Chuping 2nd Year (191 AD), October – Family Letters and Fields of Reform
In the tenth month of Chuping 2nd year (191 AD), a letter arrived from the family.
— The Grand Commandant seems awkward at expressing gratitude. Father looked like he was about to lose his mind when he first grumbled about it.
Father's letter wove in the little details of daily life. At the end, it noted that Lord Jo Sung appeared content staying with the family.
I ground my ink for the first time in ages to send a reply home.
"Now I can finally write back."
Since leaving home, I'd only received letters, never sent any. Getting an official post through trickery or Go bets was too embarrassing to boast about.
But now I had something worth bragging: my appointment as Prefect of Langya Commandery in Yanzhou.
I plan to bring the family and Lord Grand Commandant to Yanzhou as soon as possible, so convert our assets into gold, silver, or jewels starting now. I can't give an exact date, but I'll fetch both families as quickly as I can. Tao Qian is drawing closer to sycophants and retainers—who knows when he might strike at the family.
I wrote another letter outlining strategies and instructed it be delivered to Law Clerk Jo Goeng.
Delay the alliance between You Province and Xu Province as long as possible to protect key figures like Lord Jo Sung and the family. Gongsun Zan is the one desperate for the pact—drag out negotiations for major concessions.
"This is the reply. Deliver it to the family."
"Understood."
After handing the letters to the servant, a dreadful sound came from behind.
"Prefect, here are today's documents."
Do Pil-ri dumped an armful of paperwork onto the desk. I didn't turn at the heavy thud. The candle flame crackled, devouring the night air. Clutching a bowl of medicinal tonic to steady my mind, I wrestled the mountain of bamboo slips.
Black Mountain Bandit movement reports, handover lists for new magistrates, budgets for office relocations, Buyang Castle repair plans, and more.
Hallucinated voices mocked me from the characters. My vision blurred, hands trembled—I set down the brush. Closing my eyes to clear my head, a hollow laugh burst out.
"Heh, heh-heh."
The flood of work since becoming Prefect was driving me mad. Not full-blown mania yet, but early nervous exhaustion for sure. Sudden laughs turning to gloom, forgetting papers processed that morning, needing someone to tuck me in at night.
— Sorry about that, Myeong. Jojo even sent a physician because he's worried about me, seeing my face every day.
I finally understood why Jojo lived with chronic headaches.
— Hang in there just a bit longer.
Of course, Jojo wouldn't strip my post. I was still the best fit for now.
"A prefect isn't some nameplate you can ignore."
Objectively, becoming Prefect at twenty-two was insane promotion. With no leisure or backing for slacking off, I couldn't just storm out complaining.
"I miss Hyeon."
The letter said he'd scribbled my name messily—his mother's handwriting copying it was adorable. And all those "why" questions? I'd love to philosophize till dawn when I saw him. Holding Hyeon tight, shoulder-to-shoulder with Wife... fatigue would vanish.
'Not till the family arrives.'
No leave now amid the chaos. Self-delusion was the only way: the grind would ease soon.
Days later, amid the usual toil, the clerical assistant brought news.
"Prefect, Dong'a County Magistrate has arrived. He's at the office gate."
"Good. I'll be right there—bring him in."
Welcoming news amid the paper avalanche. I greeted my interim successor with open arms.
"Thank you for coming despite your duties. Let's talk as we walk."
Dong'a County lay about a hundred li from Dongmuyang. I'd sent a letter yesterday after work, so Jo Ji must have rushed over upon receipt.
"So, what exactly do you want to discuss?"
I'd only vaguely mentioned farming and taxation in the letter. Honestly, even I wasn't sure how deep to go.
"Do you think building power through benevolence is feasible now, Magistrate Jo?"
"Not easy, is it? Swords speak louder than words these days."
"I agree."
His first answer was spot-on. I had no illusions of pure benevolence. Just keep the boiling pot from exploding through a pinhole.
"Filling bellies comes first. Fed people pay taxes, labor, or enlist."
"Same here. But disasters and rebellions have emptied the granaries."
Folk or soldiers—feed them first. History shows starving peasants donning colored turbans; armies return from 300,000 to 2,700.
"But expanding fields means fighting neighbors."
Land grabs pit rivals who covet the same—who'd yield willingly? Focus on yield efficiency over acreage.
"That's why I'm sharing this farming technique."
I led Jo Ji to the field I oversaw, broaching the topic. One corner held straw-covered compost heaps for quick ripening—still faintly warm, not fully matured.
"What's this dirt pile?"
"Compost. Mix manure, straw, ash, leaves, soil—stir occasionally. In half a year, it's like earth. Spread before planting; crops thrive."
"How much?"
"About eight geun (roughly 2 kg) per bo (about 2 m²). Less yields less; more burns seedlings. Varies by manure type—we're researching."
Generic mixes kept it safe at eight geun. Species-specific data by next year.
"Yield increase?"
"Average twenty percent over untreated; optimal hits over forty."
Years of poring over agronomy texts, trial and error—worth a family pillar in time and coin.
"For real?"
Jo Ji gaped. A ten percent empire-wide boost drops bandits below ten percent; double that rounds eyes.
"Not flawless. Sourcing for all fields is impossible. Policies might spread ten percent coverage at best."
"Still, it'll enrich lives."
Max push adds maybe half a pun empire-wide—not a neighbor's dog, but I wanted more.
"But that's not the main talk. Complex reforms: plows, wasteland reclamation, irrigation fixes, tool rentals, seed selection, military farms—everything."
"Military farms like Emperor Wu's?"
"Yes. Need your help."
Convince him here, or locusts devour Yanzhou in three years. "Father of Military Farms" Jo Ji—talent unquestioned.
"I know little of farming, no time. Use this book of my drafts—refine flaws, propose to the Governor."
I pulled the volume from my robe. He flipped from page one at my okay.
Ox rentals, plow upgrades, wasteland incentives, small reservoirs and flood buffers, Archimedes screws for lifting, seed theory/practice, tax sketches, compost recipes—packed tight.
He scanned to the end.
"You wrote this alone?"
"Compiled usable bits from spare-time notes."
Culled from dispersed tech/policy memos for this—overnight assembly. Ready-to-use, tweak-needed, overhaul, sketches—unpolished.
"Haven't written a word since Prefect. Scoured for the right man—you. Please, at least draft it."
I'd weighed Xun Yu. Solid results, but military Xun Yu less field-fit than county Jo Ji.
'Delaying hurts.'
No time till leisure; workload drops suggest next year—too late.
"Hm."
Jo Ji returned the book, pondering with a hum. After a dageun,
"Must I solo? Know a scholar—discuss together?"
"Fine. Anything but inhumanity."
Humanity's line holds. Struggling to live humanely—can't betray that.
"Then I'll try."
"Truly grateful. Millions will benefit."
I handed it back bowing. Glad my frayed mind avoided spectacle. Rejection? Tears or rage.
"Who’s this scholar?"
"Han Ho—expert on water control, taxation. Low post, plenty time."
"Propose to Governor pre-sowing. I'll recommend you and Han Ho together."
"Perfect. You've enlightened and graced me beyond station."
Over lunch, Jo Ji quizzed the book.
"This screw pump looks odd. Works as drawn?"
"Definitely. Easier than bucket-hauling—worth it."
Some amazed him; others,
"Reservoirs seem inefficient."
"Thought so too."
Lunch done, Jo Ji headed back to Dong'a. Overtime loomed, but sleep might come easier.