HCT – Chapter 13 Fresh Raw Potatoes

Zhu Xiang thought for a long time but still couldn’t figure out who King Zhuangxiang of Qin was. However, what he couldn’t recall, he could deduce.

“He must be Zheng’er’s biological father,” Zhu Xiang speculated.

To avoid accidentally violating taboos, Zhu Xiang had memorized the genealogies of the royal and noble families of various states over the years.

Children from prestigious aristocratic families were required to memorize these from an early age to avoid inadvertently offending anyone. Zhu Xiang, being a commoner who had blended into the ranks of the gentry, believed it even more necessary to understand these things in detail.

Having transmigrated into an era transitioning from slavery to feudalism, he couldn’t be too careful.

Thus, Zhu Xiang had naturally memorized the posthumous titles of the past kings of Qin. So far, there hadn’t been a King of Qin with the posthumous title “Zhuangxiang.”

But even if Zhu Xiang couldn’t recall all the posthumous titles, it didn’t matter—he had no way of gaining favorability points from a deceased King of Qin anyway. Even if the current old King of Qin knew he was good at farming, it was unlikely he’d have much goodwill toward him.

Favorability was ranked by five hearts:

• One heart: “Slight Appreciation”
• Two hearts: “Willing to Associate”
• Three hearts: “Close Friend”
• Four hearts: “Sworn Brotherhood”

The system didn’t give a name to five-heart favorability, merely stating that it represented a level of trust where everything could be entrusted.

The system manual explained that the favorability levels were merely metaphors to help the host understand the degree of affection and had no direct correlation with actual interpersonal relationships.

It was entirely possible for Zhu Xiang to have never met someone, yet they would develop a high favorability toward him due to his reputation. Likewise, someone who regarded Zhu Xiang as a kindred spirit might, due to conflicting interests, hope he dropped dead.

When Zhu Xiang first read this explanation, his heart turned cold.

Why did it feel like this favorability system was a bit of a trap?

Currently, King Zhuangxiang of Qin had a favorability of three and a half hearts toward Zhu Xiang—more than kindred spirit, but not quite sworn brotherhood. When Zhu Xiang saw this, his eyes turned into lifeless dead-fish eyes.

So this is what the manual meant by “favorability has nothing to do with actual relationships,” huh?

“Zheng’er’s father must know Chunhua left Zheng’er in my care, which is why he likes me so much,” Zhu Xiang muttered to himself, locked inside his study, analyzing in a low voice.

It was a bad habit of his: when engaging in complex thinking, he had to verbalize his thoughts to clarify them.

“Zheng’er has only been at my place for ten days, and yet his father, far away in Qin, already knows about this matter in Handan, Zhao? How’s that possible? No, if it’s already happened, possibility doesn’t matter. Judging by this ten-day window, Zheng’er’s father might be somewhere near Zhao.”

Zhu Xiang pulled out a piece of paper and started drawing a map.

This map was adapted from various maps he had collected from traveling merchants and adjusted according to modern maps he remembered.

At this time, it was a capital offense for commoners to possess overly detailed maps—it was seen as espionage punishable by decapitation. Zhu Xiang always burned his maps after using them. Even Xue didn’t know he could draw such detailed maps—not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t want her to bear the psychological burden.

He only sketched the western region of the State of Zhao. Once the map was drawn, Zhu Xiang immediately figured out where the future King Zhuangxiang currently was.

The State of Qin was attacking Shangdang Commandery of the State of Han. Most likely, the prince—just recently returned to Qin—was currently inspecting troops at Shangdang to accumulate political capital.

“Other than being near the Zhao border, he might have planted spies around Chunhua and Zheng’er,” Zhu Xiang continued analyzing. “But are those spies working for Prince Yiren, or for Lu Buwei?”

Logically speaking, the spies should belong to Lu Buwei.

Prince Yiren had only just come of age a year or two ago. Not only was he young, but he’d also been sent as a hostage to Zhao early in life and had little formal royal training. Even though rumors in Zhao said he returned to Qin solely due to Lu Buwei’s support and had no personal capability…

Zhu Xiang browsed through the favorability list and couldn’t find any name resembling Lu Buwei’s—why “resembling”? Because the system’s unreliability extended beyond its pixelated UI—it also had a wildly inconsistent naming style.

“Lin Xiangru” was listed by his name; “Xunzi” was a later honorific; “Gangcheng-jun”? Who was that? “Juzi”—was that another title like Xunzi? And then there was “General Lian”… System, are you being lazy with old General Lian Po?

Thankfully, the favorability list was still short, so Zhu Xiang could match names by process of elimination. Lu Buwei was definitely not on it.

Did Lu Buwei not know of his existence? Or did he know, but had no goodwill toward him?

If it was the former, then Prince Yiren had likely been building his own forces outside of Lu Buwei’s knowledge. This “puppet hostage prince” might not be as simple as others thought.

Zhu Xiang tugged at his freshly combed hair in frustration.

Whether it was Lu Buwei knowing about him and having no interest, or Zheng’er’s father being incredibly calculating—it was all a threat to his future.

“Ugh, what’s the point of analyzing all this? It’s not like I can stop the threats from coming,” Zhu Xiang muttered, losing steam after reaching a conclusion.

He stared at the map in silence for a while, then tore it to pieces and threw it into the brazier.

He knew full well the kind of conflict he was about to be swept into, yet because of his weak status, he could only accept it passively. Zhu Xiang really didn’t like this era.

“Let’s think positively—maybe King Zhuangxiang of Qin is a decent person. His high favorability is just because I saved his most beloved child, not because he wants to throw me into a ring match against Lu Buwei,” Zhu Xiang forced a bitter smile. “As someone who can farm, I might actually be more popular than a merchant like Lu Buwei in Qin.”

Trying to delude himself for a bit of comfort, Zhu Xiang returned to the system.

Though he was anxious about King Zhuangxiang’s high favorability, the system’s reward of three kinds of premium crop varieties brought him some solace.

Then Zhu Xiang grew depressed again. The crop rewards still had to be drawn by lottery—not only did the rarity pools vary based on favorability level, but each character also had different rarity pools, and duplicates were possible.

Zhu Xiang’s face twisted in despair. Seriously? It depends on luck too? But I’ve always had terrible luck!

“Let’s check the others first.” Zhu Xiang decided to claim all available favorability rewards before drawing.

Both Lin Xiangru and Gangcheng-jun had three-heart favorability, but surprisingly, Lin Xiangru—a famous historical figure—had a lower character rarity than Gangcheng-jun.

After thinking for a while, Zhu Xiang’s eyelids twitched.

Gangcheng-jun… that must be Cai Ze, right? Though Cai Ze didn’t have much fame in history, he probably played a greater role in Qin’s unification, which would explain his higher system rating.

Lin Xiangru, despite his talent and fame, was stuck in Zhao and wasn’t a military general—his historical impact was limited.

Realizing this, Zhu Xiang couldn’t help but feel a wave of melancholy.

Lin Zhi’s talents might not be much inferior to Cai Ze’s. But since he didn’t offer Zhu Xiang any rewards, it suggested he left little impact on history.

The current King of Zhao no longer listened to Lin Xiangru, and the next king would be even more muddled. If Lin Zhi remained in Zhao, how could he possibly leave a lasting mark on history?

Zhu Xiang’s favorability list included many names he didn’t recognize. As the system had hinted, perhaps his farming reputation had reached their ears, earning him a one-heart starting favorability.

Some of these names clearly didn’t belong to nobility. They were likely obscure figures who never made it into historical records, but the system identified them as people who would influence the course of history.

So these “celebrities” weren’t necessarily the ones remembered in the annals, but rather anyone who left a trace in the river of time—even if later generations forgot their names.

Zhu Xiang had a vague feeling that the system was trying to tell him something. Perhaps the cards he wanted to “collect” as a transmigrator weren’t the same ones the system wanted him to “collect.”

Just one favorability system had already led Zhu Xiang to ponder so much, spawning so many worries and reflections, that he now had little interest in the draw. He didn’t even bother with rituals—no incense burning, no bathing or wardrobe changes—he just drew directly.

Pixels jittered. Zhu Xiang drew from all the one-heart pools, and got… star anise, cumin, fennel, amomum… all spices, and all inedible directly.

Zhu Xiang’s mouth twitched. These spices were probably worth a fortune, but to the system, anything that couldn’t fill your belly was just card pool trash?

Then he tried the two-heart rewards—still all spice seeds, and some repeats. He thought maybe he could prepare a five-spice BBQ for Xue and Zheng’er.

Only five characters gave three-heart rewards: King Zhuangxiang of Qin, Cai Ze, Lin Xiangru, Juzi, and someone he didn’t know named Xu Ming.

Xu Ming’s pool had the lowest rarity. Zhu Xiang drew sesame seeds.

Juzi and Lin Xiangru had the same rarity. He got two higher-yield wheat varieties.

Cai Ze had a higher rarity—but Zhu Xiang still got sesame seeds. He blamed it on Cai Ze’s bad luck.

Finally, only King Zhuangxiang’s three-heart favorability was left. Feeling resigned, Zhu Xiang clicked the button. A burst of yellow pixelated “light” flashed, forming two characters: potato.

Zhu Xiang froze.

After a moment, he reached out. A potato appeared in his hand.

He took a bite. “It’s really a potato.”

Covering one eye with his hand and holding the potato in the other, Zhu Xiang slowly ate the entire raw potato.

Raw potatoes are technically edible, but difficult to digest and taste terrible. Zhu Xiang ate until tears rolled down his face.

Sweet potatoes, corn, and potatoes—legendary as the “three divine crops.” The internet often claimed that Qing Dynasty’s 300 million population explosion was thanks to them. That as long as a transmigrator brought them back, they could usher in a golden age.

Zhu Xiang knew that was false.

Modern high-yield crops owe their production to breeding, fertilizers, and pesticides. Ancient crop yield records were often exaggerated—for example, Fan Shengzhi Shu claimed yields of over 10,000 jin per mu, which is unattainable even today.

But during the Republican era, more accurate yield stats appeared. In the 1930s, in a good year in Shandong with no wars, winter wheat yielded about 150 jin per mu, corn 180 jin, sweet potatoes 1,400 jin, and potatoes around 1,000 jin—though actual yields were often lower.

Modern varieties like “Super White,” “Zhongshu No. 4,” or “Zhongshu No. 10” also yield about 1,000+ kg per mu. Ancient potatoes, not grown in prime fields, would likely yield around 500 jin per mu.

So, sweet potatoes and potatoes were indeed high-yield. But anyone with basic agricultural knowledge knows these crops reproduce asexually and easily accumulate viruses, requiring detoxification treatments—something only modern science can provide.

The Irish Potato Famine was a result of such degeneration and disease.

Ancient Chinese farmers recognized this too. Combined with dietary preferences, by 1914–1918, only about 9% of farmland was used for sweet potatoes, potatoes, and corn. These crops were never planted on a large scale in ancient China.

The population explosion during the Qing was due to:

• Massive massacres during Qing conquest, leaving vast lands depopulated, easing land monopolies;
• Household registration reforms that revealed hidden households;
• Increased arable land from expanding into Northeast, Northwest, grasslands, and minority regions;
• Crop rotation and intensive farming from desperate farmers led to amazing results like “thirteen harvests in two years”…

Sure, sweet potatoes, corn, and potatoes helped. They diversified food sources, aided disaster recovery, and grew on poor land.

But to credit the Qing miracle solely to these three foreign crops was to erase the suffering, intelligence, and hard work of Qing peasants—something Zhu Xiang, as an agronomist, would never accept.

Even knowing potatoes weren’t some transmigration cheat code and wouldn’t save everyone, Zhu Xiang still cried.

Indeed, without modern tech, potatoes were merely famine relief crops.

But in the Warring States era, there weren’t even famine relief crops. Even staple grains and vegetables were scarce. In times of famine, farmers had no alternatives—only wild weeds, tree bark, and even dirt.

Famine relief… was life-saving.

Even if not everyone could be saved—saving 100, 1,000, 10,000… even hundreds of thousands—those were real, breathing lives.

Zhu Xiang recalled the horrific scenes he witnessed when traveling with Lin Xiangru to provide disaster relief in Zhao.

He had all the knowledge, but no tools—he could only close his eyes and ignore the despairing faces of the peasants.

If only I had had potatoes then, how many could I have saved?

With their diligence and intelligence, the peasants could master potato farming and minimize its risks once properly informed.

Historical records even noted large-scale planting during famines, followed by scattered planting afterward—that was experience the people developed themselves.

“This is amazing. Really, truly amazing.”

Zhu Xiang, who hadn’t cried since his “resurrection,” buried his face in his arms and wept uncontrollably.