Chapter 9: Expanding the Brewery and Planting High-Yield Rice

When Du Chengfeng returned to Du Family Village, his eldest brother, Du Wen, was tidying up firewood in the courtyard. Seeing Chengfeng come back, Du Wen’s face darkened.

Although Chengfeng had left a note, Du Wen still couldn’t help but complain, “Little brother, you ran off to Chang’an alone at dawn without saying a word. Do you know how worried I was, waiting here all day? You’ve barely left the village since you were little. If something had happened to you, how could I ever face our late grandfather?”

Chengfeng could sense the genuine concern in his brother’s words, and guilt pricked his heart.

He turned around, pretending to pull five taels of silver from his clothes—money he’d exchanged for six strings of cash at a pawnshop before coming home—and handed them to Du Wen, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Look, big brother, I’m back safe and sound. And I even made some silver!”

Du Wen stared in astonishment at the silver in his hand, pinched his own cheek to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and asked in disbelief, “You earned this selling wine?”

“That’s right! Take these few taels first to help out with the household. I’ll earn even more in the future,” Chengfeng replied with confidence.

“You’re amazing, little brother! Grandfather must be smiling down on you from above. Five taels—that’s five strings of cash, enough to buy so much grain…” Du Wen beamed with joy, muttering to himself as he gazed at the silver, turning it over and over in his hands. It was the most money he’d ever seen.

Watching his brother’s delighted expression, Chengfeng couldn’t help but smile as well.

But remembering his promise that Manager Lu would come in three days to collect wine, Chengfeng had to interrupt his brother’s ramblings. “Big brother, don’t celebrate just yet. We have important things to do.”

“What is it? Just tell me, I’ll do whatever you need,” Du Wen said, a touch of expectation in his voice. In his eyes, Chengfeng had suddenly become a great talent—he’d earned five strings of cash in less than a morning, far more capable than himself.

“Big brother, go next door and ask Grandpa Du to gather everyone from the village—young and old, men and women. I need everyone’s help,” Chengfeng said calmly.

“Alright, little brother.” Du Wen tucked the silver carefully into his pocket and walked off, brimming with excitement.

Chengfeng hadn’t wanted to trouble Grandpa Du, given the old man’s age, but he knew he held no real authority in the village, so this was the only way.

There was no way the yard in front of Chengfeng’s house could accommodate so many people, so the villagers were gathered at the large grassy field at the edge of the village.

Most of them were visibly reluctant, muttering among themselves and speculating about why Grandpa Du had called them all together—after all, most had farm work waiting.

After placing the cloudy wine from his system space behind his house, Chengfeng made his way to the field. Du Wen was helping Grandpa Du stand nearby, looking uneasy at the commotion, not knowing why his brother wanted everyone assembled.

Hearing the villagers’ chatter, Chengfeng felt a bit helpless. Du Family Village was his first system base; he was determined to see it flourish.

He still had 495 strings of cash. With that money, many things would become easier. When the new immortal wine was distilled, there would be even more money.

The most pressing matters now were expanding the distillery and starting rice cultivation.

Chengfeng planned to plant a small amount of rice in the village first, then promote it more widely once the harvest was in—after all, he didn’t have many seeds. In this era, where wheat and rice yields were still just a few stones per mu, claiming yields of over a dozen stones would make most people think he was a fraud.

Seeing the villagers growing impatient, Chengfeng leapt onto a low earthen mound at the front of the field, gathered his breath, and called out loudly, “Everyone, please quiet down. I have something to discuss with you all.”

At the sound of his voice and seeing him stand so calmly before them, the villagers grew puzzled.

Chengfeng cleared his throat and continued, “I am Du Chengfeng. I believe many of you already know I’ve brewed an immortal wine. This wine has already become famous in Chang’an, so I’ve decided to build a larger distillery.”

“A distillery will need many hands. I’d like to ask all uncles and elders to help out when there’s no farm work. The wage will start at forty copper coins a day, and may increase in the future. Anyone interested can register with Uncle Dazhu.”

Chengfeng had thought carefully about offering forty coins a day—in Chang’an, he’d learned that big households usually paid laborers between fifteen and twenty coins per day.

To develop Du Family Village, he needed to raise everyone’s income. Was it not said that to make a nation rich, some must become prosperous first? Chengfeng would let his village prosper first.

“Chengfeng, are you serious? Forty coins a day?” The villagers grew excited at his offer.

“Rest assured, everyone—forty coins a day, and even more in the future. Du Family Village will only get better. There’s something else—I have some high-yield rice seeds. If cultivated well, yields of over a dozen stones per mu are no problem. Anyone interested can come to me for seeds, and I’ll teach you how to grow them,” Chengfeng announced loudly.

“What? Over a dozen stones per mu? That’s impossible—Chengfeng, you’re boasting too much!” The villagers voiced their doubts.

“Little brother, have you lost your mind? Where would we get high-yield rice seeds?” Du Wen hurried over, helping Grandpa Du to a low mound, and pulled at Chengfeng’s sleeve in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, big brother, I know what I’m doing. Trust me,” Chengfeng replied with a reassuring smile.

“You…” Du Wen stamped his foot, lost for words at his brother’s stubbornness. He couldn’t understand how his usually honest and taciturn brother could suddenly speak so recklessly.

Chengfeng’s announcement fell like thunder, exploding over everyone’s heads. The villagers were variously shocked, skeptical, indifferent, or stunned—but not a single one believed him.

Even Grandpa Du, experienced as he was, thought privately, “What’s gotten into Chengfeng today, speaking so rashly?”

Though most villagers had never grown rice, they’d certainly heard of it. Wheat yields were what they were, and now Chengfeng was claiming rice could yield over a dozen stones per mu. For people used to just a few stones per mu, how could they believe it?