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

Li Si gripped the cabin wall, his knuckles turning pale from the force.

He lost completely.

That single word, "I understand," shattered the dignity of this Qin prime minister, along with his unwavering adherence to class distinctions.

Zhang Ying didn't have time to deal with the old man's mental preparation.

He clapped his hands, flicking two drops of tomato juice from them onto the ground.

"Alright, I've explained the reasoning, and I'm hungry."

Zhang Ying bypassed Ying Zheng, who was still bowing, and walked straight to the deck.

"Old Ying, tell those cooks to set up that black pot. I'm in a good mood today, I'll show you what I can do."

Ying Zheng straightened up.

That imperial majesty returned to him, but when facing Zhang Ying's back, there was an added, almost imperceptible...respect.

"Do as the master says."

……

On the deck, a large iron pot, about half the height of a person, was placed on the stove.

This is an aluminum alloy plate that Zhang Ying salvaged from the wreckage of the plane when it crashed. Later, with the basic smelting techniques given by the system, she mixed it with iron ore from the island and managed to forge this big black pot.

In the Qin Dynasty, dishes were mostly stewed in earthenware pots or cooked in bronze tripods.

This kind of thin-bottomed, wide-mouthed iron pot that heats up extremely quickly is unheard of.

After washing his hands, Wang Ben squatted by the stove like a vicious dog guarding a bone, his eyes fixed on the flames licking at the bottom of the pot.

"Sir, what can I cook with this sheet of metal?"

Zhang Ying ignored him, carrying a jar of lard in her hand.

This is made from a wild boar I killed a while ago; it's snow-white like ointment and sealed in an earthenware jar.

"Move aside, don't block the wind."

Zhang Ying kicked Wang Ben away, scooped out a large spoonful of lard, and slid it into the hot pan with a "sizzle".

White smoke rose.

The rich aroma of meat instantly filled the entire deck.

Wang Ben's Adam's apple bobbed violently, and the sound of him swallowing was as loud as thunder.

Standing to the side, Meng Yi unconsciously sniffed, his aloof scholarly air teetering on the brink of collapse in the face of the overpowering aroma of oil.

Zhang Ying moved extremely quickly.

A dozen or so seabird eggs were cracked into an earthenware bowl, stirred into a yellow-white vortex with chopsticks, and then poured into boiling oil.

"Sizzle—"

The egg mixture instantly fluffed up, swelling into a golden cloud.

Immediately afterwards, chunks of tomatoes poured down.

Red fruit and yellow eggs tumble and collide in the black iron pot.

The shovels flew, and the crisp sound of metal clashing became the most melodious music on the sea.

Li Si stood on the outermost edge, watching the red fruits he regarded as "auspicious omens" tumbling in the oil pot, his heart aching with pain.

That's an auspicious sign!

How can you stir-fry it like wild vegetables?

But the next second, a sweet and sour, caramelized aroma he had never smelled before wafted into his nostrils.

Li Si's twitching eye stopped.

This taste...

It's damn tempting.

"Salt."

Zhang Ying called out.

Wang Ruoshu hurriedly handed over a delicate little bamboo tube.

Zhang Ying took it, picked up a pinch of snow-white fine sand with her fingers, and sprinkled it evenly into the pot.

Ying Zheng's pupils suddenly contracted.

That's... salt?

The salt produced in Daqin is mostly coarse salt and rock salt, which is yellowish in color and has a bitter taste.

But what Zhang Ying sprinkled was as white as fresh snow and as fine as dust.

"Out of the pot."

With a flick of her wrist, Zhang Ying ladled out a large bowl of scrambled eggs with tomatoes.

Steaming hot, with alternating red and yellow colors, and rich, flavorful juice.

"What are you standing there for? Go get your rice."

Zhang Ying pointed to the white rice that had already been steamed next to her.

That rice, also grown on the island, has plump, translucent grains with a unique fragrance.

Wang Ben was the first to rush over, not caring whether it was hot or not, he filled a large bowl with rice and put the scrambled eggs with tomatoes on top.

The red broth soaked into the white rice.

He opened his blood-red mouth wide and began shoveling food into it.

"Ugh! Ugh!!"

Wang Ben's eyes widened, and he called out indistinctly, his breath coming in gasps from the heat, but he couldn't bear to spit it out.

The sourness stimulates the taste buds.

Sweetness soothes the tip of the tongue.

The saltiness enhances the umami flavor.

Add to that the soft, tender eggs, the smooth, juicy tomatoes, and the rice soaked up all the broth…

Wang Ben felt that he had wasted his life.

Compared to this, the roasted meat and stews I used to eat were practically pig swill!

Ying Zheng held the bowl, his movements becoming much more elegant.

He picked up a piece of egg and put it in his mouth.

It didn't have the fishy smell I expected; instead, it had a rich aroma of eggs and oil.

Take another bite of the tomato.

It's sweet and sour, appetizing, and bursting with juice.

Ying Zheng ate slowly, but he took each bite very seriously.

It's more than just delicious.

He was savoring the value within it.

Oil was extremely scarce in the Qin Dynasty.

Salt is so fine and has no bitter taste.

These red berries can both quench thirst and be used in dishes to fill the stomach.

"gentlemen."

Ying Zheng put down the bowl, which was completely empty, not a single grain of rice remaining.

"Was this salt also made by you, sir?"

Zhang Ying was shoveling rice into her mouth when she heard this and casually replied, "It's seawater that's been sun-dried and filtered several times to remove toxins and impurities. It's basic operation."

Basic operations.

Li Si held the bowl, his hands trembling slightly.

Removing toxins and impurities was a problem that Qin Dynasty craftsmen had been trying to solve for a century without success.

In this person's opinion, it's just a basic operation?

"How much salt is produced?" Ying Zheng pressed.

"We have as much as you want. As long as the seawater doesn't dry up, we won't lack this stuff." Zhang Ying picked up a piece of egg and stuffed it into Wang Ruoshu's hand, who had been hesitant to touch her chopsticks. "Eat up, can you get full just by looking at me?"

The girl blushed and buried her head to eat in small bites.

Ying Zheng took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil in his heart.

The state monopoly on salt and iron was the lifeblood of the nation.

If such a salt-making method existed, how could the Qin treasury not be abundant?

But what he cared about more was the red fruit in the bowl.

"The gentleman just said that this thing is called a tomato."

Ying Zheng pointed to the remaining soup in the basin.

"What is the yield of this crop per mu?"

Upon hearing this question, Wang Ben, who was licking his bowl, stopped what he was doing.

Li Si pricked up his ears.

Meng Yi picked up the bamboo slips and pen.

All eyes were on Zhang Ying.

In Daqin, the yield of millet in the best fields was only three or four shi (about 300-400 jin) per mu.

In years of famine, it is common to have no harvest at all.

These red fruits are auspicious, so the yield must be quite high.

Perhaps five or six shi?

Zhang Ying put down her bowl and let out a burp.

He stretched out one hand, spread his five fingers, and shook it.

"Five bushels?" Meng Yi excitedly recorded. "That's more than twice the amount of millet! It's truly an auspicious omen!"

Li Si also breathed a sigh of relief; the five-stone system was indeed worth promoting.

Zhang Ying looked at them as if they were idiots.

"Five bushels? That wouldn't even cover the cost of fertilizer."

He pursed his lips and casually uttered a number.

"Five thousand catties."

On the deck, there was a deathly silence.

The sea breeze howled, but it couldn't dispel the stagnant air.

The pen in Meng Yi's hand fell onto the deck with a "thud".

Li Si opened his mouth wide, his jaw as if it had dislocated, and he could no longer close it.

Even the most composed Ying Zheng suddenly swayed, gripping the edge of the wooden table in front of him tightly with both hands.

The fingernails were deeply embedded in the wood.

"How much...?"

For the first time, Ying Zheng's voice trembled.

It was an instinctive fear and longing for something colossal beyond the limits of our understanding.

Zhang Ying picked at her ear, seemingly thinking they were making a fuss over nothing.

"If you take good care of them, five or six thousand catties is no problem. If you just plant them haphazardly, three or four thousand catties is also possible."

He then pointed to the inconspicuous pile of potatoes in the corner.

"That's more."

Zhang Ying smiled, revealing two rows of white teeth that looked terrifying in the sunlight.

"That thing yields at least 8,000 jin per mu."

"If the land is fertile, even 10,000 catties (5,000 kg) wouldn't be impossible."

boom!

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the crown of the head of the Qin emperor and his ministers.

Yield per mu...

Ten thousand catties?!