When work ended at dusk, the three were exhausted, but there was something different in their eyes.
“Director,” Chen Shi said, rolling up his sleeves and wiping his sweat, “I used to think farming was simple, but today I see it’s truly not easy.”
“Yes,” Wang Qian rubbed his sore arm in agreement. “From tilling to planting to harvesting—so much sweat goes into one acre of land.”
“It’s good that you realize it’s not easy.” Lin Shuying looked at them with satisfaction and smiled. “Same time tomorrow.”
“What? Again?” The three exchanged glances, their faces full of mock anguish.
“Of course.” She pursed her lips to suppress a smile, then composed herself and said seriously, “We agreed on one month—not a single day less.”
They let out groans, but none of them said they wouldn’t come.
— —
A few days later, the Institute’s first enrollment notice went up.
“Agricultural School Enrolling—Open to All, Regardless of Gender. Tuition Free, Room and Board Included. Graduates Will Be Hired Based on Merit.”
This notice caused an even greater stir than the Institute’s opening day.
Open to all regardless of gender!
Tuition free!
And job placement!
The notice board was packed with people—those who could read read it aloud, while those who couldn’t stood on tiptoe to listen.
“Is it true? Women can enroll too?”
“The notice says everyone, regardless of gender!”
“But women farming—”
“Why can’t women farm? Isn’t it your mother who tends your family’s fields?”
“Didn’t the Second Miss Lin start out by growing melons?”
“Exactly! So what if she’s a woman?”
In the streets, passersby buzzed with discussion. There was naturally some skepticism, but it was quickly drowned out.
Lin Shuying stood at the second-floor window, looking down at the lively scene, a faint smile on her lips.
“How many do you think will come?” Xiao Shengrui sat at the round table behind her, his eyes fixed on the graceful figure before him, a smile playing on his lips as well.
“At least a hundred.” Lin Shuying didn’t turn around, her nod confident. “Probably more.”
“And women?”
“At least thirty.” Lin Shuying thought for a moment, then glanced down again. “There are plenty of women in this world who want to stand on their own—they just lack the opportunity.”
— —
Enrollment lasted three days, and in the end, over three hundred applications were collected.
More than two hundred men, over a hundred women.
Lin Shuying personally designed the entrance exams: a written test on basic agricultural knowledge, a practical test on hands-on farming skills, and an interview on ambition and character.
Altogether, she was busy for five days before finally selecting fifty people.
Twenty-five men and twenty-five women.
The youngest was sixteen, the oldest thirty-five.
There were farming families’ children, small merchants’ offspring, and even two young ladies from official households—who had come without telling their families, saying they didn’t want to marry and wanted to learn a skill. After learning of this, Lin Shuying also spoke to their families and arranged clerical positions for them; by now, her reputation carried enough weight to command that much influence.
— —
On the first day of school, the fifty students stood in neat rows in the lecture hall, their eyes filled with curiosity, anticipation, and some nervousness.
Lin Shuying stood at the podium, looking at them, a little dazed.
Her past life was vivid in her mind, yet it also felt like it had been a very, very long time ago.
After a long moment, she cleared her throat. Her voice was clear, each word distinct:
“From today on, you are the first cohort of the Agricultural School. Here, you will learn not just how to farm, but how to farm scientifically. What does ‘scientifically’ mean? It means finding the patterns, working according to those patterns, and using the least effort to grow the most grain.”
Lin Shuying turned and wrote four characters on the specially made blackboard with a charcoal stick: Soil, Fertilizer, Water, Seeds.
“These are the foundations of agriculture. Today, for our first lesson, we’ll talk about ‘Soil’—”
The lecture hall fell utterly silent, with only the rustle of paper and the occasional grinding of ink. Even the wind outside seemed to blow a little stronger, rattling the window frames.
Outside the window, Xiao Shengrui, Wei Fuyu, Zhao Di’er, A Li, and A-Gua were all watching.
“Shuying speaks so well,” Wei Fuyu whispered.
“Of course,” Zhao Di’er nodded with pride. “She’s our Director Lin.”
Xiao Shengrui watched the radiant woman at the podium, his heart full.
This was his girl.
Always knowing what she wanted, always moving forward.
— —
Lunch was served at the Institute’s canteen.
The setup was almost identical to Little Lin Manor’s self-service model—simple but filling, with a bit more space.
The two young ladies from official households were a bit reserved at first, eating this kind of “communal meal” for the first time. But seeing everyone else enjoy their food, they gradually relaxed.
“It’s actually quite fun serving yourself,” one of them said quietly.
“Yes,” the other nodded, her handkerchief half-covering her lips. “It’s more freeing than at home.”
— —
In the afternoon, there was a practical class in the back courtyard’s experimental fields.
Tian Laogen taught everyone how to turn the soil, Zhou Ming explained soil structure, and Huijing led the group in singing to the vegetable seedlings.
“All things have spirit—if you treat them with care, they will care for you in return. Come on, repeat after me: Little sprouts, little sprouts, grow up tall, bear sweet fruit for one and all—”
The students suppressed their laughter but still chanted along.
Oddly enough, after reciting the song, they felt much more connected to the seedlings.
As the day’s classes ended, the students dispersed in small groups, chatting animatedly as they walked.
Lin Shuying stood at the edge of the field, watching their retreating figures, and let out a long breath.
“Tired?” Xiao Shengrui walked over and handed her a water flask.
“A little.” Lin Shuying took it and drank. “But it’s worth it.”
“This is only the first day.”
“The first day is the hardest—it gets easier from here.” Lin Shuying smiled. “Once they graduate, they can go teach even more people. One teaches ten, ten teach a hundred… someday, better farming techniques will be used across all of Great Liang’s fields.”
“It will happen.” Xiao Shengrui took her hand. “You can do it.”
— —
A few days later, A Li came running excitedly: “Miss! Master Yang is here!”
Lin Shuying was taken aback: “Yang Wanli?”
“Yes, he said—” A Li’s expression was peculiar, “he said he wants to join the Institute.”
Lin Shuying set down the seeds she was holding and walked to the window.
In the courtyard, Yang Wanli stood quietly in a green robe, carrying no folding fan, no attendants—just standing there.
“Let him in.”
Yang Wanli entered the main hall, saw Lin Shuying seated at the head, and clasped his hands in a bow: “Yang Wanli pays respects to Director Lin.”
“Master Yang, no need for such formality.” Lin Shuying gestured for him to sit. “You’re a top scholar, a Hanlin Academy compiler—why give that up to come farm at my Institute?”
Yang Wanli sat down, was silent for a moment, then spoke: “Director, I’ve come to understand something. Fame and fortune are hollow—doing real work is what matters. During the Jiangnan relief efforts, I saw with my own eyes how your fast-growing crops saved an entire region, and I’ve been thinking ever since—with all the books I’ve read, what have I actually done for this world?”
Lin Shuying said nothing.
“I spent three years compiling texts at the Hanlin Academy, flipping through every classic and history book there is. But those things can’t save disaster victims, can’t feed the people.” Yang Wanli looked up. “So I’ve come to the Institute. Even if I have to start from the very bottom, I’m willing.”
Lin Shuying looked at him, remembering the figure walking away after she’d rejected his marriage proposal, remembering the rare agricultural text he’d sent, remembering how he’d never pestered her since, only worked quietly.
“Alright.” She nodded. “Report to the back courtyard, then—learn to farm with Wang Qian and the others for a month.”
Yang Wanli was taken aback for a moment, then rose and bowed deeply: “Thank you, Director.”
He turned and left, his steps lighter than when he’d arrived.
Xiao Shengrui came in from the side door, watching Yang Wanli’s retreating figure, deep in thought.
“You’re not afraid he has ulterior motives?”
Lin Shuying playfully tapped his shoulder, but he caught her and pulled her into an embrace. She reached up to trace his brows, a sly smile on her lips: “We’ve been married so long, and you’re still thinking about the time Master Yang proposed?”
Xiao Shengrui brought her hand to his lips, the sourness in his eyes still lingering: “Everyone at court says the Seventh Prince and Master Yang are alike in conduct—and in taste too. Why shouldn’t I hold onto it for a few more years?”
“His character—” Lin Shuying thought for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his waist, speaking softly, “he’s stubborn, true, but he’s also a gentleman. If he says he wants to do real work, he means it. The past is in the past. He’s looking forward, and we shouldn’t dwell on it either.”
Xiao Shengrui said no more.
— —
The days passed, one after another.
The agricultural school students grew more skilled. The crops in the experimental fields ripened batch after batch. Wang Qian and Li Wenyuan could finally grow a plot of vegetables on their own—the quality wasn’t great, but at least nothing died.
Yang Wanli arrived earlier than anyone else, always the first to the back courtyard and the last to leave.
Calluses formed on his hands, and his face grew a shade darker from the sun, but his eyes were brighter than before.
Sometimes, when Lin Shuying gave lectures, he would sit in the back row.
He didn’t ask questions, didn’t interrupt—just quietly took notes.
Once, after class, he stopped her.
“Director, I’d like to compile your lecture on crop rotation into an essay for publication.”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment: “Alright. Show it to me when you’re done, and if it’s good, we’ll print it under the Institute’s name.”
Yang Wanli nodded, then added: “And could I participate in compiling the Great Liang Agricultural Manual?”
“Is your handwriting good?” Lin Shuying asked.
“Decent.”
“Then you can do the copying,” Lin Shuying said. “I’ll handle the content, and you can help with proofreading.”
Yang Wanli agreed and went off to work.
Xiao Shengrui appeared at the doorway at some point, holding a bowl of soup.
“Tired? A Li made this.”
Lin Shuying took it, took a sip, and suddenly said: “Shengrui, do you think Yang Wanli has changed?”
“Yes.” Xiao Shengrui nodded. “He doesn’t seem like a Hanlin scholar anymore.”
“What does he seem like?”
“Like a farmer.” Xiao Shengrui paused. “It’s a good thing.”
Lin Shuying smiled.
— —
In autumn, the first draft of the Great Liang Agricultural Manual was completed.
Lin Shuying proofread it twice with several chief clerks, then had Tian Laogen translate it into plain, everyday language.
The school’s students could read classical texts, but ordinary farmers couldn’t.
“Here—’deep plowing and frequent weeding’—the common folk won’t understand that. Change it to ‘dig deep, weed often,’” Lin Shuying said, pointing at the circled passage on the manuscript.
Yang Wanli revised it carefully beside her, his brush scratching across the paper.
A Li came in to report: “Miss, the Emperor has sent a eunuch—he wants to know about the Institute’s progress.”
Lin Shuying set down her brush and straightened her clothes. Xiao Shengrui accompanied her to the front hall.
The imperial eunuch smiled: “His Majesty asks—does the Institute have any results to present?”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment, went to the back courtyard, and returned shortly with a tray.
On it was a square watermelon—rind emerald green, edges sharply defined.
“Present this to His Majesty for his tasting,” she said. “Also, the Institute’s first cohort of students will graduate next spring and be assigned to various prefectures and counties.”
The eunuch marveled at the perfectly square watermelon, carefully cradled it, and left.
That evening, word came from the palace: His Majesty had eaten the square watermelon, was greatly pleased, and rewarded the Institute with five hundred taels of silver, saying, “When that Lin girl does something, I can rest easy.”
Lin Shuying allocated the money to the student dormitories.
Winter was coming—time to replace the bedding.
Outside the window, ginkgo leaves carpeted the ground in gold.
In the distance, the lecture hall still had its lights on—a few students were studying on their own.
— —
Xiao Shengrui pushed the door open, a letter in his hand.
“From Jiangnan—Eldest Brother says the first batch of ‘Honey Treasure’ seeds has been distributed to farmers, and the response has been excellent.”
Lin Shuying took the letter, read it, and a smile spread across her face.
“Shengrui, have we… actually done it?”
“Yes.” Xiao Shengrui sat down across from her. “The agricultural network you envisioned is slowly spreading.”
Lin Shuying looked out the window. The night was dark, but in the distance, lights flickered here and there.
She thought: the road ahead is still long.
But the direction is right, and each step is solid—that’s enough.
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