BDSMST -Chapter 159 Let the Data Speak, Shocking Everyone

Sun Zhicai, who had “fled in disarray” from the fields, still looked grim. He led the inspection team back to the estate’s council hall. The room was spacious and bright, sparsely decorated, with only a long wooden table and a dozen or so chairs.

Jiang Suisui and Gu Yan were already waiting at the head of the table. Bai Yutang stood to the side, smiling warmly at Sun Zhicai—a gaze that made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

Once everyone was seated, servants brought tea. The tea was poured into pure white, glossy porcelain cups, the liquor bright green and fragrant. Sun Zhicai took a sip and was immediately refreshed, his mind alert. A connoisseur of fine tea, he had never tasted one so clear, smooth, and invigorating.

“This tea is called ‘Woniu Spring Snow,’ grown from wild tea trees on the estate’s back hills,” Jiang Suisui explained calmly, noticing his expression.

Sun Zhicai composed himself and set down the cup. He would not allow such trivialities to distract him—his purpose here was inspection and evaluation.

“Madam Gu,” he said in an official tone, bluntly, “I have already visited your fields and workshops and listened to those… instructors’ explanations. To be honest, some of it is indeed astonishing. But what the ear hears is fleeting; what the eye sees is real. Words alone are no proof. What I need are concrete accounts and documents.”

Finally, he felt he had found a foothold for counterattack. These peasants might know how to farm, but accounting? Nine out of ten local records were sloppy. With careful inspection, he was certain he could find exaggerations or falsifications.

“Lord Sun is correct,” Jiang Suisui nodded calmly, without a hint of fluster. She turned to a young man in a plain blue robe, glasses perched on his nose, looking scholarly. “Shen Qinghe, please bring the materials we prepared for the officials to review.”

Shen Qinghe acknowledged and lifted a stack of thick scrolls and account books from a large wooden chest behind him, distributing them to each member of the inspection team.

Sun Zhicai took his copy and unfurled it, and immediately froze.

This was not the dense, brush-written ledger he had imagined. Instead, before him lay a massive chart. The horizontal axis marked months, the vertical axis output. A bright red line rose sharply from the lower left corner, nearly shooting steeply to the top right.

Below, a caption in neat small characters read: “Woniu Village Test Field No. 1: Corn Yield Trend Chart.” From the projected 800 jin per mu in spring to the actual 1,500 jin per mu at harvest, every growth stage was clearly marked on the curve.

He turned the page. A pie chart appeared, color-coded for “Labor Costs,” “Seed Costs,” “Fertilizer Costs,” and “Profit.” The proportion of each cost and the final net profit were immediately clear at a glance.

What… what kind of accounting was this? Sun Zhicai had spent half his life reviewing mountains of Ministry of Revenue documents, yet he had never seen such intuitive, clear charts. This method turned complicated data into something simple and understandable—even a child could grasp the relationships.

The officials around him let out low murmurs of amazement. Zhang Heng, an official from the Ministry of Works, adjusted his hat, leaned closer to study the cost analysis chart, muttering to himself, “So that’s how they calculate ginning machine wear… this is called ‘depreciation’? Makes sense… it really does!”

“Esteemed officials,” Shen Qinghe pushed up his glasses and stepped forward, pointing with a long wooden rod to an even larger chart on the wall, “this is a comprehensive input-output report for all major crops in Woniu Village over the past two years.”

“Take potatoes as an example. Two years ago, we first introduced them, with an average yield of 2,300 jin per mu. After improving the soil and selecting seed potatoes, last year the average yield reached 3,100 jin per mu—a growth rate of 34.7%.”

“And cotton. This is our first year of large-scale cultivation: 320 mu planted, yielding 97,000 jin of raw cotton. The textile workshop consumed 30,000 jin, weaving it into 5,000 bolts of fabric and producing 1,200 garments. The 500 garments sent to the capital brought in 30,000 taels of silver in direct revenue. The remaining fabrics and garments are being sold gradually. We estimate that, for cotton alone, this year’s total profit will exceed 100,000 taels of silver.”

Shen Qinghe’s voice was steady and clear. He used no ornate words, only calmly presenting one cold number after another.

Yet these numbers, when combined, hit harder than any boastful speech ever could.

One hundred thousand taels of silver!

The figure struck like a massive stone thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples through the council hall.

The Minister of Revenue’s annual salary was barely over a hundred taels. The total net revenue of the entire Daxia Empire in a year, after all expenditures, amounted to only a few million taels. And yet, this tiny village—just from growing cotton—could generate one hundred thousand taels of profit in a single year?

Impossible!

“This… this cannot be true!” an official from the Ministry of Revenue shouted. “Your accounts must be falsified! Fabricated!”

“Sir,” Shen Qinghe looked at him calmly, expression unchanged, “all our original documents are right here.” He patted the large wooden chest behind him. “From the purchase of every seed, to the wages of each worker, to the records of every shipment sent to the capital—every entry is documented. If you do not believe it, you may verify each one.”

The official glanced at the chest, large enough to hold two men, packed with piles of account books and receipts, and swallowed his words. Verify it? When on earth could he ever get through all that?

A thin sheen of sweat appeared on Sun Zhicai’s forehead. He was no fool. He knew that by daring to present all these original records, they had absolute confidence. These numbers were almost certainly real.

His trembling hand turned to the last page of the report. It detailed the estimated costs and profits for the “Golden Trade Route” plan. The initial investment for building a fleet of ten new-style ships—wood, labor, weapons—was clearly listed at about 500,000 taels of silver.

On the other side, the projected revenue was shown. Even with a conservative estimate, simply trading tea and silk along the route in the first year would bring over a million taels of profit.

Sun Zhicai stared at that “one million taels” figure, feeling as though he could barely breathe. It was as if a mountain of gold gleamed right before him. He had spent his life managing money and grain, yet never imagined that wealth could be earned in this way.

He raised his head to look at the young woman calmly seated at the head of the table. In that moment, every ounce of his previous disdain, doubt, and scrutiny evaporated, replaced by a profound, indescribable shock.

Now he finally understood why the Crown Prince held this place in such high regard.

This was not some “trick or novelty.”

It was a level of knowledge capable of transforming the entire fate of the Daxia Empire and benefiting its people.

The council hall fell utterly silent, broken only by the heavy, collective breathing of the officials.

Sun Zhicai pointed at the final page of the report, lips quivering, unable to speak a single word. He felt decades of understanding and judgment crumble under the weight of these numbers.