Ying Ziye patted the dust off his shoes.
He scanned the countless faces before him—dull, terrified, and utterly despairing.
Then he grinned, like a little devil.
“Want to eat?”
“Fine.”
He pointed at the muddy water and thin porridge on the ground.
“But you have to exchange it with labor.”
After speaking, he clapped his little hands again toward the people behind him.
“Men!”
A command fell.
“Whoosh!”
“Whoosh!”
“Whoosh!”
From within the palace gates, a black tide surged out.
It was the imperial guards!
A full three thousand of them, dressed in flying-fish uniforms, holding court batons, and wearing embroidered spring sabers at their waists.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized as they instantly surrounded the entire square, sealing it off completely.
Thud!
Three thousand batons struck the stone pavement heavily at once.
The dull, heavy sound pressed down on every scholar’s heart like a mountain.
A murderous aura spread through the air.
Ying Ziye’s childish voice rang out again through a metal loudspeaker.
“Step one.”
“Strip off all those long, filthy, stinky robes from their bodies!”
“Replace them with short hemp garments!”
Strip them?
Strip off their Confucian robes?
That was the symbol of a scholar’s identity!
All the students’ expressions changed drastically.
“You dare!”
Kong Fu trembled with rage, his beard shaking as he pointed at Ying Ziye and roared.
“A scholar may be killed, but not humiliated!”
Ying Ziye picked at his ear.
“Oh, I forgot to mention.”
He added with a smile.
“Anyone who resists…”
“…gets their butt whipped open.”
“Move!”
At Qinglong’s command.
The imperial guards, like wolves and tigers, rushed into the sea of white robes.
The square instantly descended into chaos.
“Ah! Let go of me! I am an academic officer!”
“You imperial dogs! Lackeys!”
“My clothes! Don’t tear my clothes!”
These pampered scholars, who had never done manual labor and had no real fighting ability, were no match for these fierce soldiers.
One by one, they were pinned to the ground.
Their long robes were brutally torn and ripped off.
Exposing their pale flesh underneath.
All dignity was lost!
All pride destroyed!
Kong Fu’s eyes were about to split with rage.
He waved his arms like an enraged lion.
“Who dares touch me!”
Two imperial guards exchanged a glance, their faces expressionless.
They grabbed his arms from both sides.
“How presumptuous!”
Kong Fu struggled desperately.
But his strength was nothing in front of the guards—like that of a child.
Riiip—!
The sound of fabric tearing echoed sharply.
The official scholar robe that symbolized Kong Fu’s status as a Confucian leader was forcibly torn in half.
A coarse hemp garment was forcibly put onto his body.
The rough fabric scraped against his pampered skin like a knife.
Kong Fu froze.
He looked down at the short, crude clothing meant for commoners.
It felt as if his soul had been drained from him.
“Aaaaahhh——!”
He let out a non-human scream.
Soon.
Across the square, three thousand white robes had become three thousand prisoners in short hemp clothing.
Each of them was bound with cold iron chains around their hands and feet.
Ying Ziye nodded in satisfaction.
“Much better.”
“Step two.”
“Move out! Take them to a good place!”
Clank… clank…
The sound of chains dragging across the ground was harsh and grating.
The three thousand scholars were driven forward by the imperial guards like a herd of slaughter-bound livestock, heading out of the palace.
The news had already spread throughout Xianyang City.
The streets were packed with curious onlookers.
They watched this strange procession.
They looked at those so-called “gentlemen” who usually looked down on everyone with their noses in the air.
Now, they were wearing the same coarse cloth as commoners, bound in chains, utterly disheveled.
“Look! Isn’t that Scholar Zhang? Last time he called us ‘mud-legged peasants’!”
“That one! That’s the young master of the Li family! Yesterday he said my vegetable stall blocked his path and kicked it over!”
A bold child picked up a rotten vegetable leaf from the ground.
With a whoosh, he threw it.
It hit a young scholar square in the face.
The scholar was humiliated and furious—but did not dare to speak.
One became two.
“Whoosh!”
“Whoosh whoosh!”
In an instant, rotten vegetables and foul eggs rained down like a storm onto the procession.
The common people felt no sympathy.
Instead, they erupted in cheers.
“Good hit!”
“Serves you right!”
“Let’s see if you still look down on us farmers!”
The scholars in the procession had never suffered such humiliation.
Many broke down on the spot, crying loudly.
Kong Fu walked at the very front.
He let the filth and rotten objects strike his body and face without any expression at all.
But those eyes were still fixed tightly ahead.
Within them burned endless resentment and malice.
The procession was escorted to the imperial hunting grounds outside Xianyang City.
Everything here had already been transformed.
Large stretches of leveled land had been divided into neat square plots.
Like soldiers awaiting inspection.
On a temporary high platform, Ying Ziye sat in a grand teacher’s chair, casually swinging his little legs.
The three thousand “new farmers” were brought beneath the platform.
Ying Ziye stood up.
From behind him, he took out something.
It looked unremarkable.
A brownish skin, still covered with soil, with strange little sprouts growing on it.
“Look carefully.”
He raised it high, as if presenting a priceless treasure.
“This thing is called a ‘potato.’”
“A divine gift bestowed upon Great Qin by the immortals.”
Potato?
A divine object?
The scholars exchanged confused glances, not understanding.
Ying Ziye tossed the potato to Qinglong below the platform.
Then he cleared his throat and announced the new rules.
“From today onward.”
“Your task is to plant it, and take care of it until it grows.”
He raised one finger.
“First: forget everything in your heads—‘The Book of Songs,’ ‘The Book of Documents,’ the ‘Rites,’ the ‘I Ching.’ All of it!”
“From now on, what you will recite every day is the Agricultural Manual!”
He raised a second finger.
“Second: no more writing essays!”
“Every day, you must write a ‘Potato Observation Diary’! Record its sprouting and growth! Anyone who writes poorly gets no food!”
As soon as these words fell.
An uproar broke out below the platform.
What kind of humiliation was this?!
They—scholars who had devoted themselves to Confucian classics—were to memorize farming texts? Write potato diaries?
Thud.
A young scholar could no longer endure the mental collapse.
His legs gave out and he knelt on the ground, crying loudly.
“I studied the Confucian classics for ten years!”
“Not to come here and farm!”
His cries were contagious.
Soon, wailing spread throughout the crowd.
The entire scene looked like a mass funeral.
At that moment, Kong Fu pushed through the crowd and stepped forward.
He raised his head and looked directly at Ying Ziye on the platform.
“I refuse!”
His voice was hoarse but firm.
“Today, I will fast here!”
“Even if I starve to death, I will not touch this demonic thing!”
“Yes! We would rather starve than farm!”
“A scholar may be killed, but not humiliated!”
The old Confucian scholars behind him echoed in support.
Ying Ziye looked at them.
There was not the slightest surprise on his face.
He didn’t even try to persuade them.
He simply waved his hand toward the imperial guards nearby.
“Men.”
“Light a fire.”
“Roast the potatoes we brought.”
“Yes, sir!”
Soon, several bonfires were lit at the edge of the square.
The imperial guards took out more than a dozen potatoes, wrapped them in mud with practiced hands, and threw them into the fire.
Before long.
An unprecedented, rich aroma began to spread from the flames.
The scent was overwhelming.
A mixture of earthy fragrance and roasted starch sweetness.
It drilled straight into people’s noses.
Gulp.
Someone swallowed hard.
These scholars had not eaten or drunk anything since the previous day.
By now, they were starving.
Faced with this deadly fragrance, their eyes began to glaze over.
Their stomachs started growling uncontrollably.
Even Kong Fu, who had just been so righteous, couldn’t stop his throat from bobbing.
Ying Ziye picked up a roasted potato.
He peeled away the slightly burning skin, revealing the golden, soft inside.
He took a big bite—ah-wu.
It was so hot he kept fanning his mouth, but his face showed pure satisfaction.
“Mm! Delicious!”
While chewing, he called down vaguely to the crowd:
“Who wants some?”
“Just take a hoe, turn over one mu of land, and you get one!”
“Fragrant, sweet, and filling!”
The crowd of scholars began to stir.
Their eyes darted back and forth between the hoes beside them and the potatoes in Ying Ziye’s hand.
Their beliefs, their dignity—were trembling before the most primitive force of all: hunger.
Night gradually fell.
The temperature dropped lower and lower.
The cold wind cut through their thin hemp clothes like knives.
Ying Ziye finished his potato.
He brushed off his hands and stood up from the chair.
Looking down at the shivering scholars below, he erased all expression from his face.
His voice turned icy, as if coming from the depths of hell itself.
“My patience is limited.”
“I will give you one last chance.”
“Before sunrise tomorrow.”
“This land must be fully turned over.”
“Otherwise…”
He paused, enunciating each word.
“All who fail to complete the task…”
“Your entire families will be exiled to Lingnan and the lands of the Baiyue.”
“Living among snakes and insects—never to return for all eternity.”
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