Chapter 13: Preparing to Buy a Courtyard and the Shock of High-Yield Rice

“Manager Lu, could you help me find out if there are any vacant courtyards for sale in Chang’an? The sooner, the better!” Du Chengfeng inquired.

“A vacant courtyard?” Manager Lu immediately perked up, his voice filled with excitement. “Brother Chengfeng, you’ve come to the right person! There just happens to be a fine courtyard for sale in the East Market.”

“The previous owner was a third-rank court official, but he was recently exiled from the capital and abandoned the property. They’re eager to sell. The price is a bit steep, though—three thousand strings of cash. If you’re interested, I can take you to have a look.”

“A third-rank official’s courtyard? That must be quite something.” Three thousand strings were a mere trifle to him now, Du Chengfeng mused to himself.

“Indeed, I’m very interested. In a couple of days, would you mind showing me the place?” Du Chengfeng replied with a smile.

“No problem at all, you’re welcome any time,” Manager Lu said happily, feeling that his rapport with Du Chengfeng had just grown even closer.

“Then I’ll be troubling you, Manager Lu!” Du Chengfeng said politely.

“No trouble at all, Brother Chengfeng, it’s a small matter.” Manager Lu chuckled, then asked, “Brother Chengfeng, on my way here I noticed something that piqued my curiosity. Would you mind clearing up my confusion?”

“Please speak, Manager Lu,” Du Chengfeng replied calmly.

“When I arrived, I saw many people in your village planting rice. Yet, as far as I know, rice is mainly grown in the south, and the yields aren’t high. But your villagers seem very enthusiastic about planting it. Why is that?” Manager Lu asked.

“Oh, that’s high-yield rice. The workers are paid forty cash a day, so they’re happy to give it their all. Besides, I’ve promised them that if the harvest doesn’t meet expectations, I’ll compensate all their losses at double the amount. So of course, they’re motivated,” Du Chengfeng explained.

His tone was calm, completely unaware of the shock and astonishment this so-called “high-yield rice” was about to bring upon this era.

In fact, Du Chengfeng didn’t mind Manager Lu knowing about this. It was a boon to the nation and the people. He hoped Manager Lu would spread the word through his connections—consider it a small contribution to the Tang Dynasty.

Admittedly, there was a bit of self-interest involved; he was, after all, after reputation. But compared to the immense impact of high-yield rice, that little bit of selfishness was negligible.

“High-yield rice?” Manager Lu caught the key term immediately. “How high is the yield?” he asked, probing for more.

“Not much—about a dozen shi per mu, and you can plant two crops a year, as long as there’s water,” Du Chengfeng replied casually.

“What? A dozen shi per mu, and two crops a year?” Manager Lu was stupefied—as though struck by lightning. His jaw dropped, practically wide enough to hold a fist.

What left him even more speechless was Du Chengfeng’s nonchalant, unconcerned demeanor, as if this yield was nothing out of the ordinary. Manager Lu was almost tempted to crack open Du Chengfeng’s head to see what was inside.

Did he really understand what a dozen shi per mu meant? Manager Lu was inwardly howling in disbelief.

“Brother Chengfeng, do you know the average grain yield in the Tang? Do you know what it means to harvest a dozen shi per mu? Do you realize how many people in the Tang are still going hungry because of grain shortages?” Manager Lu practically shouted, firing off question after question. He felt as if he was about to lose his mind.

“Yes, I know. Usually it’s about three or four shi per mu,” Du Chengfeng replied, still as indifferent as before.

It was as though he truly didn’t care about yields of a dozen shi per mu—a face that made others itch to give him a good shaking.

It was just that, having seen modern crop yields of over a thousand jin per mu, such things were utterly commonplace to him.

He believed that in a few years, with his efforts, Tang’s grain production could easily multiply several times over.

If he really told Manager Lu about sweet potatoes and potatoes yielding dozens of shi per mu, the man might faint from shock.

Manager Lu was utterly defeated by Du Chengfeng’s composure. But seeing his confidence, Manager Lu was convinced the yield must be real.

This news was earth-shattering. Compared to the modest windfall from “Immortal Wine,” the benefits of high-yield rice were colossal. He must inform his employer right away, Manager Lu decided.

By now, the three hundred jars of Immortal Wine were loaded, and dusk was settling. Manager Lu knew he couldn’t linger any longer, so he hurriedly drove the caravan away.

Today was certainly a fruitful trip, he thought with emotion. The shocks Du Chengfeng gave him came one after another.

Immortal Wine, high-yield rice, astonishing calligraphy and literary talent—each was a thunderbolt in its own right.

Du Chengfeng could not guess Manager Lu’s thoughts. He had decided it was time to inspect the system base in the mountain cave: his clone soldiers now numbered over a thousand, and he hadn’t yet seen them himself.

Avoiding the villagers, Du Chengfeng slipped to the system base at the back of the mountain.

“Salute, Commander!” As soon as he entered the base perimeter, the clone soldiers on guard at the entrance snapped to attention and greeted him.

Satisfied, Du Chengfeng nodded and examined them closely. Each man’s expression and demeanor was utterly natural, indistinguishable from a real person. Yet in every gaze was a deep, unwavering loyalty.

Every man was tall and imposing, exuding a fierce, martial aura. Their eyes shone with a unique light, giving the impression of iron-blooded warriors. Each was armed with a Type-56 semi-automatic rifle with bayonet, and a Type-54 pistol at the waist.

This rifle, in Du Chengfeng’s memory, was renowned for its excellent performance, light weight, high accuracy, great lethality, and wide versatility—one of the best of its era. It held ten rounds, fired thirty-five to forty shots per minute, with an effective range of 400 meters.

Seeing these clone soldiers and their equipment, Du Chengfeng threw his head back and laughed, his heart brimming with delight.

With such an army in hand, who in the world could stand against him? Turks, Tuyuhun, Goguryeo, and all the enemy states surrounding the Tang—let them prepare for conquest.

Wherever his blades and horses reached, all would become Han lands. All the humiliation the Chinese civilization had suffered through millennia—now it was time to pay it back in full. In that moment, Du Chengfeng swore to himself.

“System, do these clone soldiers have names? And what about their combat strength?” Du Chengfeng composed himself and asked.

“Each one is an elite, with a combat strength between 1500 and 2000, every man a match for a general of this era. They can all be trained and promoted. Names are randomly assigned by the system, but the host may name them as he wishes. Most importantly, clone soldiers are one hundred percent loyal—there is no chance of betrayal. The only drawback is somewhat lacking command ability; compared to real generals, there is a significant gap,” the system replied mechanically.

“Whew!” Upon hearing this, Du Chengfeng drew a sharp breath. Each soldier was as strong as a contemporary great general—he was stunned.

Unbelievable! With these terrifying weapons and astounding combat strength, any army of this era would be crushed by a force of clone soldiers.

“Excellent!” Du Chengfeng was overjoyed, though he knew he must not become arrogant; every goal must be achieved step by step.

If he recalled correctly, this year was the most humiliating year for Li Shimin. The famous Treaty of Wei River would be signed at the end of August.

By his calculations, there were nearly five months left. At the system base’s production rate, he could have nearly forty thousand clone soldiers by then.

At that point, forty thousand elites against Xieli’s hundreds of thousands of cavalry—even with the disparity in numbers, Du Chengfeng was confident he could rout them. Just imagining their expressions made him inwardly gleeful. Let the Turks be the first stepping stone to his rise.

But there was still time; for now, the key was to build up strength.

“Soldier, come here!” Du Chengfeng beckoned to a clone soldier.

The soldier immediately jogged over and saluted. “Commander, awaiting orders.”

“I appoint you as Captain of the Guard Company. Select one hundred soldiers at once and maintain a two-hundred-meter perimeter around the cave. No one is to approach under any circumstances. Understood?”

“Understood! The task will be carried out without fail!” the soldier replied resolutely.