Ten years later, at Jiahe Garden.
On a late summer evening, the setting sun dyed the melon fields a golden red.
Ten-year-old Xiao Yan and Xiao Sui chased each other along the field ridges, their laughter clear as wind chimes.
“Brother, slow down! My straw hat is going to fall off!”
“Who told you to wear that big one!”
Xiao Yan ran ahead, holding a freshly picked “Golden Silk Honey Treasure”—the eighth-generation improved variety Lin Shuying had cultivated, with golden rind and striped patterns, crisp and sweet flesh. Though only ten, he was already shoulder-high to Lin Shuying, with features that closely resembled Xiao Shengrui—but those eyes, unusually sensitive to plants, were inherited from his mother.
Xiao Sui ran after him. The nine-year-old girl wore her hair in double buns, a small wildflower tucked behind her ear. She wasn’t as fast as her brother, but she steadily carried a small bamboo basket containing her freshly collected “experimental samples”—several watermelon leaves of different shapes, which she planned to compare and observe.
“You two—” Lin Shuying’s voice came from the pavilion by the field. “Now that you’ve picked your melons, come over. It’s time for dinner.”
“Coming!” the two children answered in unison, running into the pavilion one after the other.
Inside the pavilion, a simple meal of four dishes and a soup was set on the stone table: stir-fried seasonal greens, braised pork, cold cucumber salad, winter melon soup, and a large platter of sliced watermelon.
Xiao Shengrui sat at the table, flipping through the latest briefs from the Listening Wind Pavilion. Ten years on, the Listening Wind Pavilion had grown into a nationwide intelligence network specializing in people’s livelihoods, providing data for the Agriculture and Sericulture Institute’s decision-making.
“Father, look at this melon!” Xiao Yan proudly placed the watermelon on the table. “I picked the ripest one—I could tell by the sound when I knocked on it!”
Xiao Shengrui set down the briefs and smiled, ruffling his son’s hair: “After ten years of learning from your mother, you’ve finally learned how to pick a melon.”
“I learned that ages ago!” Xiao Yan protested. “I could do it when I was three!”
“Yes, yes—our Yan’er is the best.” Lin Shuying walked over and picked up the knife to cut the watermelon.
The blade came down—red flesh, black seeds, juice flowing from the cut. “Mm, it’s perfectly ripe.”
Xiao Sui set aside her bamboo basket and leaned in to look: “Mother, I discovered something interesting! The watermelon leaves on the east side of the field are 0.3 inches thicker than those on the west side. Is it because the east side gets more sunlight?”
Lin Shuying raised an eyebrow: “You measured them?”
“I did.” Xiao Sui nodded seriously. “I used the calipers you made for me—measured ten leaves and took the average.”
Xiao Shengrui and Lin Shuying exchanged a glance, both seeing the smile in each other’s eyes.
Xiao Yan loved tinkering with farm tools—last year, he’d even helped Old Man Tian improve the plow.
Xiao Sui, on the other hand, had an almost obsessive interest in plant growth—by age six, she could already identify over twenty types of melon diseases.
“Let’s eat first,” Lin Shuying said, serving food to the children. “You can study after dinner.”
The family ate together, chatting as they ate.
“Mother, an official from the south came to the Institute today asking to see you,” Xiao Yan said, biting into a piece of braised pork. “Auntie A Li told me to tell you—it’s about promoting ‘Honey Treasure’ in Lingnan.”
“Lingnan?” Lin Shuying thought for a moment. “The climate there is hot and humid—Honey Treasure might not adapt well. We’d need a more moisture-tolerant variety.”
“I already told him that,” Xiao Yan puffed out his little chest. “I said we could try ‘Lingnan No. 1’—the hybrid we cultivated in the greenhouse last year. Auntie A Li praised my memory!”
Xiao Shengrui laughed: “Auntie A Li is now the Institute’s chief financial officer—a compliment from her isn’t easy to come by.”
“Of course!” Xiao Yan beamed.
Xiao Sui, while eating her rice, suddenly said: “Mother, today in class, Teacher Zhou was talking about the Essential Techniques for the People and said ‘beans dislike continuous cropping.’ But in our test plots, we’ve grown beans for three years straight without any drop in yield—why is that?”
Lin Shuying set down her chopsticks and explained patiently: “Because we use crop rotation and green manure. After the beans are harvested, we plant a season of alfalfa and turn it into the soil as green manure—it fixes nitrogen and nourishes the land. That’s why we can plant continuously.”
“Fixed nitrogen…” Xiao Sui looked thoughtful. “Is that the root nodule bacteria in legumes?”
“Yes.” Lin Shuying nodded approvingly. “Sui’er is so clever.”
Xiao Shengrui watched his wife and children discussing agriculture, a smile never leaving his lips.
He had enjoyed such dinner-table moments for ten years.
In those ten years, he had accompanied Lin Shuying through every change—from the Institute’s humble beginnings to its steady growth.
Watching her train the first batch of agricultural technicians, seeing the Great Liang Agricultural Manual she compiled printed and distributed, watching the new varieties she developed spread across the country…
“Oh, by the way,” Lin Shuying suddenly remembered, “Eldest Brother wrote today—he said the two children he adopted both got into the Agricultural School this year.”
“Really?” Xiao Shengrui raised an eyebrow. “Brother Moqian finally has successors.”
Ten years ago, Lin Moqian and his wife had adopted a pair of siblings who had lost their parents to a disaster. Now both were sixteen—the brother interested in business, while the sister had become obsessed with agriculture. It was said that she had never forgotten the watermelon she’d tasted from Little Lin Manor as a child.
“And Third Brother?” Xiao Shengrui asked.
“Third Brother opened three more branches last month,” Lin Shuying laughed. “Now the ‘Lin Trading Company’ brand is known from the northern grasslands to Lingnan in the south—even overseas merchants recognize it. Sixth Princess—oh, I should say Third Sister-in-law now—gave birth to their third child last month, a girl. Third Brother was so happy he handed out wedding candies at the gate all day.”
“And Second Brother?”
“Second Brother?” Lin Shuying couldn’t help but laugh. “He escorted a shipment to the Western Regions last month. Apparently, he brought back a purple-skinned fruit the size of a fist—called ‘grapes,’ very sweet. Miss Zhao—now Second Sister-in-law—said she wants to taste it when he returns. If it’s good, she’ll have the escort agency open a Western trade route just for this.”
Xiao Shengrui laughed: “Your Lin family really doesn’t know how to rest.”
“Of course not.” Lin Shuying said proudly. “We Lins either don’t do something, or we do it to the best of our ability.”
After dinner, the two children went to do their homework—the Agricultural School’s assignment was to observe and record the growth cycle of a crop.
Xiao Yan chose to design an improved plow, while Xiao Sui chose a comparative table of melon diseases.
Lin Shuying and Xiao Shengrui walked side by side to the Observation Pavilion in the garden.
Built five years ago, the three-story pavilion offered a panoramic view of Jiahe Garden and the surrounding test fields from its top.
The sun had fully set, leaving only a trace of rouge in the sky.
“Ten years,” Xiao Shengrui said softly.
“Yes.” Lin Shuying leaned on his shoulder. “How fast.”
In ten years, the Agriculture and Sericulture Institute had grown from a small organization of fifty people into a key ministry with ten divisions and over a thousand staff.
Agricultural schools had established branches in every prefecture across the country, having trained over five thousand agricultural technicians in total.
The Great Liang Agricultural Manual had been revised three times and distributed over a million copies free of charge.
Grain production had increased by a full thirty percent—just as Lin Shuying had hoped.
“Father summoned me to the palace yesterday,” Xiao Shengrui said. “He asked if I’d be willing to take over as Minister of Revenue.”
Lin Shuying looked up: “What did you say?”
“I said I preferred the Listening Wind Pavilion and the Institute.” Xiao Shengrui smiled. “Father didn’t press—he only said, ‘If you two can run the Institute well, that’s already a great contribution.’ Though the Crown Prince did keep me there for quite a while lecturing me.”
“Then who will be the Minister of Revenue?”
“Yang Wanli.”
Lin Shuying was taken aback.
Ten years had passed, and Yang Wanli was no longer the impulsive young man who had made that reckless accusation. He had started from the bottom at the Institute, genuinely learning to farm with Old Man Tian for a month—shedding three layers of skin from the sun. Later, with his outstanding mathematical and managerial skills, he rose step by step to become the Right Deputy Director of the Institute. Three years ago, he was transferred to the Ministry of Revenue, where he had achieved remarkable results.
“He’s walked a steady path,” Lin Shuying remarked.
“Yes.” Xiao Shengrui nodded. “He came by a few days ago with a book he’d compiled—Taxation and Agricultural Policy—asking for our feedback. I read it—well-written, solid data, practical suggestions.”
— —
Night deepened, and the stars came out.
The two descended from the pavilion and strolled through the garden.
Ten years on, Jiahe Garden had tripled in size, with pavilions, experimental fields, greenhouses, and nurseries—resembling more of a large-scale agricultural research base.
They stopped in front of the greenhouse. Lamplight glowed within, revealing two small figures—Xiao Yan and Xiao Sui, the siblings doing their “extracurricular experiments.”
“Mother said the graft cut needs to be smooth…”
“I know—I’ll make the cut, you hold it steady…”
Lin Shuying and Xiao Shengrui stood outside the window, not disturbing them.
“Sui’er’s ‘Wood Spirit Root’ talent seems more pronounced than Yan’er’s,” Xiao Shengrui said quietly.
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