to a gleaming shine.
His features were gentle and mild, unlike the arrogance of ordinary officials; he resembled a schoolteacher.
Ling Xian dismounted and returned the greeting with clasped hands: "Magistrate Xu."
“Sir, there’s no need for such formalities.” Xu Rurong led him into the city and said unhurriedly, “It just so happens that a new batch of cotton yarn arrived at the textile factory today. Would you like to come along?”
…
The sound of looms echoed throughout the textile factory.
Dozens of improved looms were neatly arranged, and the female workers stepped on the connecting rods, making the shuttles shuttle between the warp and weft like swimming fish.
Ling Xian stroked a piece of fine cotton cloth that had just come off the loom. It was as soft as a cloud to the touch, far superior to the tribute items from government-run workshops.
“Most of these female workers are widows who were widowed after the flood,” Xu Rurong said in a low voice. “They provide room and board and pay 800 coins a month.”
Ling Xian's fingers paused. The widows receiving government relief were given only two bowls of thin porridge a day, yet here...
Passing through the textile factory, you'll find the newly built glass kiln. The glowing red of the kiln fire illuminates the faces of the craftsmen, some of whom are blowing molten glass into shapes. In a corner, piles of finished lampshades stand, translucent as ice, without a single impurity.
“Even better than those in the palace,” Ling Xian blurted out.
Xu Rurong smiled without saying a word, and then took him to see the ironworks and the woodworking factory.
What shocked Ling Xian the most was the giant waterwheel on the riverbank, which powered more than a dozen grain mills day and night.
“These…” Ling Xian’s voice tightened, “are all gifts from the Mountain Goddess?”
"It was the Goddess who gave the instructions, and the people who put in the effort. The Mountain Goddess never underestimates the power of the people." Xu Rurong pointed to the distant, mist-shrouded barren mountains. "Sir, are you aware of the flood that struck the Hengheng Mountains last month?"
I've heard a little about it.
Xu Rurong smiled again, flicked her long sleeves, and sat down in the rest area provided by the factory.
"This..." the strategist said nervously.
"The Mountain Goddess ordered people to collect one-tenth of the flood peak," Xu Rurong said casually. "The rest was diverted through the flood discharge channel."
Ling Xian took two steps back, his boots sinking into puddles, his expression one of horror.
So the Mountain Goddess could actually do this?
This is truly divine intervention!
…
The county government office's study was piled high with account books.
Ling Xian spent two days writing at his desk, wearing out two calligraphy brushes.
Peach petals drifted in through the window cracks and landed on the abacus beads.
He rubbed his aching wrist and glanced at the book "Records of Relief Work in Wasteland Counties" on his desk. It was a masterpiece he had painstakingly compiled. He had used all his ambition to organize the account books!
"I should be assisting the wise ruler, not wasting my time here..." he muttered to himself, ink dripping onto the rice paper and spreading into black spots.
The grand vision of conquering the world has turned into the task of manipulating abacus beads.
"Mr. Ling."
Xu Rurong was standing by the door at some point, holding a little girl in a red dress in her arms.
The child was about a year old, his tiny, lotus-root-like hands clutching a charcoal pencil, drawing a mustache on the magistrate's face.
"This is Lin Lu." Xu Rurong wiped her face helplessly. "She's here to help the master with the accounts."
Ling Xian suppressed his irritation: "Magistrate Xu, although I am not very talented..."
The words came to an abrupt halt.
Lin Lu had already climbed to the table, and with a few quick strokes of her charcoal pencil, she drew out a form.
Arabic numerals and formulas leapt off the page, shrunk a three-page goods list to half a page! Even more alarming was her muttering: "Weighted average, depreciation rate..."
"This, this!" Ling Xian's eyes lit up. "A child prodigy!"
He suddenly knelt down, about to kowtow, which startled Lin Lu. Xu Rurong quickly shielded the little girl behind her, saying, "Sir, calm down!"
"Master! Teach me!" Ling Xian grabbed Lin Lu's red coat hem tightly.
Lin Lu held her breath and tried to pull it back several times, but she couldn't manage it!
…
Huangxian County, the second flower-growing village.
Zhong Yan and Tong Yiwen were drying herbs together. The two were wearing moon-white dresses, and when they got tired, they sat on the wisteria swing hanging from the trellis.
Le Bai sat on a stone bench, agonizing over how to revise the new textbook, while a transmigrator next to him hummed an off-key rendition of "The Lone Warrior."
Gu Huai's legs have been healed, and he is stirring mortar with an iron spoon to create a drying area for this brand-new courtyard.
At the same time, he was also building the surrounding courtyard wall.
"Help!"
Lin Lu rushed in with her short legs, followed by Ling Xian, whose expression looked slightly crazy.
Zhong Yan swiftly picked up the little girl, while the time-traveling man had already raised his long sword and held it to the strategist's neck.
"One of us!" Xu Rurong caught up, panting. "Mr. Ling is just... thirsty for knowledge, thirsty for knowledge!"
The scene was comical for a moment.
The man held the tip of his knife to Ling Xian's throat, but the strategist was oblivious, his eyes fixed on the cement in Gu Huai's hand: "Could this be used to build a city?"
"Sure," Gu Huai said calmly. "Adding iron mesh makes it even stronger, and we're already working on it in the barren mountains."
"Wonderful!" Ling Xian exclaimed excitedly, then rushed towards the herbs Zhong Yan was drying. "This is... Panax notoginseng? Is there a cultivation method for it...?"
Tong Yiwen silently raised the pestle.
…
As dusk settled over the official road, Jiang Dashan carried Ling Xian by the back of his collar like a chick.
"It's time to go back, strategist."
Ling Xian struggled to turn around, and the lights of the desolate county gradually came on.
The female textile workers returned home in groups, some singing folk songs that had been passed down from the desolate mountains. The sound of children reciting the Thousand Character Classic drifted from the school, blending wonderfully with the hammering sounds from the ironworks further away.
"Let me see it one more time, just one more time!"
Jiang Dashan ruthlessly shoved him into the carriage. Before the curtain fell, Ling Xian caught a glimpse of Xu Rurong standing on the city wall, holding a yawning Lin Lu in her arms, bowing to him from afar.
…
In the imposing military camp, at the third watch of the night.
Ling Xian tossed and turned on the bed.
The ink of the "Records of Relief Work in the Wasteland County" still lingered on my desk, but the sounds of looms, reading aloud, and the scratching of Lin Lu's little charcoal pencil echoed in my ears...
“The Holy Ruler…” He looked at the moonlight filtering through the tent ceiling and suddenly smiled, “So, when the world is at peace, it doesn’t necessarily need a Holy Ruler on the dragon throne.”
From next door came Kan Dadao's snoring, mixed with his sleep-talking: "I'll flatten this place..."
Ling Xian took out a charcoal pencil from his pocket and wrote a line of equations on his palm. The moonlight shone on the strange symbols, making his expression even more fanatical.
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