Chapter 118 Reality vs. Ideals

Lu Cheng’an nodded slightly and instructed his son behind him: “Xiao’er, take them back to the county office first. I’ll catch up later.”

“Yes, Father.” Lu Yunxiao replied respectfully, his youthful face full of earnestness. He turned and led the group away, the villagers’ footsteps gradually fading into the night.

Only Miao Yunyou and Lu Cheng’an remained on the open ground.

The surrounding forest was silent, with only the occasional call of a night bird echoing in the distance, making the atmosphere feel especially tranquil.

Miao Yunyou looked at the ever-calm county magistrate in front of her, letting out a soft sigh. Her tone was tinged with complexity: “Mr. Xie has already told me about your situation.”

Lu Cheng’an glanced at her nervously, his hands at his sides tightening slightly, his Adam’s apple rolling unconsciously, yet he did not speak first.

Miao Yunyou clicked her tongue: “Well… at first, I was a bit surprised. I didn’t expect you to select people in that way. But I have to say, your careful, calculating, thoughtful personality actually makes me feel quite reassured.”

At least this partner would never be the kind to hold her back. Instead, he could anticipate many things she hadn’t considered.

Lu Cheng’an froze for a moment. The nervousness in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a hint of astonishment. He hesitated before looking at Miao Yunyou, his voice tinged with uncertainty: “You mean… Sect Leader Miao has chosen to trust me?”

Miao Yunyou shrugged, speaking casually as if discussing the most ordinary thing in the world:
“Sister Jiu’er already transformed in front of you, showing you fully just how solid my backing is.

I think anyone with normal intelligence wouldn’t try to play games with me at this stage, right?

Besides, you seem like a smart person.”

Lu Cheng’an relaxed, a small smile of relief appearing on his face: “Sect Leader Miao flatters me.”

Miao Yunyou replied, “I know. You and Mr. Xie are both good officials; fundamentally, there’s no difference.”

Only, Lu Cheng’an is a realist grounded in the world, whereas Xie Dingnian is an idealist standing in the clouds.

Lu Cheng’an’s “reality” is not selfishness—it is clarity forged by living in a chaotic era.

He has seen children sold, taxes as fierce as tigers, and knows that in a time of political collapse, any impractical generosity could become a disaster.

His kindness is calculated, guarded, and carefully strategized.

Xie Dingnian’s “idealism” is not naivety—it is the lifeblood and faith of a scholar.

He believes in propriety, in wise rulers and virtuous ministers, in the people as the foundation of the state. Even if the world is shrouded in darkness, he refuses to sink his soul into the mire.

His kindness is selfless, uncalculating, and willing to sacrifice himself for the cause.

Both are indispensable, two sides of the same coin.

“Anyway, this is the situation—you’ve seen it for yourself.” Miao Yunyou gestured with her hand, a hint of pride in her tone.

“In terms of both resources and technology, this side definitely surpasses the era you come from by far. If you need anything, just tell me. As long as it’s something I can get, I’ll find a way to help you.”

Lu Cheng’an’s gaze was sincere as he shook his head slowly: “I know Sect Leader Miao is kind-hearted and genuinely wants to help us. I’ve been thinking about this all day. There are many special, novel, even miraculous things here, but none of these are what we need right now.”

He paused, his tone becoming particularly serious: “What I need are things that, even if brought back and distributed to the people, won’t raise suspicion—things that won’t bring disaster to our county.”

Just like the bucket of leftover food he had initially requested.

Diluted with plenty of water, cooked into thin porridge, and given to the villagers—maybe the taste would be poor, perhaps even hard to swallow—but in that time of famine, it would seem normal and wouldn’t provoke anyone’s suspicion.

“I understand what you mean,” Miao Yunyou nodded, secretly admiring Lu Cheng’an’s foresight.

An innocent person can be punished simply for possessing something valuable. If he were given anything too precious or advanced, a small county magistrate like him couldn’t protect it. It could even bring death upon the local people—a disaster far outweighing any benefit.

Miao Yunyou lowered her head, thought for a moment, then looked up at Lu Cheng’an: “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll first give you some seeds. These are crops with short growth cycles, fast to mature, and very high-yielding. Fast-growing bok choy, Shanghai greens, water spinach, high-yield radish, Chinese cabbage—they can all be harvested in just over twenty days. One acre can produce over ten thousand jin, and as long as you sow the seeds, they’ll grow. Also, high-yield corn, sweet potatoes, and potatoes—crops you already have and won’t raise suspicion—yet these varieties produce five to ten times more than ordinary seeds. No fertilizer, no care needed; even the poorest soil can produce abundantly. If the villagers plant one season, they can completely fill their stomachs.”

The reason ancient villagers often went hungry and faced famine wasn’t laziness or unwillingness to work.

On the contrary, ancient farmers were some of the hardest-working people in the world—rising at sunrise, laboring until sunset, working the land year-round—yet still unable to fill their bellies.

The most fundamental reason comes down to just four words: low productivity.

On the same acre of land, modern people can mechanize it in half a day, while ancient families—every man, woman, and child—would work a month to achieve far less. The efficiency gap was dozens or even hundreds of times.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to produce more; human labor had already reached its limit. Nothing could be faster, nothing could yield more.

Moreover, there was no breeding technology. Farmers had to save seeds year after year.

Seeds degenerated over generations: poor disease resistance, weak against lodging, drought, or flooding, naturally small and low-yielding.

Modern improved seeds can produce thousands of jin per acre, but in ancient times, ordinary grain varieties might yield only two or three hundred jin per acre in a good year—and less than a hundred in a bad one.

The land hadn’t changed, the people hadn’t changed; it was the seeds themselves that set a very low ceiling on output.

The entire era’s productivity, technology, and farming methods fundamentally determined that even the hardest-working people couldn’t sustain themselves.

So if the problem is at the root, then solve it at the root!

“And don’t be too earnest about it. When the good seeds and bad seeds are planted together, some grow fast, some slow. You can tell outsiders it’s a blessing from heaven—they’ll believe it anyway.”