I started on a deserted island and encountered Ying Zheng, who insisted I was an immortal.

One hour later.

Meng Yi is back.

He looked as if he had been pulled out of the water; his face was deathly pale, and his steps were unsteady.

He was clutching several sheets of hemp paper covered in writing, the paper so tightly it was deformed.

"His Majesty……"

As soon as Meng Yi opened his mouth, his body swayed three times.

Xia Wuqie rushed forward and caught him.

"Shangqing! What's wrong with you?"

Ying Zheng also came over. He didn't look at Meng Yi, but stared intently at the few sheets of hemp paper.

"And what was the result?"

Meng Yi opened his mouth, making a "hoarse" sound from his throat, like an old bellows.

He rolled his eyes and fell straight backward.

"Your Excellency!"

"Quick! Quickly pinch his philtrum!"

Xia Wuqie was flustered, pinching his philtrum and patting his back.

It took Meng Yi quite a while to slowly wake up, his eyes unfocused.

"Your Majesty... Your Majesty..."

He struggled to hand over the hemp paper, but as soon as he raised his hand, he couldn't catch his breath, his head lolled to the side, and he fainted again.

Everyone: "..."

Ying Zheng's face twitched slightly.

In all his years, this was the first time he had ever seen someone so excited that he fainted twice.

Another chaotic scene ensued.

This time, Xia Wuqie took out a silver needle and stuck it into Meng Yi's fingertip.

"Aww!"

Meng Yi let out a scream and woke up completely.

He was finally able to speak fluently, supported by two Xuanwu Guards.

"Your Majesty... has... figured it out."

His voice was choked with sobs.

"Sweet potatoes, yield 8,100 jin per mu."

Li Si, who was slumped on the ground, suddenly jolted.

It was less than potatoes, but it was still a number that terrified him.

"Peanuts, yield 1,050 jin per mu."

"Corn, yield 1,520 jin per mu."

With each name and number Meng Yi uttered, the color drained from Li Si's face.

In the Qin Dynasty, millet was the staple food. Even with meticulous farming and favorable weather, the highest yield per mu (a Chinese unit of area, approximately 0.067 hectares) was no more than 500 jin (a Chinese unit of weight, approximately 0.5 kg).

Here, even the smallest weighs at least 1,000 jin (500 kg).

This is not an auspicious omen.

This is a miracle.

"What about the rice?"

Ying Zheng's voice was somewhat hoarse.

He remembered that Zhang Ying had said that the rice was irrigated with seawater.

Meng Yi took a deep breath, as if he had used up all his strength.

"Rice...yield...6,300 jin per mu."

Li Si could no longer hold on.

He looked up at the gray sky, and two lines of tears silently slid down the wrinkles on his face.

It’s over.

Everything he firmly believed in, and the "emphasis on agriculture and suppression of commerce" that he fought for his entire life, became a complete joke in the face of these cold, hard numbers.

Ying Zheng ignored the distraught Li Si.

He pressed further, "And the watermelon?"

He remembered clearly that when Zhang Ying was eating that big watermelon, she casually mentioned that this thing could yield five or six thousand catties per mu.

Meng Yi's hands trembled violently; he could barely hold the piece of hemp paper.

"Your Majesty... watermelon... yield per mu..."

"Fourteen thousand catties."

The air froze.

Wang Ben's eyes, as big as copper bells, were so wide they seemed about to pop out of their sockets.

Ten thousand...four thousand catties?

One melon is so sweet and juicy, how can an acre of land produce so many?

Then what's the point of having water? If we're thirsty during a war, we can just give everyone a watermelon!

Meng Yi didn't stop; he seemed to have fallen into some kind of frenzied state, and his voice grew louder and louder.

"And then there are the cucumbers and tomatoes, totaling about one acre, roughly calculated..."

"About 24,000 jin of cucumbers!"

"30,000 jin of tomatoes!"

"Boom!"

A muffled thud.

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound.

There lay on the ground, sprawled out, foaming at the mouth, unconscious.

This god of war, who could stop children from crying at night on the battlefield, was completely defeated by the last number.

Looking at the chaotic scene, Zhang Ying rubbed her temples in exasperation.

"Is it really necessary?"

He walked over, took the few sheets of hemp paper from Meng Yi's hand, and looked at them.

"Oh, it was a unit conversion problem."

It dawned on him.

"The yield per acre that I'm telling you is the calculation method I'm used to, and it's a rough estimate, not that precise."

Zhang Ying pointed to the rice paddy.

"Moreover, some things are inherently different. For example, this rice is a super hybrid variety that I cultivated through a system... cough, it's salt-tolerant, lodging-resistant, and high-yielding—these are its most basic attributes."

"I didn't mean to hide it from you, I just felt there was no need to go into so much detail, since the production volume is quite high anyway."

His tone was as relaxed as if he were talking about what to have for dinner.

But these words, when they reached the ears of Ying Zheng and the others, were like another thunderclap.

There's no need to go into such detail.

Is high yield a fundamental attribute?

Ying Zheng looked at Zhang Ying's matter-of-fact face, then at the unconscious Wang Ben and the distraught Li Si on the ground.

He suddenly laughed.

It started with a low chuckle, then the laughter grew louder and more unrestrained.

"Haha...hahahaha!"

The laughter carried a sense of elation and relief.

He abruptly stopped laughing, straightened up, and his entire demeanor changed.

"good!"

A loud shout.

"good!"

Another sound.

"good!"

Ying Zheng said "good" three times in a row. He walked up to Zhang Ying and straightened his mud-covered hemp clothes.

Then, under the incredulous gaze of everyone...

He bowed deeply to Zhang Ying.

This is a standard ceremony for a monarch.

The highest form of respect a monarch bestows upon a minister who has rendered unparalleled service to the nation.

"I, Ying Zheng, on behalf of the twenty million people of my Great Qin..."

His voice, solemn and dignified, resounded throughout the entire coastline.

"Thank you, Mr. Xie, for saving the nation!"

"thump!"

Meng Yi broke free from the Xuanwu Guard's support, knelt down, and kowtowed heavily.

"Your subject, Meng Yi, thanks you, sir!"

The soldiers, covered in mud and having just crawled out of the fields, knelt down in a dark mass.

"Mr. Xie!"

Even the distraught Li Si struggled to bow and clasp his hands in greeting towards Zhang Ying.

The overwhelming gratitude surged forth like a torrent.

Zhang Ying was bewildered by this scene.

He hurriedly went to help Ying Zheng.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing! Get up!"

"It's just farming, what's the big deal? You're trying to shorten my lifespan!"

He finally managed to pull Ying Zheng up.

"Rise, rise! Feudal etiquette is unacceptable!"

Zhang Ying wiped her sweat and looked at the group of ancient people who were still kneeling and not getting up. She felt exhausted.

"Stop kneeling, get back to work!"

He pointed in the direction of the back mountain.

"There's still a lot of stuff waiting to be moved from the cellars and caves."

"Don't waste time, everything must be on the boat before dark."

While urging him on, Zhang Ying was silently making plans in her mind.

12,000 catties of potatoes, 8,000 catties of sweet potatoes, 6,000 catties of rice...

These numbers were rapidly being calculated in his mind.

Based on the Qin Dynasty's calculation that one shi (石) was roughly equivalent to sixty jin (斤) in later times, his millions of jin of stockpiled goods, when converted...

My goodness.

It's almost ten million jin.

Forty thousand soldiers...

As Zhang Ying watched the black torrents begin to stir again, a vague feeling stirred within her.

This job probably won't be easy to finish.