BDSMST -Chapter 157 An “Inspection Delegation” from the Court

The textile workshop in Woniu Village was flourishing. More cotton gins, spinning wheels, and looms were built and put into operation. Almost all the women in the village were mobilized, earning piecework wages in the workshop with great enthusiasm. Colorful bolts of cotton fabric were produced continuously and shipped to the capital, exchanging for substantial amounts of real gold and silver.

The name Woniu Village began to spread widely among the people, thanks to its magical cotton and high-yield crops. People no longer saw it as merely a prosperous village, but as a place full of wonders. Some claimed the land had been blessed by immortals, growing whatever was planted. Others said Madam Gu, the village’s mistress, was a fairy descended from heaven who knew the art of turning stone into gold.

These rumors grew increasingly fantastical—and eventually reached the political heart of the Great Xia Dynasty: the imperial palace.

In the imperial study, Emperor Xiao Yuan was frowning over a memorial jointly submitted by the Ministries of Revenue and War. The memorial detailed military supply issues in the northern borderlands. Years of warfare with the Beidi tribes had already drained the national treasury. Winter provisions—cotton clothes, rations—were a massive annual expense. This year, winter had arrived early, and the northern garrison troops were still seriously short on warm clothing.

“A bunch of useless fools!” the emperor shouted, slamming the memorial onto the dragon desk. “Every year, the treasury allocates huge funds for military supplies, yet now, the soldiers don’t even have proper winter clothes! Why am I keeping them alive?”

The ministers of Revenue and War standing below the throne were frozen in fear, unable to breathe.

At that moment, Crown Prince Xiao Jingyan entered, carrying several documents—reports submitted by Bai Yutang through the Eastern Palace—detailing Woniu Village’s cotton production and plans for overseas trade.

“Father, please calm your anger,” the Crown Prince said, presenting the documents. “There may be a way to urgently solve the northern border’s crisis.”

The emperor took the documents and leafed through them skeptically. When he saw the recorded cotton yield per mu in Woniu Village, along with a cost comparison and the warmth of a single cotton jacket versus traditional furs, his expression slowly changed.

“Three hundred jin per mu? Warmth three times that of sheepskin?” the emperor asked incredulously. “Jingyan, is everything written here true?”

“Your Majesty, it is absolutely true,” the Crown Prince replied. “I have confirmed with Zhilan herself. The cotton jacket she wears is from Woniu Village—it is lightweight, warm, and far superior to furs. I also sent people secretly to inspect the village; the situation there exceeds even what’s in these documents. Not only cotton, but high-yield crops such as potatoes and sweet potatoes produce thousands of jin per mu. Every local household is prosperous, and everyone lives in comfort.”

The emperor was completely stunned. As a ruler, his primary concern was the treasury and the well-being of the people. A place capable of significantly increasing both grain and fabric output was invaluable.

He turned to the back of the documents and saw the grand plan Bai Yutang and Rio had devised for opening the “Golden Trade Route.” When he read that tea, silk, and porcelain could be traded overseas for equivalent amounts of gold and precious stones, his breath quickened.

“Opening an overseas trade route… trading with the Frank Kingdom…” the emperor murmured, his finger slowly tracing the words, eyes glimmering. He was an ambitious ruler: expanding borders was difficult, but bringing wealth to the Great Xia through commerce was a feat worthy of being recorded in history.

“This Jiang Suisui… this Woniu Village…” the emperor pondered for a long while before making a decision. “Issue my decree: appoint Sun Zhicai, Vice Minister of Revenue, as Chief Inspector, Zhang Heng, Administrator of the Ministry of Works, as Deputy, and select one capable official each from the Hanlin Academy and Imperial Medical Bureau to form an inspection delegation. They are to depart immediately for Woniu Village in Jinling.”

The emperor paused, then emphasized, “I want them to investigate every detail of Woniu Village! Whether it’s the fields, the crops, that so-called ‘Agricultural Academy,’ or the feasibility of overseas trade, I want a thorough and detailed report. I want to see the truth with my own eyes!”

An imperial edict was quickly sent to the Ministry of Revenue. Sun Zhicai, Vice Minister of Revenue, was a nearly fifty-year-old traditional civil official. Upright and meticulous by nature, he valued ancestral rules above all and despised those who relied on shortcuts or “trickery.” In his eyes, merchants were greedy and unscrupulous, and so-called “new crops” were likely nothing more than local officials exaggerating their achievements.

He approached this mission with a mixture of skepticism and condescension. He was curious to see what kind of dragon’s lair Woniu Village really was, to command such admiration even from the Crown Prince.

A few days later, a grand inspection delegation of several dozen people set out from the capital, heading south toward Jinling.

The day the delegation arrived in Woniu Village was a clear winter morning. At the village entrance, Steward Wang and several estate managers were already waiting. There were no elaborate welcoming ceremonies, no drums or gongs—everything was calm and orderly.

Sun Zhicai stepped down from his ornate carriage, wearing a crimson robe of a fourth-rank official, his expression solemn. He surveyed the village before him: compacted mud walls, clean and orderly roads, villagers moving about in coarse cloth. Yet all had ruddy complexions and energetic demeanors. When they saw these officials, they merely glanced curiously, showing neither fear nor sycophancy.

This first impression surprised Sun Zhicai. The village radiated a rare sense of calm confidence.

After brief pleasantries, Steward Wang, following Jiang Suisui’s instructions, led the delegation on a tour of the estate. They first saw the grain stores piled high like mountains; the potato and sweet potato mounds made Sun Zhicai, a man of the Ministry of Revenue, nearly leap in surprise. Next, they visited the textile workshop, where bolts of fine fabric were produced from cotton. Zhang Heng, from the Ministry of Works, immediately circled around the cotton gins, studying them in fascination.

Yet Sun Zhicai was most interested in the so-called “Agricultural Academy.” In his view, farmers relied on ancestral experience and the mercy of heaven to grow crops—why would they need a formal “academy”? It seemed utterly ridiculous.

“Steward Wang,” Sun Zhicai asked slowly, hands clasped behind his back, “I hear your estate has even recruited… foreigners to learn farming?” His tone carried a subtle, almost imperceptible mockery as he said “foreigners” and “learn farming.”

“Indeed, Your Excellency,” Steward Wang replied, calm and composed. “They are currently attending classes in the fields. If you wish, I can take you there to observe.”

“Very well, I shall go see with my own eyes,” Sun Zhicai said, stroking his beard, a faint, knowing smile on his lips.

Following Steward Wang through the fields, he approached the row of new green-brick houses on the east side of the estate. From a distance, he could see a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed man surrounded by a group of local youths dressed in the same coarse cloth, gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

Sun Zhicai’s gaze fell on the local youths. They looked like ordinary village boys—how could such people act as “teachers,” instructing a foreign noble? His condescension deepened.

Adjusting his robe, clearing his throat, and stepping with the measured gait of a senior official, he began walking toward the wheat field.