Fourteen Varieties of Wheat

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Lin Yun paid such close attention to winter wheat because it was indispensable among crops. Winter wheat grows through the winter, with a farming cycle of sowing in autumn and harvesting in summer. It can be rotated with other crops that are sown in spring and harvested in autumn, determining whether the land can yield multiple harvests in a year.

The Imperial City lay in the north, and with winter wheat as a foundation, a well-planned schedule should allow for two and a half harvests every two years. In the south, planting winter wheat could yield two harvests annually.

Wu Erni’s answer caught Lin Yun somewhat off guard when she said, “We usually plant it, but we didn’t get around to it this year.”

It was now mid-November on the lunar calendar; winter wheat should have been sown as early as September. Lin Yun pressed further, “It’s just a few days before the winter solstice—why hasn’t the winter wheat been planted?”

Wu Erni was a little surprised. This young lady before her, clearly born into privilege, seemed as knowledgeable about the farming calendar as any farmer who worked the fields year-round.

The surprise lasted only a moment. When it came to the missed timing for sowing winter wheat, Wu Erni’s face was etched with worry. Her voice dropped: “This year, the Imperial City suffered floods. When it was time to sow the wheat in September, the fields were still soaked. If we dared to plant the seeds, they would have rotted in the ground.”

Farmers depended on their crops for survival. Their family planted sorghum, beans, and wheat in rotation every two years. Losing this wheat crop outright meant that after paying taxes, if any more disasters hit next year, starvation would be just around the corner.

Lin Yun hadn’t expected her first question to hit such a sore spot. No wonder the villagers all wore gloomy expressions as she entered the village.

Due to the northern climate and geography, rice was rarely grown while wheat dominated. The flood that ruined the planting season meant that no wheat would be seen on any land in the Imperial City this year.

Lin Yun asked, “What about spring wheat? Do you plant spring wheat? That might help salvage the situation a bit.”

Wu Erni shook her head. “Compared to sowing spring wheat in March, which takes up the fields and can only be harvested in autumn, we’d rather plant sorghum in March.”

Their reasons for not planting spring wheat included timing conflicts with existing crops and the difficulty of growing it.

“Spring wheat needs a lot of water, but we always have spring droughts. Without water carts or wells for irrigation, planting it is laborious and often yields nothing. Sorghum is more reliable—at least it’s guaranteed to feed us.”

Hearing this, Lin Yun’s heart sank. Natural disasters had disrupted the farming calendar, reducing the grain planted—a matter of life and death for farmers.

She sat quietly, unable to ask the questions about tools and fertilizers she had planned before entering the home.

Wu Erni noticed her gloom and forced a smile to comfort her: “Miss, you don’t have to worry. Even if half the people in Imperial City starve, it won’t be you.”

Wu Erni was about the same age as Lin Yun but looked more mature from working the fields. She was probably seldom full, her thin face lacking any flesh. Despite smiling, her teeth revealed only bitterness and sorrow.

Seeing such a smile, Lin Yun’s first reaction was to lower her head. The overwhelming hardship and weight made her want to look away.

Facing such pain without being able to help was draining.

Lin Yun could give money to Wu Erni to solve their immediate difficulties, but once she stepped out of the Wu family’s door and glanced at any other villager, she would confront a new kind of suffering.

There were too many unfortunate people in the Great Zhou; helping one meant an endless chain of aid.

Of course, she could just stay hidden inside the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion, where encounters were with nobles, shielding her from such misery.

If Lin Yun were a native noblewoman of Great Zhou, she could choose to live with her eyes closed. But she had long since lifted the veil from her eyes, and to cover them again and pretend to be blind would be self-deception.

In the somber atmosphere, Lin Yun felt hunger. Before, when her mood was low, she lost her appetite; now in Great Zhou, skipping a meal burned her chest with hunger.

She looked out the window—noon had already come.

Lin Yun asked Shi Er to bring the pancakes they had bought that morning. When they arrived, she divided two pieces and handed them to Wu Erni.

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“Time has flown till lunch, and I’ve been asking you so many questions, wasting your time. Consider these two pancakes as payment for answering me today.”

Wu Erni, clearly craving the food, shook her head and refused, “It’s the off-season now. Answering your questions doesn’t take much time and isn’t worth these two pancakes. Besides, we farm folk only eat twice a day; we don’t have lunch. You should eat them.”

What Wu Erni didn’t say was that since they hadn’t planted wheat, they still had some reserves and could manage two meals a day. But by next year, it might be down to one meal daily.

Lin Yun bowed her head, wrapped the pancakes in oiled paper, and placed them on the table in front of Wu Erni. “If you don’t want to eat now, save them for tonight.”

After speaking, Lin Yun bit hard into her own pancake.

In modern times, if someone said this, Lin Yun would suspect they were trying to elicit pity. But in the Great Zhou, simply stating facts was enough to suffocate one’s spirit.

Wu Erni saw Lin Yun’s awkwardness and hesitation and this time genuinely wanted to smile.

Her life was hard, but it wasn’t this pampered young lady’s fault, so why should she feel guilty?

And although Wu Erni’s life was tough, she had long since grown accustomed to it. After all, everyone in this village—and the neighboring ones—lived like this.

They lived on the edge of the Imperial City, where relief grain arrived faster and in greater quantities than elsewhere. Every year, refugees came fleeing from even worse hardships.

Lin Yun kept her head down, finishing one pancake, but felt even more dejected.

After such a large pancake, she was still not full. Under Wu Erni’s watchful gaze, she opened another piece.

She chewed quickly, hoping to finish soon, but this only made things worse—

She choked.

Her face flushed red as she panicked. Shi Er patted her back and brought her water, helping her finally swallow the lump.

Watching Shi Er close the water pouch, Lin Yun suddenly had an idea.

She rose excitedly from the broken stool, eyes shining: “Erni, do you know about the Nine-Wheat Method?”

***

In the Wen Yuan Pavilion’s office,

Xie Jun opened a letter from Shi Er during a break from official duties. The letter had arrived yesterday but he hadn’t had time to read it.

This letter contained no new information about plows or water carts, but it mentioned Second Miss Lin’s movements—she had suddenly decided to visit a farm yesterday.

It seemed he hadn’t mistaken the carriage he saw that morning; it really was Second Miss Lin.

Xie Jun frowned. The Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion was safe for her now, but there was the old lady and Mrs. Song at the farm, and their attitudes toward Lin Yun were unclear. Why was she running there?

Unable to understand, Xie Jun only hoped she wouldn’t die again so easily. The endless cycle of repetition had already wearied him.

The day Pei Hejing died at home, he had planned to act. Evidence or not, he could forge something.

In the seven cycles, he had succeeded the first four times but had grown tired of continuing. After all, after all the fuss, it always reset to the beginning.

Originally furious over Pei Hejing’s death, Xie Jun had vowed to deal with those responsible by any means. But after seven loops, he was forced to calm down.

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Xie Jun put away the letter just as Yan Su returned. Leaning close, Yan Su whispered, “The Court of Justice wants to classify Lord Pei’s death as caused solely by a bandit. The bandit has been caught, meaning once he’s executed, the case will be closed.”

Xie Jun chuckled lightly, “Let them execute him. No need to interfere.”

After all, if a matter was settled and then stirred up again, it would be even harder to resolve.

***

Wu Family Village.

Wu Erni found it utterly absurd—a farmer who had grown up in the fields was being taught how to farm by a pampered young lady.

“You start soaking the wheat seeds in clean cold water from the winter solstice, then take them out to dry. Every nine days, soak them again. Keep this up until early spring when the soil thaws, and then plant the seeds. That way, the wheat will mature on time and be ready for harvest around Grain in Ear.”

This was a method to plant wheat late but still have it ripen early, not widely known, which was why Lin Yun hadn’t thought of it at first.

The Nine-Wheat Method was essentially a simple modern vernalization process—using cold treatment to induce early flower bud differentiation in plants.

What seemed scientifically sound to Lin Yun was regarded by Wu Erni as sheer nonsense.

What on earth was this Miss Lin talking about?

Soaking seeds every nine days would make them sprout and mature early? Farming like it was a ritual.

Shi Er was also surprised but tried her best to remember every word Second Miss said, no matter how absurd, to write it down and send it to their lord.

Lin Yun glanced around at the skeptical looks and knew no one believed her.

It sounded ridiculous, and in their eyes, she was just a pampered noble with no farming experience.

Wu Erni saw Lin Yun’s enthusiasm fading and explained, “Seeds are precious to us. Miss, your method is unheard of; we don’t dare risk it.”

Lin Yun understood but bit her lip and refused to give up. She clearly had the means to help farmers who knew about this method plant another crop of wheat; she didn’t want to let it go.

Perhaps thinking quickly, Lin Yun promised, “Erni, you and the villagers can all try this. If it fails, I’ll pay for the seeds. If it succeeds, just give me ten percent of the harvest.”

Lin Yun didn’t actually care about that ten percent, but if she took nothing, they would think she was unreliable.

After all, no sane person would risk so much just to plant an extra crop of wheat.

If she were trying to profit, that might be more acceptable.

But Lin Yun was willing to take the risk not because she was foolish.

She simply stood on the shoulders of giants, knowing that this method was correct and that she could succeed.