When Xiao Shenglan received the decree granting him his fiefdom, he was in the melon fields at Little Lin Manor, wrestling with a field mouse.
The field mouse had nibbled on the young buds of his aunt’s meticulously cultivated “Golden Silk Honey Melons.” He’d chased it halfway around the estate before finally trapping the thief under a basket in the corner of the greenhouse.
“Little runt, run now, will you!” He crouched by the basket, poking the trembling mouse through the wicker with a twig. “Do you know how much work my aunt put into growing these melons? One seed costs a tael of silver! And you just took a bite out of—”
“Your Highness! Your Highness!” Eunuch Fushun came running, out of breath. “They’ve been looking for you all over the palace! Her Highness has received the imperial decree granting you your fiefdom!”
Xiao Shenglan brushed the dirt off his hands, looking confused: “Fiefdom? Aren’t I only fifteen?”
“His Majesty said you’re old enough now and should gain some experience in the world,” the imperial eunuch said with a smile. “The fief is in Qingzhou, three hundred li from the capital—fertile land with abundant water. A fine place.”
Xiao Shenglan’s first reaction was: “Can you grow melons in Qingzhou?”
The eunuch: “…Probably?”
His second reaction: “Can I take my aunt’s melon seeds?”
The eunuch: “…Whatever pleases you, Your Highness.”
And so, the fifteen-year-old Fifth Prince Xiao Shenglan set off for Qingzhou with ten guards, eight eunuchs and maids, thirty trunks of luggage, and three large sacks of watermelon seeds plus a handwritten Little Lin Melon-Growing Manual that Lin Shuying had pressed into his hands.
Before leaving, he clung to Lin Shuying’s arm and wouldn’t let go: “Auntie, you have to come visit me often! If Qingzhou can’t grow melons, I’m coming right back to the capital!”
Lin Shuying was dizzy from his shaking: “Alright, alright—go on ahead. If you don’t understand anything about growing melons, just write and ask me.”
“It’s a deal!”
Qingzhou was indeed a good place—broad plains with abundant water.
Xiao Shenglan’s princely manor wasn’t finished yet, so he temporarily settled in a three-courtyard compound behind the government office.
He settled in on the first day, and by the second day, he’d already shouldered a hoe and headed to the outskirts of the city.
His father had granted him five hundred acres of land to “practice with.”
The local officials were already waiting. When they saw this young prince in short work clothes, carrying a hoe, followed by a line of eunuchs holding seeds, their expressions were something to behold.
“Your Highness, what do you plan to plant on this land?” the Qingzhou prefect asked cautiously.
“Watermelons!” Xiao Shenglan declared with youthful exuberance. “My aunt’s watermelons are unmatched in the capital! I’m going to grow them here in Qingzhou too—from now on, Qingzhou watermelons will be famous across the land!”
The prefect gave a dry laugh: “Your Highness has grand ambitions… but watermelons aren’t commonly grown in Qingzhou—I’m afraid—”
“Afraid of what!” Xiao Shenglan waved his hand. “I have a manual!”
The manual he spoke of was the booklet Lin Shuying had given him.
It was richly illustrated, covering everything from site selection, seedling cultivation, fertilizing, to pollination and pest control in clear detail. Knowing Xiao Shenglan’s impulsive nature, Lin Shuying had used the simplest language and added plenty of cartoon illustrations.
Xiao Shenglan treasured it like a gem and studied it every day.
Following instructions to the letter—how could anything go wrong?
But he was Xiao Shenglan.
The nickname “Little Menace” from his capital days wasn’t earned for nothing.
Manual page one: Choose sunny, well-drained sandy loam soil.
Xiao Shenglan: I’ll plant all five hundred acres! Sandy soil, clay soil, sloping land—all of it! Cast a wide net, catch more fish!
Manual page three: Maintain seedling temperature at early summer levels.
Xiao Shenglan: Get some men! Place charcoal braziers in all four corners of the greenhouse! Make it warm, like spring!
Manual page five: Apply a moderate amount of well-rotted manure.
Xiao Shenglan: Go! Buy up all the manure from every stable and pigsty in the city! Pile it high! I want the richest soil!
Half a month later, a bizarre sight appeared on the outskirts of Qingzhou: all five hundred acres had been plowed, with green sprouts popping up in patches here and there.
The greenhouse was as hot as a steam room—step inside for a moment and you’d be drenched in sweat.
Over a dozen “manure mountains” sat at the field’s edge, their smell carrying for three li—passersby covered their noses and hurried past.
The prefect offered a gentle suggestion: “Your Highness, isn’t this fertilizing… a bit excessive?”
Xiao Shenglan was crouched in the field, talking to a melon seedling—something he’d learned from Lin Shuying, who said plants had spirits and needed communication.
“Excessive?” He didn’t look up. “My aunt said a good crop depends on good fertilizer. This is what I call… building up a strong foundation!”
The prefect: “…”
Another month passed, and the melon seedlings grew.
Though some patches were wilted due to unsuitable soil, most were thriving.
Xiao Shenglan was satisfied and began to “innovate.”
Manual page seven: Watermelons prefer quiet environments—minimize human disturbance during growth.
Xiao Shenglan: Quiet? How boring! My aunt’s melon field even has fireflies dancing! Someone! Go hire musicians! Every day at noon and dusk, play music by the field! Soothing music—let the melon seedlings grow to the sound!
And so, the people of Qingzhou would often see this: a pavilion set up by the melon field with musicians sitting upright, playing classics like High Mountains and Flowing Water and Moonlit Night on the Spring River.
Under the pavilion, the young prince Xiao Shenglan fanned himself with his eyes closed, nodding along: “Mm, I like this melody—the melons love it too.”
Manual page nine: Artificial pollination should be done in the early morning.
Xiao Shenglan: I can’t get up that early… let’s do it in the afternoon! The afternoon sun is good—melon flowers are more energetic too! Someone, bring me the finest brush—I’ll pollinate every single flower myself!
And he did.
Every afternoon, wearing a straw hat, holding a small brush, he’d dab one flower after another.
After his arms got sore, he made the eunuchs and maids join in, calling it “collective labor.”
The most remarkable part was where the manual mentioned Lin Shuying’s square watermelons grown with molds, complete with mold diagrams.
Xiao Shenglan’s eyes lit up: “What’s so interesting about square? I want to grow… something special!”
He summoned the best carpenter in Qingzhou and spent a long time sketching designs: “I want to grow watermelons with patterns! Like… a ‘fortune’ character? Or a dragon? Failing that, how about my aunt’s face?”
The carpenter was so frightened he knelt: “Your Highness! Watermelons expand as they grow—too detailed a design will crack the rind!”
“Then keep it simple!” Xiao Shenglan slapped his thigh. “Carve a ghost face! You know, the kind with bared teeth—that’d be fun!”
The carpenter steeled himself and made over a dozen “ghost face molds”—essentially wooden frames with carved indentations that would imprint patterns on the watermelon rinds as they grew.
Xiao Shenglan was delighted and selected the dozen sturdiest young melons to put into the molds.
Time flew, and soon the watermelons were nearly ripe.
Xiao Shenglan inspected his melon fields daily, like a general reviewing his troops.
With five hundred acres, even riding on horseback took half a day.
One day, while inspecting the plot with the “ghost face molds,” he felt something was off.
Those watermelons… looked a little strange.
He dismounted for a closer look—and froze.
The molds were on, but the watermelons had grown unevenly, distorting the frames.
On top of that, his earlier over-fertilization had made the melons unusually large, stretching the seams of the molds.
The result wasn’t a neat “ghost face,” but rather… crooked noses, slanted eyes, mouths stretched to the ears, lopsided—truly random, one-of-a-kind ghost faces.
Each one was uniquely ugly.
Xiao Shenglan stared for a long moment, then burst into laughter: “Interesting! Very interesting!”
He personally picked the ugliest one—the melon had a big lump bulging on the left side like a tumor, a sunken right side, a crack at the stem like it was screaming, and twisted rind patterns as if struggling.
“This one!” He carried the melon back. “Add this to tonight’s meal! I want to taste if this ugly melon is sweet!”
That night, in the prince’s kitchen.
The cook fearfully cut open the ghost-faced watermelon.
The flesh was bright red and juicy.
Xiao Shenglan took a bite—his eyes lit up: “Sweet! Very sweet!”
He had the guards and eunuchs taste it too; they all nodded: “Indeed sweet!” “Much sweeter than what’s on the market!”
“So ugly melons have ugly luck!” Xiao Shenglan said smugly. “Someone, pick all those ghost-faced watermelons—I’m giving them away!”
The first person he thought of was Lin Shuying.
He picked the second ugliest one (keeping the ugliest for himself to admire), packed it in a brocade box, and sent it by express courier to the capital.
The letter read: “Auntie, I hope this letter finds you well. My melon-growing endeavors in Qingzhou are showing early results—I hereby present you with one of my achievements. This melon is my original creation—a ‘Ghost-Faced Watermelon’—ugly but sweet, just my style. I’m also sending some local Qingzhou products for your enjoyment.
I’m doing well in Qingzhou, though farming is so tiring I’ve lost three pounds. Don’t forget your promise to come visit me! Your nephew, Lan, respectfully.”
When Lin Shuying opened the brocade box and saw that grotesque, misshapen thing, she was silent for a full ten breaths.
Wei Fuyu leaned in for a look and burst out laughing: “Th-this is a watermelon? Did it get struck by lightning?”
Zhao Di’er also couldn’t help smiling: “The Fifth Prince’s craftsmanship… is truly one of a kind.”
But Lin Shuying examined the rind patterns carefully, tapped it, and nodded: “It’s ugly, but the ripeness is good—it should be quite sweet.”
She had someone cut it open—sure enough, red flesh, black seeds, a sweet fragrance filling the air.
She took a bite and smiled: “That kid—even messing around, he can grow good melons.”
She wrote back to Xiao Shenglan, first praising the sweetness, then gently pointing out:
“Molds need enough room for expansion. Fertilizer should be applied in stages and in moderation. There’s no real evidence that music helps growth—more sunlight would be better. Also, Qingzhou’s climate differs slightly from the capital’s; you can delay seedling cultivation by half a month. I’m sending ten seeds of my new ‘Disease-Resistant No. 1’—try planting them.”
When Xiao Shenglan received the reply and the seeds, he was so happy he spun around in his study: “Auntie praised me! And she gave me new seeds!”
He immediately copied Lin Shuying’s suggestions neatly and posted them on his study wall.
Then he treated those ten “Disease-Resistant No. 1” seeds like precious treasures, checking them three times a day.
As for those ghost-faced watermelons…
Xiao Shenglan gave them away to everyone.
He sent one to his father. The Emperor stared at the crooked-mouthed watermelon beside his memorials, was silent for a long time, then said to Consort Lin: “Lan’er seems to be… living a fulfilling life in Qingzhou.”
He sent one to the Seventh Prince. The reply came back: “Lan’er’s aesthetic sense is, as always… unique.”
He sent one to the Qingzhou prefect. The prefect clutched the lumpy, uneven watermelon, wanting to cry: “Your subordinate will certainly… savor it properly.”
After giving them all away, there were still five or six left.
Xiao Shenglan had a sudden idea—he told Fushun to take them to the Qingzhou market and sell them for five taels each, marketing them as “artistic melons personally grown by His Highness.”
He thought no one would buy them, but unexpectedly…
“These were grown by the Fifth Prince himself—personally guided by the Jiahe Country Lady from the capital!”
“I heard eating one brings royal blessings!”
“They may be ugly, but I heard they’re especially sweet!”
Within an hour, they were all sold.
One merchant even paid twenty taels for the ugliest one—the “screaming face”—saying he wanted to display it as a decoration at home.
When Xiao Shenglan heard, he was dumbfounded: “This actually works?”
Fushun smiled: “Your Highness, the whole city of Qingzhou is saying that your melons carry ‘kingly aura’—eating them gives courage.”
“Kingly aura…” Xiao Shenglan rubbed his chin. “I like that name! From now on, I’ll call these ‘Magic Melons’! Yes—to commemorate my days as a ‘little menace’ with Auntie in the capital!”
He enthusiastically wrote another letter to Lin Shuying, reporting the booming sales of “Magic Melons,” and requested: “Auntie, could you draw me a few more mold designs? I want to create a ‘Fortune, Prosperity, Longevity, Happiness’ series for New Year’s gifts!”
When Lin Shuying received the letter, she was caught between laughter and exasperation.
She carefully drew the designs, wrote detailed instructions, and included a “Watermelon Marketing Guide”—covering packaging, storytelling, and pricing.
Xiao Shenglan treasured it like a jewel and launched the “Magic Melon” brand in Qingzhou with great fanfare.
The following spring, many Qingzhou farmers, hearing that the prince’s melons sold well, came asking for seeds.
Xiao Shenglan generously distributed the “Disease-Resistant No. 1” seeds and even organized “Melon-Growing Training Classes,” teaching in person—though he was still half a novice himself.
By the third year, Qingzhou watermelons had become a local specialty.
The “Magic Melons,” with their unique shapes and sweet flavor, gained fame in surrounding prefectures. Merchants came specifically to buy them and ship them elsewhere at double the price.
Xiao Shenglan made a fortune and wrote to boast to Lin Shuying: “Auntie, I’m now the top melon farmer in Qingzhou! The prefect says I’ve boosted Qingzhou’s economy and wants to erect a monument for me!”
Lin Shuying wrote back: “Forget the monument—just grow more good melons and don’t waste the land.”
Another year passed, and Xiao Shenglan turned seventeen.
The palace began urging him to choose a princess consort. He wrote back: “No rush—wait until I grow watermelons that can be engraved. I’ll carve my future princess’s name on one, and then I’ll marry.”
When the Emperor read the letter, he laughed and scolded: “That boy—he’s gone melon-crazy!”
But Consort Lin smiled: “Let him be. If he’s found something he loves, that’s a blessing.”
A person who finds something they love and works toward it—that is fortune indeed.
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