Chapter Eighteen: The Subtle Shock of the Yield per Acre

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Zhang Bo’s eyes suddenly lit up. Indeed, his guess was correct—Liu Che intended to restore the Han dynasty. Zhang Bo couldn’t help but let his imagination run wild. Liu Che, alongside Wei Qing and Huo Qubing, as well as the Five Tiger Generals of Shu Han, would face off against Cao Cao’s Five Elite Generals and Eight Tiger Cavalry, along with the Four Heroes and Twelve Tiger Ministers of Eastern Wu. Just thinking about it stirred a passionate excitement within him. Wait, perhaps Cao Cao and Sun Quan would surrender immediately upon hearing the name Emperor Wu of Han. But after some thought, Zhang Bo found that unlikely. Setting aside whether Cao Cao and Sun Quan believed Liu Che’s identity, at this point in time—Jian’an twelfth year—both Cao Cao and Sun Quan had already established themselves as warlords. They had fought tirelessly to secure their territories; there was no way they would relinquish their lands for nothing. Even if it weren’t Emperor Wu Liu Che, even if Liu Bang himself appeared, it might make little difference. It seemed a battle was inevitable. Zhang Bo shook his head helplessly. Hopefully, with Liu Che’s assistance, Liu Bei could unify the Three Kingdoms swiftly in this lifetime. “Host, host.” Seeing Zhang Bo lost in thought while speaking, Liu Che’s expression darkened slightly. Zhang Bo quickly regained his focus. “Your Majesty, Liu Bei has not been here.” Liu Che nodded slightly. According to his plan, he intended to meet this so-called Liu Bei to verify his identity and confirm the host’s words. “Your Majesty, on that day, Liu Bei brought me and the Crown Prince to Eastern Han; we remember the way there,” Huo Qubing said alongside. “Oh? Then let us set off immediately.” At Liu Che’s command, the four from Western Han rose and left Zhang Bo’s countryside inn. Watching their retreating figures, Zhang Bo felt an inexplicable anticipation. Besides Emperor Wu of Han, might he also encounter Qin Shi Huang, Emperor Taizong of Tang, Emperor Taizu of Song, and Emperor Hongwu of Ming? He glanced up at the sky—the sun was setting in the west, its rays breaking through the clouds, painting half the sky crimson. Zhang Bo lay back in his recliner, savoring this rare, beautiful moment. Only after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon did he rub his growling stomach and rise, heading toward the kitchen. Just as he dropped noodles into the pot, he heard Liu Ju’s voice from the courtyard.

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“Brother, brother!” Though time differed slightly from reality and the Two Han dynasties, it had barely been half an hour—how did they return so quickly? Zhang Bo suppressed his doubts, scooped the noodles, and stepped out of the kitchen. There he saw the four from Western Han gathered in the yard. Liu Che, at the forefront, furrowed his brow deeply, seemingly pondering something. “Your Majesty, why have you returned so soon?” “Brother, we encountered something strange this time.” Strange? “Ju, what is it?” “We followed the route Liu Bei led us on that day, but we couldn’t seem to reach Eastern Han. More precisely, as soon as we walked a certain distance away from this inn, we would return to the cave entrance where we first arrived.” “Ju, do you mean even if you walk in the opposite direction, you still encounter that cave entrance?” Liu Ju nodded slightly, confirming Zhang Bo’s understanding. A ghostly maze? Or something else? Zhang Bo began to consider the problem. Previously, the Eastern Han group had successfully led Huo Qubing and Liu Ju to Eastern Han, and even earlier, Liu Ju had accompanied Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei to Wolong Gang. Why couldn’t they this time? The only difference was the absence of the trio—Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei. Suddenly, Zhang Bo thought of a possibility: perhaps only someone from Eastern Han could guide them there. He shared his theory with the Western Han group. Instantly, Liu Che’s tightly knit brows relaxed, a look of understanding shining in his eyes. So that was it. “Host, do you know when the people from Eastern Han might come here?” Zhang Bo shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, but I have an idea. Given the time difference between the Two Han dynasties and here, Your Majesty could leave a message for them. If they come to me, I can arrange a meeting time.” A smile crept to Liu Che’s lips—he was clearly pleased by Zhang Bo’s suggestion. They agreed that five days later, by Eastern Han’s time, Liu Che and his companions would return to the countryside inn. Just as Liu Che prepared to leave, Liu Ju’s stomach growled loudly. “Why don’t you stay for a simple meal?” Fifteen minutes later, everyone sat together at the dining table, each with a bowl of noodles in front of them. Liu Che looked down at his bowl, amazed at the generous portion—he couldn’t even finish it all himself. He looked up and asked Zhang Bo, “Host, are the people a thousand years from now truly so prosperous? Does the wheat yield reach three hundred jin per mu?” In the Han dynasty, wheat yields generally just exceeded one hundred jin, with fertile land producing somewhat more but never over two hundred jin. To Liu Ju, a thousand jin per mu would already be extraordinary. Zhang Bo paused mid-slurp. Though he didn’t know the exact figures, he was certain the yield was far greater. “Your Majesty, it’s much more than that. Today, wheat yields hover around a thousand jin per mu.” Wei Qing, Huo Qubing, and Liu Ju immediately stopped eating, their eyes wide with disbelief. Did they hear wrong? A thousand jin? What a joke! How could yields be so high? As Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che swallowed hard. A thousand jin per mu for wheat! What a staggering concept. The Han dynasty’s yield had more than tripled! Liu Che understood the implications all too well. But his shock didn’t end there. Zhang Bo’s next words wiped away any appetite Liu Che had left. “However, although wheat yields are high, they still pale in comparison to hybrid rice. Hybrid rice can yield around two thousand jin per mu.” The room fell utterly silent—even the faintest sound could be heard. The reason was simple: this news was too astonishing. Though Liu Che had never heard the term “hybrid rice,” he repeated with disbelief, “Hybrid rice can really yield two thousand jin per mu?” “Yes, Your Majesty, and not only that. Several other crops also boast yields comparable to hybrid rice—corn, potatoes, sweet potatoes—all easily producing a thousand jin per mu. Compared to wheat and traditional rice, these crops are much easier to cultivate.” Everyone present was dumbfounded. Wheat yields of a thousand jin per mu already defied their understanding, and now there were rice, corn, potatoes, and sweet potatoes with similarly staggering yields. They all grasped the meaning of this: a flourishing era!

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