Chapter 396 - Fu Buer's Family

Being admired by a girl was certainly nice, but work still needed doing. After a full day's exertion, Fu Buer's field edge had accumulated large quantities of composting materials.

Wan Lihui had ample experience with composting fermentation. He directed everyone to crush the collected garbage, mix it with scooped river mud, water weeds, and cut grass, then blend in a dozen buckets of waste from Fu Buer's latrine. Everything was combined and piled up, exterior sealed with mud. As long as it was turned regularly and kept sufficiently moist, after six or seven months the compost would be ready—just in time for next spring's plowing.

"Compost must maintain adequate moisture, otherwise it won't decompose properly." Wan Lihui explained to Fu Xi: pile loosely when starting; once temperature rises, pack tightly. Also constantly check moisture content. He taught her a simple method—insert a dry wooden stick deep into the compost, wait briefly, then remove. If the stick is moist, moisture is correct; otherwise, sprinkle water.

"...But not too much water either. If you see dark water draining from under the compost, that means too much."

Lingao's rainy season meant rain every two or three days. Wan Lihui had them build rain shelters over the compost.

The Fu household's activities became long-term village entertainment. Fu Buer himself remained skeptical but didn't dare question. He just daily took his hired hands and sons to prepare the paddies for transplanting, awaiting seedling delivery.

Seedling orders had been allocated based on Wan Lihui's reported planting area. That day, a wheelbarrow transport team arrived from Lingao, using the Vehicle Factory's "Purple Lightning" all-purpose agricultural wheelbarrow—designed by Li Chiqi and Jiang Muzhi based on Lingao road conditions.

The carts carried boxes of rice seedlings. Fu Buer, hearing seedlings had arrived, immediately stopped work to look. He was captivated—was this the legendary rice yielding five or six hundred jin per mu?

But the quantity was far too little! He estimated these seedlings couldn't even plant 100 mu—at most sixty or seventy. This was outrageous!

Wan Lihui was startled by Fu Buer running up and shouting excitedly. Not understanding, he waited for Fu Xi to translate.

"Not enough seedlings?" Wan Lihui thought that unlikely. He checked the seedling trays. These were large-spike varieties, robust with well-developed roots—he understood.

"It's like this. Tell your master: more seedlings doesn't mean higher yields—just watch."

Transport team leader Jiang Muzhi delivered a letter from Ye Yuming instructing him to promote sparse-planting rice technology at Fu Buer's.

"What? Planting less yields more? What logic is that?"

Seeing Fu Buer's skeptical expression, Wan Lihui knew that until final results were visible, he wouldn't believe in any rice technology.

Sparse rice planting meant reducing seedling numbers per mu. The goal was improving field ecology, utilizing rice's strong tillering capacity, coordinating individual and collective growth contradictions, enhancing stress resistance, and increasing yields—while reducing costs.

After adopting sparse planting, seedling requirements dropped dramatically, saving nursery labor, seed, fertilizer, and facilities. During transplanting, fewer seedlings meant reduced labor requirements—especially suitable for labor-scarce Ming-era Hainan. This freed up more agricultural time, utilizing Lingao's water and heat resources.

Additionally, sparse planting allowed rice to develop ideal morphology, forming large spikes. After heading, green leaf area was larger with better light exposure, increasing grain weight. Typically increasing production 5-10%.

Sparse planting was highly technical with high management requirements. So not all customers used it. After discussion, Ye Yuming selected only Fu Buer's household as the pilot—Wan Lihui was the most experienced rice technician.

To ensure success, Ye Yuming's letter asked him to stay longer at Fu Buer's.

"Sparse planting is good, but—" Wan Lihui looked doubtfully at Jiang Muzhi. "This requires lots of fertilizer—farm manure alone isn't enough."

Sparse planting wasn't a cure-all. Generally: "rich fields rely on development; poor fields rely on density." For infertile land, appropriately increase density. For fertile or heavily-fertilized fields, thin appropriately. Fu Buer's paddies had poor fertility. Without sufficient fertilizer, sparse planting would underperform.

"Don't worry. Commissioner Wu has requisitioned over ten tons of lignite from Nanbao, now at Bairren. Two boatloads of guano have arrived from Dongsha Island. Should be enough, right?"

Jiang Muzhi shared good news: the exploration team had discovered peat fields near the county seat. Peat was suitable as both fuel and fertilizer. Foreign Commerce was negotiating to buy it.

"...The Bairren-Nanbao highway will be completely open in one week. Our Vehicle Factory is working on coal-transport ox carts. Once the road opens, lignite will roll in."

"So the fertilizer factory is imminent—"

"Actually already started. Ye Yuming mentioned construction is underway."

"Wonderful." Wan Lihui thought: if I'd known, why put so much effort into composting!

"Oh, Ye Yuming asked me to pass on a message: recently there are signs of scattered bandit elements. Patrol teams are increasing searches. Watch your personal safety—"

"Damn!" Wan Lihui cursed. "I'm here alone—not even anyone to take turns standing watch."

"Did you bring a gun?"

"Yeah, standard issue." Wan Lihui produced a Smith & Wesson 9mm revolver. "But only six bullets."

"Here's a box." Jiang Muzhi pulled out 24-round packaging. "And this—" He extracted signal rockets with pointed bamboo stakes at the bottom.

These rockets were byproducts from Lin Shenhe's team. Paper-tube signal rockets reached 200 meters altitude. No parachute—just trailing black smoke during day, firing light at night. Patrol routes passed just a few kilometers away; once distress signals were spotted, help would arrive.

"By the time I plant it and light it, my head will probably be cut off. Better to use my PHS." This area was at the edge of coverage. His phone sometimes connected.

Muttering, he took the rockets—six total.

"Rainy season means moisture damage. Giving you extras."

Watching the transport team recede along the field ridge, rain began falling again. The fields were deserted. In the distance: gray sky and mountains... Wan Lihui had never felt so alone. Heaven and earth seemed to contain only him—could those novel protagonists who crossed alone really endure such loneliness? He at least had five hundred companions who understood him.

After some argument, Fu Buer despairingly followed instructions for sparse transplanting.

The sparse seedlings immediately became the village's laughingstock. Several well-meaning relatives came to advise: farming had been passed down for thousands of years; what gave Australians the right to change things? Just because he grew well at Bairren didn't mean it would work here. Some hinted Australian high yields involved "sorcery."

After several days, Fu Buer's eyes were sunken. To avoid his wife's nagging, he simply beat her immediately upon returning home. Fu Xi was always smiling when delivering meals, apparently pleased.

"Why does your master always beat his wife?" Wan Lihui was puzzled.

"It's because of you." Fu Xi whispered.

"Me? I pay for all my meals."

"Haha, it's not about meals." She told him the village gossip. Only then did Wan Lihui realize the seriousness. Though he hadn't read many books, he knew civilization didn't always defeat ignorance—reform always faced opposition. Without measures to win family support, "policies dying with departure" could happen.

To encourage the Fu family, after dinner Wan Lihui sat with them in the courtyard—fanning, drinking bitter-grass tea, chatting. Also practicing Lingao dialect.

At first everyone was restrained. After several days, finding Chief Wan friendly with many strange tales, they became willing to talk more—except Fu Buer's wife. She still refused any interaction.

Within two or three days, Wan Lihui thoroughly understood Fu Buer's household:

Overall, small landlords like Fu Buer were quite diligent. Those who'd risen from peasant backgrounds were mostly capable and thrifty.

For example, he paid more attention to fertilizer than typical farmers. Wan Lihui had seen local farmers throw waste into rivers—unimaginable to peasant-born Wan Lihui. So Fu Buer's harvests were somewhat better—around 300 jin per mu.

If relying only on rice, this household couldn't survive. Fu Buer's position came from generations of careful management.

Though lacking money, they kept four servants—three boys, one girl. Instead of temporary hired hands, he used these youngsters. Servants were one-time investments—just provide food. Though they couldn't do heavy work for years, they handled side businesses. More obedient than hired hands too.

His main side business was duck-raising. He'd traveled to the prefectural capital finding a poultry dealer, agreeing to quarterly purchases. Duck-raising required little feed. Profits weren't generous—Qiongshan merchants showed no mercy—but he had relatively flexible cash. Occasionally lending to villagers at modest interest, requiring collateral—essentially risk-free.

Beyond that, frugality. The Fu family only served three meals during busy seasons; normally just two—one solid, one liquid. Dry rice mornings for energy; thin porridge evenings—sleeping anyway.

Meals were completely egalitarian—master, servants, hired hands all ate at one table. Rice always contained pumpkin or sweet potato. Meat, eggs, fish—never. Those were for selling.

Wan Lihui ate separately, Fu Xi cooking for him. He had 5 yuan daily allowance. To the Fu family, Wan Lihui ate better than an emperor: pure grain rice, fish or meat, vegetables. This treatment made village elders say Australians lived in such extravagance they'd surely decline. Young people who envied this were sternly educated: if they weren't ruining themselves, why would they travel so far?

But Wan Lihui didn't feel his treatment was good. At the farm, they ate germinated rice—already uncomfortable. Here eating straight brown rice was harder. Each meal left leftovers. Every time dishes were cleared, Fu Buer's wife stared unblinkingly.

"That mean old hag!" Wan Lihui cursed. She still hadn't shown him a good face.

"Hmph, her? She'd want everyone eating bran and vegetables every meal." Fu Xi whispered. "She says you're a swindler confusing the master, purposely destroying crops to seize the land. Says you're a male fox spirit, bewitching everyone." She giggled.

"Male fox spirit?" Wan Lihui was depressed—he wasn't some pretty-faced beauty worth anyone's interest.

"Yes, she even fought with Sister Yijin last night, making her cry." Fu Xi said mysteriously. "Know why?"

(End of Chapter)