Sweet Potato Farming and the Impregnable Fortress
Hwiyeom found land that looked well suited for a sugarcane plantation.
U Seong-sik, inspecting the soil, tasted a pinch of the earth (!) and immediately grimaced.
“The lime content is far too high. Will this new crop really grow properly in a place like this?”
“Yes. Sugarcane thrives even in soil like this. And when we apply fertilizer, mixing in a little sulfur will neutralize the lime.”
“In that case…”
U Seong-sik rose to his feet and surveyed the surroundings.
“Given the terrain—farmable land all broken into tiny scraps—a stretch this wide that can actually be sown is rare. It’s small, but a river runs right beside it, so the water source is ample, and the sunlight is more than enough.”
“The only real problem is that the soil has almost no nutrients left. That, though, can be fixed by hauling fertilizer from the main house.”
“Good. Let’s mark it for now and look for more ground like this.”
Hwiyeom and U Seong-sik toured Guizhou Province, marking sites for future sugarcane farms, then returned to the Provincial Governor of Guizhou to report.
The governor’s face twisted into a peculiar expression.
“You two… picked out the absolute best land like ghosts.”
“Fertile land?”
“Hardly. I mean prison soil. Do you have any idea how many times people have tried to reclaim and farm this place? No matter how much labor you pour in, the crops die—it’s hellish ground. From where I sit, I’d rather talk you out of it.”
“We’ll give it a try. Consider yourself deceived and leave it to us.”
“Tsk.”
The Guizhou governor clicked his tongue.
“Still, this is an effort to improve the barren hills of our province. I can’t hand everything over to an outsider. I’ll lend you farming tools and assign a hundred official slaves. Do your best.”
A hundred official slaves was, without exaggeration, the greater part of the slaves under the governor’s office. Hwiyeom bowed his head in thanks.
Following Hwiyeom’s instructions, U Seong-sik began reclaiming the fields. Since the land had already been attempted several times before, there was no need to dig out large stones or boulders that would hinder farming. But years of neglect meant the surface had to be cleared of weeds and scrub roots, the clods broken down into fine powder, and everything thoroughly mixed.
U Seong-sik distributed the fertilizer they had brought from the Dang family and gave orders.
“Once the weeds and scrub are gone, mix this fertilizer in while you’re leveling the soil.”
“This isn’t ordinary compost?”
“Far better.”
The official slaves, seeing Dang-family fertilizer for the first time, regarded it with open curiosity.
“Are we short of hands? Shall I send a letter to the main house asking for farm workers?”
At Hwiyeom’s question, U Seong-sik shook his head.
“We’ll be fine through planting season. The real pinch will come with ordinary weeding and harvest time.”
“I see.”
U Seong-sik taught the slaves how to plant the sugarcane seed.
“Planting is still a way off. When May comes, dig holes two finger-joints deep and put only one seed in each. Spacing between holes should be no less than two spans and no more than four. Shoots usually appear between seven and fifteen days; keep them well watered until they emerge, but once they do, don’t overwater.”
Anticipating that the slaves might forget, he wrote the instructions down and left them with the Guizhou governor’s office.
“So our business in Guizhou is finished for the moment?”
“That’s right. We’ll visit again around planting time a month from now, but I don’t think I’ll need to come in person. It’s nearly time to plant sweet potatoes in the trench fields, so we’ll have to put more attention there.”
“Understood.”
Baek Beon, who had been watching Hwiyeom quietly, smiled.
“Looking at you, Young Master, it seems you never stop scheming for the good of the entire Great Gyeong Empire.”
“As a subject who eats and lives under His Majesty’s grace, is that not the least one should do?”
“In that case,” Baek Beon’s eyes gleamed, “why not enter official service and aid His Majesty at his side?”
“His Majesty has promised me a post as Grand Academician of the Cabinet… but beyond loyalty to the throne I also carry the duty, as eldest grandson, of restoring my family. And there are many ways to serve His Majesty without remaining in Beijing.”
“A pity.”
Baek Beon was sincerely disappointed.
Back in Sichuan, Hwiyeom now turned his attention to the work of planting sweet potatoes in the trench fields.
Because crops would be grown in the empty ground between the trenches, proper irrigation facilities were essential. Hwiyeom decided to exploit the fact that most of the outposts sat on high ground—easier for observation—and that the trenches themselves ran along the slopes leading up to them.
“The outposts already have people stationed permanently, and in an emergency they have to function as fortresses, so securing a drinking-water source is inevitable anyway.”
“Ah, that’s true. Right now there’s no water at all; everyone has to carry canteens back and forth for their shifts.”
Lee Jinmyeong’s observation prompted Hwiyeom to continue.
“We’ll install reservoirs near the outposts and equip them with water-purification systems. Then, using gravity—no, simply the fact that water flows downhill—we’ll dig channels from the reservoirs down into the trenches.”
“That will take quite a bit of labor, won’t it? We’re supposed to be planting sweet potatoes now… if the irrigation work runs late, won’t the crop fail?”
“We’ll use the trains. The trains that haul coal and iron ore to the State-run Ironworks come back empty, don’t they? Fill them with river water in jars on the return trip. The trains already follow the rails, and the outposts sit along those same rails, so they can distribute water as they pass each outpost on the way home.”
“Convenient that the State-run Ironworks sits right on the banks of the Min River—plenty of water to draw.”
“Exactly. The ironworks staff will have to put up with some extra trouble for a while… we’ll just have to ask them to bear with it, and pay a bonus if necessary.”
Once the reservoirs were in place they could catch rainwater; if rainfall proved insufficient for the sweet potatoes, they could always fall back on hauling water from the Min River by rail. Sweet potatoes were not especially thirsty crops, so the arrangement should be more than adequate.
“That settles the water question, then… and since the trenches themselves are simply earth dug out and faced with sandbags and coiled barbed wire, we won’t need separate ditches, will we?”
“Right. The trenches themselves become the watercourses.”
In the First and Second World Wars, rainwater had collected in the trenches, mixed with every sort of filth, and stagnated. Soldiers whose feet were constantly wet developed the infamous trench foot. But the situation here is different.
Picture a ladder. Water flowing from above runs down the uprights and into the rungs as well. Because everything sits on a slope, the water keeps moving downhill. With only a little care, the water running through one trench will never stagnate; it will simply flow on to water the trench field below, and finally drain off the bottom of the slope.
We’ve stacked the sandbags as high as a grown soldier’s head, so no one needs to stand in water. Lay wooden platforms across the trenches; the water passes underneath while the men walk on the boards above.
Hwiyeom immediately issued orders to Noksan.
“Cut scrub timber into platforms and set them into the trenches so that even if water runs underneath, the staff’s feet stay dry.”
“Yes, sir.”
And so the workers of Noksan began planting the sweet potatoes.
The agricultural cooperative of the Sichuan Dang Family had already watered seed tubers until they sprouted. The sprouts were cut on a slant to about one span in length—forming “slips”—then carried to the trench fields and planted so that the lower two or three nodes went into the prepared soil.
Seen from above, the trenches filled with fresh green sweet-potato slips made a truly spectacular sight.
Sama Yun, inspecting the trench fields at Hwiyeom’s side, smiled with quiet delight.
“What are you laughing at?”
“I’m smiling because I don’t think Dang Gaga fully realizes how extraordinary this is.”
“I do know.”
“No, I’m fairly certain you don’t.”
Sama Yun continued.
“Since ancient times the most critical elements of defending a fortress have been food and water. No matter how solid the walls, if either runs short the place will fall.”
“True enough.”
“A fortress uses height and position as weapons. Its purpose is to force the enemy to pay in blood until they break the gates or scale the walls, grinding down their strength.”
“And?”
“Look at the Sichuan that Dang Gaga has built.”
Sama Yun gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“Even if an army takes the absolute shortest route to seize the ancient city of Seongdo, it still has to pass seven Noksan outposts.”
“Mm.”
“And every one of those outposts has anywhere from four to ten successive trench walls, with the outposts themselves sited on every strategic hilltop.”
“Right.”
“Those trenches are fitted with coiled barbed wire and horse-stopping spears that can stop a nomad cavalry charge cold. On the heights above sit powder weapons ready to rain fire arrows. In a real war you could pack the trenches with archers and bury the attackers under a storm of shafts.”
“In a real war, yes.”
In a real war the Gatling guns would be spitting fire, but the words never left Hwiyeom’s throat.
Sama Yun pressed on.
“Even if the enemy, after unimaginable hardship, captures one outpost, we simply fall back to the next line and keep defending. Meanwhile the roads that run straight from Seongdo to the front let us rush reinforcements and supplies forward at once, while the invaders’ supply lines only grow longer. The roads where the fighting was heaviest will already have been wrecked by powder weapons, so they won’t even enjoy the advantage of the highways. And if we destroy the mountain tunnels when we withdraw, the enemy will have to wind through every twisting mountain path.”
“That would drive them completely mad.”
“Every outpost has its own reservoir for drinking water, and between the trenches we’re growing sweet potatoes that can serve as emergency combat rations. Even if drought threatens to empty the reservoirs, the railway can bring water straight from the Min River in the rear to the front line.”
“……”
“By the time an army has punched through every one of those outposts and finally reaches Seongdo… will it still have the strength left to conduct a siege?”
“Hardly. Tens of thousands of enemy troops would be ground to pieces on the road to Seongdo.”
“Dang Gaga, the world has a four-character phrase for a fortress like this.”
Sama Yun looked him straight in the eyes and enunciated each syllable with perfect clarity.
“Nan-gong-bul-rak—impregnable, unassailable, never to fall.”
“……”
“You have taken Sichuan, already a natural fortress, and turned it into a graveyard for great armies.”
“…Huh?”
“When you first built the outposts and dug the trenches I still had my doubts… but solving both military food and water as well? The outposts before the sweet-potato fields and the outposts after them are completely different creatures. The ones that have begun sweet-potato farming are no longer mere outposts. They are gates—gates that, with only fifty men, once repelled a thousand cavalry and killed six hundred of them. Real combat experience. Give them more powder weapons and more soldiers and they might stop not a thousand but ten thousand. And there are several such gates, each self-sufficient in food and water, each able to receive instant rear support, each fully capable of prolonged war!”
Hwiyeom, who was almost never flustered, found himself rarely nonplussed.
It goes this far?
He had certainly paid attention to defense. The nomads had already invaded once, and he had to consider the possibility that the Central Plains themselves might one day turn hostile. But planting sweet potatoes had never been intended for wartime effect. He had simply hated seeing unused land go to waste, and had wanted to increase food production and secure another source of ethanol at the same time. The secondary effects, it seemed, had been rather more dramatic than expected.
Sama Yun sighed.
“You’d better keep cozying up to Emperor Sungui. If you’re not careful you could be branded a traitor and have no defense. Offering up powder and steel is the bare minimum; reclaiming Guizhou is going to turn out to be a stroke of pure genius.”
Even if the growth of Sichuan’s military strength makes them nervous, she explained, they won’t prepare the boiling cauldron so long as they still find us useful. Hwiyeom nodded.
“Don’t worry. The only reason the emperor tolerates us is his certainty that our army can never strike Beijing. The key is simply never to raise a force that could be called an ‘army,’ and never to show any sign of projecting force toward the capital. Do that and we’ll be recognized as nothing more than a border defense force. And my usefulness will keep generating itself endlessly.”
“That confidence… that’s my man. I think I’m falling for you all over again.”
Sama Yun melted into a soft smile.
“Wait—‘all over again’…?”
At that moment a boy came tearing up the mountain path and skidded to a halt before Hwiyeom, bowing hastily.
“C-Courier Jin Jin of the Minjeongwon Black Agents, reporting to the Young Master!”
“You’ve worked hard. What is it?”
“A Western architect named Michelangelo requests an audience with the Young Master. He comes recommended by the Western merchant Ibon.”
An SSR-tier historical great just dropped?!
A broad smile spread across Hwiyeom’s face.