"Breeding grain seeds?" Zhang Cheng's eyes widened as he looked at Zhang Wen. The number one figure in Yang Province actually has the skills of an old farmer?
Song Chen pointed at the millet fields ahead and said meaningfully, "The Prefect's mastery of agriculture is unmatched under heaven. Do not be fooled by how robust this millet is—it is the result of the Prefect's years of cultivation. Do you know when the Prefect began breeding millet?"
"When?" Zhang Wen's face was full of confusion.
Song Chen raised three fingers and answered with solemn gravity, "Thirty years ago. The Prefect was still a youth then, and he began when he farmed in Xiaopei. One could say that the parent stock of high-yield millet across every region came from the Prefect's hometown."
"Thirty years ago?" Zhang Wen swallowed. I had only just been born then. Even as he reeled in shock, an association immediately came to mind. "The Prefect knew how to breed seeds as a youth? Could it be that he encountered some extraordinary fortune, like his ancestor's 'three offerings of shoes at the Bridge of Si'?"
"Who can say?" Song Chen gently shook his head.
Stroking his beard, Zhang Cheng thought for a moment and sighed. "No wonder His Majesty places such trust in the Prefect. Only with such a rare talent silently ensuring the grain harvests could one rise above the gathered heroes and achieve the imperial cause of today."
"This is Heaven's will." Zhang Wen nodded in agreement, but his tone suddenly turned cold. "Still, it is a pity."
"What is a pity?" Zhang Cheng pressed.
Zhang Wen answered seriously, "Our southern climate is humid, and the people mostly grow rice. Even if we introduce high-yield millet seeds, they can only serve as supplementary grain."
"Indeed." Zhang Cheng