Busy with Farming - 3: Clothing, Food, and Shelter
Clothing, food, and shelter—the three essentials for human survival. But if you had to pick just one, ninety-nine out of a hundred would choose food. You can scrape by without clothes or shelter somehow, but without food, you're done for, no ifs or buts. That's why sayings like "three days without water, three weeks without rice" exist.
The importance of food is, if anything, even greater in this 14th century than in the 21st. Of course, that doesn't mean 21st-century folks can skip meals and survive, but compared to back then, securing food is far simpler and more varied now.
'Not that this is the 14th century.' Still, in this world, the ways to secure food are straightforward, grueling, and time-consuming. You have to grow your own crops, catch your own fish, forage your own wild herbs. No popping down to the corner store or importing massive quantities on a national scale—that's a pipe dream.
In that context, if farming gets wrecked? After pouring a full year of time and effort into something that might still fail if the heavens don't cooperate, only for it to be ruined by beasts? Even the most adaptable commoners would flip out. Even the mild-mannered folk would erupt in fury.
'Gansu's used to food aid as routine, so just ramp it up.' The central government is well aware of Gansu's dire productivity. That's why sending grain there isn't anything special. But that aid assumes a baseline level of local production. Enough to tide them over until the shipments arrive—no one starves before help comes. That trust enables smooth support.
If this year's harvest fails, that trust shatters. No reserves to hold out in Gansu, forcing the center to recalibrate for even larger shipments. And during wartime? That eats up massive effort and time. A nightmare scenario.
That's why the Jiayu Commandant lets out that sigh. They're hanging on by a thread for now, but if the beast rampage drags on, all of Gansu becomes hell.
"Just like those grassland riders horsing around. They pull off atrocities like this without a second thought."
Grandfather clicked his tongue and shook his head, clearly grasping the situation. Spot on. Farming is the greatest undertaking under heaven; farmers are its foundation. Trying to smash that? Nomads just lack any farming sensibility. Hell, do they even want to reclaim the Central Plains? If it's just plunder, farmers are walking wallets to them. But they're still calling themselves the Great Khan of the steppes and Emperor of the Middle Kingdom. To them, this land is theirs to retake, the people theirs to embrace—
'They weren't exactly embracing us before, either.' Mystery solved. The Mongols weren't known for benevolence even when they ruled here. Early Yuan seemed to try a bit, but it went downhill fast. This is standard Mongol fare. I'd overestimated their caliber for a moment.
"So, what's the response? Can't fix ruined fields, but we have to aid the starving farmers."
"Well said, Your Highness. Preventing disasters is our duty, but failing that, we must mitigate. For now, we've released some of Jiayu Pass's stockpiled grain."
"Dipping into military rations."
"The army exists to protect the people—can't sacrifice them for supplies. Fortunately, we had enough reserves."
Prioritizing civilians over troops. That struck a chord; Grandfather nodded approvingly.
"But it's just a stopgap. Fine for once or twice, but not if this drags on."
"That's for civil officials to handle. Warriors fend off threats; scholars soothe the masses. The prefects and branch managers in Nanju will sort it."
Perhaps buoyed by his satisfaction, Grandfather's reply was firm yet gentle. Quick pivot from grilling the commandant on countermeasures—he'd passed muster. The man had done his utmost within his authority. Fail that, and warrior or scholar, he'd have been torn a new one.
Now Grandfather's focus shifted from the Jiayu Commandant to Nanju's prefect. Guarding the border was the warrior's burden; administration fell to the civil side.
"Anyway, work your asses off for now. Even the moon can't block every beast, but reducing them is effort well spent."
"Yes, Your Highness! I swear it!"
The commandant bowed deeply, gratitude and iron resolve radiating off him. Fail to curb the beasts, and he'd sooner bite his tongue in the Gobi than face disgrace.
A new, unscheduled stop: Nanju to assess Gansu's crisis. Not straight back to Kaifeng.
"You lot head back first. His Majesty's orders were to escort us to the Northern Ice Palace, not tour Gansu. This is grandfather-and-grandson business."
With the detour announced, Grandfather promptly shooed the Embroidered Uniform Guard away. They'd gone beyond palace and capital to the frozen north—for a mere royal house, no emperor or imperial kin among us. Massive imperial favor already. Best shake it off quick.
Even for the illustrious Giwang, dragging the Emperor's guards on personal jaunts was pushing it.
"Then we'll withdraw. I'll report the successful Northern Ice Palace alliance to His Majesty. Rest easy on your return, Your Highness."
"Mm. Tell him why this old man's delayed, too."
"Yes, Your Highness."
The Guard knew better than to whine about leaving us. Clean exit, thoughtful report to the Emperor—that's elite Guard material. Tie up loose ends flawlessly.
"Alright, Un-a. Let's poke around Nanju with this old man before heading home."
"Ah, yes."
"Heh heh, just sightseeing, no worries. Checking how the officials cope—not solving it ourselves."
Chuckling softly, Grandfather patted my shoulder. A casual fact-finding stroll, he said. Sounds peaceful, but I trust my luck. Duties spawn from thin air around me. Passing a hotspot without incident? Fat chance. Something—brain or brawn—will blow up. That's my fate.
'Should've gone with them.' Bitter pang as I watched the Guard vanish. Can't abandon Grandfather, of course. Just idle regret.
I hate beasts.
From hazy childhood memories—pecked by a chicken? Nah, I'd teased it with feed first; my bad. Bitten by a dog? More like grazed; it went for the bone in my hand, nicked my skin. No pain, and it looked guilty right after.
Or that time in Nanju with the maek rampage?
'Yeah.' That's it. Ever since, beasts give me the creeps.
I get why that maek came rampaging—to feed its family amid drought. Noble, even beautiful. No grudge there.
But pre-explanation trauma lingers: starving like a beggar on Nanju streets. Me, Baek Joo-il, prime disciple of Gongdong Sect, darling of the sect leader and elders... reduced to sleeping rough. Still haunts me.
'Thought it'd never happen again.' The Baek-su-mun from Yunnan took the family; Left Deputy Censor-in-Chief claimed a cub. Culprit gone, Nanju peaceful—or so I thought.
Wrong. A maek-level crisis redux. Worse, even. Simultaneous outbreaks across Gansu.
"Eldest senior brother. Time to rise."
"Yeah..."
I eased up from the dirt floor at my junior brother's nudge.
'Damn it.' Eyes shut in dismay.
Gongdong's star disciple, roughing it streetside again. Rare, horrific déjà vu.
Thanks to Gansu's beast outbreaks. Vicious brutes wrecking honest farmers' crops.
'I hate beasts.' Probably till I die. Damn vermin. Should just eat 'em all.