On the official road, the carriage swayed back and forth.
Lin Shuying lifted the curtain for the fifth time to look outside. As far as she could see, there was only endless yellow earth and withered fields.
The flood damage was wider than she’d imagined—the further south they traveled, the bleaker the landscape became.
“How much longer until we reach the courier station?” She rubbed her aching back and asked Xiao Shengrui, who was sitting across from her.
Xiao Shengrui was flipping through a confidential report just delivered by the Listening Wind Pavilion. He looked up at her question: “At this pace, we should reach Qingshi Town by nightfall. What’s wrong—tired of sitting?”
“It’s not tiredness,” Lin Shuying sighed. “It’s seeing these fields that breaks my heart.”
She pointed out the window at a patch of farmland that had been washed over by floodwater. The soil was caked hard, the crops completely destroyed, leaving only crooked, withered stalks. A few ragged farmers crouched by the field’s edge, their eyes hollow.
“Jiangnan was supposed to be the land of fish and rice,” Xiao Shengrui also looked out the window, his voice low. “This flood came too suddenly. The dikes had been neglected for years—over thirty breaches. And the disaster relief silver allocated by the court…” He didn’t finish, but Lin Shuying understood—after layers of skimming along the way, how much would actually reach the people?
The convoy suddenly slowed.
From the front came Wei Fuyu’s crisp shout: “Make way! Official disaster relief convoy—stand aside!”
Lin Shuying poked her head out and saw an emaciated old man kneeling in the middle of the road, clutching a ragged cloth bundle, kowtowing toward the convoy.
Several guards went forward to shoo him away, but the old man refused to leave, muttering something under his breath.
“I’ll go check,” Xiao Shengrui said, getting out of the carriage.
Lin Shuying followed.
Up close, they could hear what the old man was saying: “Sir! Please have mercy! Buy some beans! My grandson is starving to death…”
The bundle was spread out on the ground—inside was half a sack of dark, unappealing beans that didn’t look very fresh.
“Old man, we’re on disaster relief duty—we’re not here to shop,” one guard said with a frown. “Move aside—don’t delay our journey.”
But the old man grabbed the guard’s leg: “Sir! These aren’t ordinary beans! These beans… these beans can dance!”
Guard: “…?”
Xiao Shengrui: “…??”
Lin Shuying’s eyes lit up—beans that can dance?
She crouched down and picked up a handful of beans to examine them closely.
They were ordinary black beans, but smaller than usual, with fine, faint patterns on their skins.
She picked one up and placed it on her palm. It lay there quietly—nothing unusual.
“How do they dance?” Lin Shuying asked.
Seeing someone interested, the old man hurriedly explained: “Put them somewhere warm! In your palm, in the bottom of a bowl—doesn’t matter! After a while, they start moving on their own! Hopping around, like living things!”
Wei Fuyu also came over, looking skeptical: “Old man, at least make up a better lie. Beans that can dance? You think we’re three-year-olds?”
“It’s true! It’s true!” The old man grew frantic, pulling a cracked bowl from his pocket. He put a few beans in it, then pressed the bowl against his chest to warm it. “Just wait! Just a moment!”
The convoy paused by the roadside.
The guards gathered around to watch; Zhao Di’er also got down from the carriage behind them, craning her neck curiously.
After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the old man set the bowl on the ground.
Everyone held their breath, watching.
At first, nothing happened.
Just as Wei Fuyu was about to mock him, one of the beans in the bowl…
Suddenly twitched.
Then a second, a third… the seven or eight beans in the bowl began to tremble slightly, then, as if pushed by some invisible force, started hopping and rolling in small movements across the bottom of the bowl. Some even “jumped” up suddenly, bouncing against the bowl’s wall before falling back down.
“My goodness…” Wei Fuyu’s eyes went wide.
Zhao Di’er was also stunned: “What kind of sorcery is this?”
The guards exchanged bewildered looks—some instinctively reached for their sword hilts.
Only Lin Shuying smiled. She recognized it.
This wasn’t sorcery—it was “jumping beans.”
In her previous life, she’d seen specimens in a lab—a type of tropical bean parasitized by the larvae of a certain moth.
The larvae inside the beans would move when exposed to temperature changes, causing the beans to “dance.”
“Old man, where did you get these beans?” she asked.
Seeing that someone finally believed him, the old man quickly said: “A few days ago, a traveling merchant from the south left them at my shop’s doorstep! Just this small bag—he said they were a rarity he’d brought from somewhere further south… called ‘Luzon’ or something! I was going to keep them as a curiosity, but now I’m out of food…”
Xiao Shengrui looked at Lin Shuying, his gaze questioning.
Lin Shuying nodded: “We’ll buy them. A Li, give the old man a bag of rice and some loose silver.”
A Li acknowledged and went to handle it.
The old man left with profuse thanks.
The convoy resumed its journey, but that bowl of “dancing beans” came with Lin Shuying into the carriage.
Inside the carriage, Xiao Shengrui watched the beans occasionally still twitching in the bowl, frowning: “Shuying, what exactly are these?”
“They’re ordinary beans—with insects inside.” Lin Shuying carefully pried open the seed coat of one bean with her fingernail—sure enough, a tiny white larva wriggled inside.
Xiao Shengrui let out a breath of relief: “I see. So can these beans still be eaten?”
“Theoretically, yes, but…” Lin Shuying looked at the larva, choosing her words carefully, “it’s a bit of extra protein.”
Xiao Shengrui laughed despite himself.
“Still,” Lin Shuying put the beans away, “these things are quite interesting. The larvae can live inside the beans for months, becoming active when warmed. If handled properly—removing the larvae without damaging the beans—they could be sold as a novelty.”
“Sold?” Xiao Shengrui raised an eyebrow. “Who would buy beans with bugs in them?”
“Not to eat—to watch.” Lin Shuying’s eyes sparkled. “Think about it—those noble young ladies and gentlemen in the capital are often bored. Wouldn’t a ‘dancing bean’ be an amusing trinket? Pair it with a delicate porcelain bowl and a hand warmer for heating it up…”
Xiao Shengrui pictured the scene and couldn’t help laughing: “You really see business opportunities everywhere you go.”
“That’s called making the most of available resources,” Lin Shuying said with mock seriousness. “And besides, these beans are a crop too. If we can get them to grow in Great Liang, we might even breed a new bean variety.”
By evening, the convoy reached the Qingshi Town courier station.
The station was small, but because it was on the edge of the flood zone, it had already taken in many refugees—the courtyard was filled with makeshift shelters.
Lin Shuying was busy as soon as she stepped off the carriage.
She had brought plenty of fast-growing crop seeds and needed to teach the refugees how to plant them.
Xiao Shengrui, meanwhile, met with local officials to arrange grain distribution.
They only got a moment of rest once the moon was high overhead.
In the station’s back courtyard stood an old locust tree, with a stone table and stools beneath it. Lin Shuying washed her face and sat down on a stool to catch her breath. Xiao Shengrui came over with two bowls of hot porridge.
“Drink this—warm yourself up.”
Lin Shuying took it and sipped slowly. The porridge was made of coarse rice, with a little pickled vegetable mixed in—simple but comforting.
“The Listening Wind Pavilion just got a piece of news that relates to your ‘dancing beans,’” Xiao Shengrui said suddenly.
“Oh?”
“That merchant wasn’t just making things up—these beans really do come from Luzon, an island kingdom beyond the South China Sea. Locally, they’re believed to have ‘spiritual properties’ and are used as divination tools by shamans.” Xiao Shengrui paused. “What’s more interesting is that Listening Wind Pavilion agents in Jiangnan have reported that some refugees are also spreading word that eating these dancing beans can cure illnesses.”
Lin Shuying nearly choked: “Cure illnesses? What kind?”
“They say it can cure childhood convulsions, women’s abdominal pain, and… infertility.”
Lin Shuying looked up at the sky, speechless: “How did they even come up with that?”
“That’s how folk rumors go.” Xiao Shengrui smiled. “But since the rumor exists, your ‘novelty item’ might sell even better—you could market them as ‘mystical overseas beans’ specifically for the wealthy to play with and pray over.”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment, then nodded: “Makes sense. We’ll need to come up with a nice story—like, these beans grow under a tree where phoenixes perch on a mystical island in the South Seas, and they’ve absorbed the essence of the sun and moon, hence their spiritual nature?”
“Pair it with a brocade pouch containing a talisman with some auspicious words,” Xiao Shengrui added.
The two exchanged smiles, sharing a slightly conspiratorial look.
The next morning, Lin Shuying handed the bag of jumping beans to A Li, instructing her to sort them carefully—picking out the ones too badly eaten by bugs, and taking the intact ones that could still “dance,” roasting them gently over low heat to kill the larvae, then carefully sealing the seed coats.
“Remember, don’t roast them too much, or they won’t dance anymore,” Lin Shuying instructed. “But the larvae must be completely dead—we don’t want moths hatching and startling the customers.”
A Li took careful note.
After processing, there were still about thirty beans left—each plump and glossy black.
Lin Shuying had Zhao Di’er find local artisans to rush-produce a batch of small bamboo boxes, lined with silk cushions, with three beans per box.
“Isn’t this box a bit too simple?” Zhao Di’er asked, holding up a sample.
“Simple is right,” Lin Shuying said. “We’re presenting this as ‘mystical beans discovered by chance during disaster relief’—it needs to feel rustic and natural. Those noble folks in the capital, used to gold and jade, will find this refreshingly unique.”
She also included a handwritten card in each box, with a story she’d composed: “In the South Seas lies a mystical island, where a divine tree grows, and phoenixes roost upon it. The tree bears black beans, within which reside spirit insects that absorb the essence of sun and moon, and dance when warmed. Keeping them wards off evil and brings peace. Now, during the Jiangnan floods, these beans have found their way among the people—all who see them call them an auspicious sign.”
The signature read: “Respectfully inscribed by the Jiahe Country Lady.”
Well, borrowing a little from her own reputation—not too much, right?
Once the boxes were finished, Lin Shuying had a guard deliver them by fast horse back to the capital, to her eldest brother Lin Moqian.
The letter explained how to sell them: limited to thirty boxes, ten taels each, quietly circulated only among “Little Lin’s Fine Delicacies” top-tier clients, described as “fortuitously obtained” during the Jiangnan relief effort.
Her brother was highly efficient.
Three days later, a reply arrived: “Beans sold out. Several madams asked if they could order more as gifts. Also, the young prince of Prince Jing’s household, Xiao Yan, bought five boxes—said he wanted to give them to his classmates.”
Lin Shuying looked at the letter, between laughter and exasperation. That boy Xiao Yan—always where the action was.
A few days later, the second batch of jumping bean boxes was made.
This time, Lin Shuying changed tactics—instead of selling the beans directly, she put on a “Spirit Bean Blessing” performance.
She set up a small awning at the entrance of Qingshi Town’s courier station, placing dozens of small bowls with jumping beans inside.
Refugees could come watch the “beans dance” for free, and after watching, they’d receive a bowl of hot porridge.
Word spread quickly, and nearby villagers flocked in.
“They really do jump!”
“Oh, this one jumped the highest!”
“Mother, the beans have become spirits!”
Lin Shuying stood at the edge of the awning, smiling as she explained: “They’re not spirits—there are tiny insects inside that move when warmed. Just enjoy the novelty, but don’t take it too seriously.”
But the more she said that, the more amazed the crowd became.
An elderly person asked tremblingly: “Country Lady, can these beans… really cure illness?”
Lin Shuying said seriously: “Elder, if you’re unwell, see a doctor—eating beans won’t help. This is just a curious little thing for entertainment. If you’re not feeling well, there’s a free clinic over there—I can take you?”
The elderly person thanked her profusely.
The “Spirit Bean Performance” went on for three days, with more and more people coming to watch.
On the final day, even monks from a nearby temple came, asking for a few “spirit beans” to place before the Buddha.
Lin Shuying generously gave them a box, on one condition—that the monks help calm the refugees, urging them to trust the authorities and not believe in strange folk remedies.
The monks agreed.
When they left Qingshi Town to continue south, Lin Shuying’s carriage carried several small boxes filled with trinkets from local artisans—wood carvings, clay figurines, even woven grass replicas, all made in the shape of “dancing beans.”
“Who knew these beans could boost the local economy?” Xiao Shengrui remarked, looking at the crafts.
“Folk wisdom is endless,” Lin Shuying said, picking up a grass-woven bean that was so lifelike it could be made to “jump” with a pull of a string. “See? This is what you call a derivative product.”
The story soon spread among the refugees—but as it traveled, it morphed into: “The Jiahe County Lady is a goddess, and the beans in her hands are divine beans.”
When Lin Shuying heard this rumor, she was in the fields with Xiao Shengrui, inspecting the newly planted vegetable seedlings.
“I really…” she held her forehead, “can’t defend myself against this.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Xiao Shengrui laughed. “At least now the refugees trust you more—they’ll listen to whatever you say about farming.”
“That’s true.” Lin Shuying looked at the refugees earnestly learning to farm in the fields, warmth blooming in her heart.
On the way back to the courier station that evening, she saw a few children playing a “jumping bean game”—folding leaves into little bowls, putting pebbles inside, pretending they were dancing beans, playing with great delight.
“Actually,” she suddenly said, “after the disaster passes, we could promote black bean cultivation here. Jumping beans may be a curiosity, but ordinary black beans are easy to grow and yield reliably. Beans can be ground into tofu, sprouted, or made into sauces—they’re excellent disaster-relief crops.”
Xiao Shengrui looked at her earnest profile and said softly: “Alright. I’ll remember—when we’re back in the capital, I’ll have it arranged.”
“And also,” Lin Shuying turned her head, her eyes sparkling in the sunset, “that moth that parasitizes the beans isn’t entirely useless. Its larvae are rich in protein—dried and ground, they make excellent feed for chickens and ducks.”
Xiao Shengrui laughed: “You can even find a use for bugs.”
“Everything has its purpose,” Lin Shuying smiled too. “It just depends on whether you know how to use it.”
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