10 Sacrifice (Part One)

There is a lord... you must be mentally prepared... you must be mentally prepared...

Wu Qingchen had no desire whatsoever to make such preparations. It turned out that becoming a farmer wasn’t the most miserable fate; what was worse was that this farmer still had a master above him.

“Based on our analysis from various perspectives, we unanimously believe, Mr. Wu, that the intensity of labor you will face in the future will be great, the content quite complex... and moreover, very...”

“That’s enough...”

Throughout the explanation, Jiang Fengming stayed by Wu Qingchen’s side, glancing occasionally at the entrance and his watch, his expression filled with anxiety. At this moment, a bureaucrat hurried over, and Jiang Fengming immediately signaled Professor He to pause.

After exchanging a few quiet words with the official, Jiang Fengming turned back. “Professor He, time is limited. That’s all for the analysis of society and the individual for now.”

Noticing Wu Qingchen’s barely concealed worry, Jiang Fengming forced his anxious face into a gentler expression. “Mr. Wu, no matter how unpromising the social environment or your personal circumstances may seem, you need not worry—behind you stands all of humanity. And our very presence here is precisely to solve these problems... Time is precious; please come with me. Let us first address the issue of labor.”

The issue of labor?

Just as before, Jiang Fengming allowed Wu Qingchen no time for questions. Scrawling a few lines on the documents he clutched, he strode swiftly ahead, leading Wu Qingchen through several rather chaotic areas.

When they stopped, describing the place as merely chaotic was no longer adequate.

Before him lay a plot of earth, perhaps several dozen square meters and three inches thick, spread directly atop the concrete floor. To the left, bundles of plants were stacked haphazardly, while to the right stood several large crates. Two of the crates had already been opened, revealing a bewildering array of wooden and iron tools, each more peculiar than the last. Wu Qingchen could recognize less than one percent of them.

Beside the soil, the plants, and the crates, a dozen or so men were already waiting.

Wu Qingchen found these men odd. The one furthest to the left was a middle-aged man with large black-rimmed glasses, impeccably dressed in a suit, his attire spotless and expression slightly furrowed—the very picture of a bureaucrat. The others wore a jumble of clothing, their brows likewise knit with tension, but more than anything, their faces were blank with confusion.

“This is Wu Qingchen...”

Jiang Fengming introduced him briefly, his gaze landing on the leftmost man. “Professor Wang, there’s a great deal to cover in the training. Every aspect is crucial—please make the best use of our time.”

Professor Wang, the man in glasses, glanced down at the densely packed forms in his hands. “Mr. Wu, let us confirm first—have you ever done farm work before?”

Farm work...

Wu Qingchen was barely familiar with the term itself.

“Think carefully...” Noticing Wu Qingchen begin to ponder, Professor Wang quickly added, “It could be anything: chopping wood, sowing seeds, weeding, growing vegetables—whatever comes to mind.”

“When I was a child, my family lived in the countryside. After school, I sometimes picked up sticks and once or twice helped with rice transplanting. I’m not sure if that counts...”

“It counts, it certainly counts...” Professor Wang’s tightly knit brow relaxed considerably. “Especially transplanting rice—that will be very helpful for what lies ahead.”

Wu Qingchen nodded, though he still did not fully understand.

“The experience of transplanting rice will help you establish the correct approach to labor,” Professor Wang began to explain. “Agricultural labor is a long-term production mode, quite different from our daily activities. Mr. Wu, you have transplanted rice before—imagine, if you approach it as you would running or playing football, giving it your all, what would happen after an hour or two?”

“I’d be... very tired?”

“Not just tired.” Professor Wang shook his head. “Excess always leads to its opposite. High-intensity exertion is dangerous; after an hour or two, you could dehydrate, become hypoxic, and it’s especially easy to injure muscles and ligaments. Furthermore, agricultural labor is not just for one or two hours, or even a day or two, but is continuous month after month, year after year, sometimes for decades.”

At this, Professor Wang’s expression grew grave. “If you don’t pay attention to the way you labor, injuries will accumulate over time, and the consequences will be severe... ‘Collapsing from overwork’ is no joke—the health of middle-aged men in the medieval world is the clearest example.”

So that’s why Professor He’s earlier explanation had been necessary.

Wu Qingchen nodded, understanding much more now.

Perhaps his expression was not serious enough, for Professor Wang’s brow furrowed again and his tone grew more emphatic. “Mr. Wu, you must understand: in the future, you may encounter many difficulties, perhaps even certain dangers, but it is unscientific labor methods and improper attitudes that are the deadliest, most dangerous, and most easily overlooked threats! This is extremely important—you must remember it well.”

“Mr. Wu, your health concerns all of humanity. Surely you wouldn’t wish to see every person on earth, even newborn infants, receive as their first gift—arthritis, failing vision, or violent coughing?”

Wu Qingchen nodded vigorously, his head bobbing up and down with new resolve.

“Very good, Mr. Wu.” Professor Wang’s manner softened. “I don’t say these things to make you anxious, but to prepare you for the training ahead. Soon the masters will teach you concrete labor techniques—you may find, especially after some time, that the movements are slow, inefficient, or even redundant and time-wasting. When that happens, please remember what I’ve just said, and do not make changes on your own.”

“These methods are the distilled experience of nearly ten billion people over thousands of years, refined through the research of countless experts, all to ensure no significant harm to the human body...”

“Enough,” Professor Wang said, checking the forms and then turning to the right. “That’s all for now. Let’s begin with the first task: harrowing. Master Zhang, please demonstrate.”

An elderly man, his hair almost entirely white, his face creased with wrinkles and his hands callused from years of toil, immediately stepped forward. With brisk steps, he entered the plot, squatted down, and grasped a wooden harrow, expertly breaking up the clods of earth.

Master Zhang’s movements were fluid and unhurried, wasting not a second—gone was any sign of the tension he’d shown while waiting. Who knows how many times he had rehearsed this before.

“Observe closely.”

There was little time for observation. After two minutes or so, two soldiers fitted Wu Qingchen with elbow-length gloves, while Professor Wang handed him a brand-new wooden harrow that precisely resembled the one Wu Qingchen had seen in his dreams, still gleaming and bristling with splinters.

Handing over the harrow, Professor Wang nodded toward the soil. “Please, Mr. Wu.”

Labor is glorious...

Wu Qingchen could only console himself with this thought, remembering that he’d scarcely even washed a dish before, yet now he was to don these ridiculous gloves and step into the mud.

The training for the “art of harrowing” was not simply a matter of imitating Master Zhang’s actions. A dozen soldiers raised large mirrors at different angles, moving with Wu Qingchen to let him see his every movement from all directions and compare them instantly with Master Zhang’s posture, making corrections at all times.

Further off, on the ground and on tables, more soldiers operated several cameras, recording every detail of Wu Qingchen’s attempt.

These recordings quickly proved useful.

After three minutes or so of simple imitation—just as Wu Qingchen felt he was starting to get the hang of it—Professor Wang called for a pause.

Immediately, a dozen experts appeared seemingly out of nowhere, crowding eagerly around Wu Qingchen. Using a portable screen that had likewise materialized from thin air, they played back his harrowing, pointing out every flaw in posture, step, and muscle adjustment, then squatted in the mud themselves, each wielding a harrow to demonstrate the correct methods again and again.

At that moment, the strict security around the dining hall seemed more necessary than ever, for had an outsider pushed open the side door just then, they might have been frightened out of their wits by the scene:

An old farmer and a young man stood in the middle of the mud, surrounded by a dozen elderly scholars in immaculate suits squatting down and playing vigorously with the earth, while dozens of fully equipped soldiers circled with mirrors and cameras—if this wasn’t a gathering of psychiatric patients on a collective outing, then surely he himself had been committed for madness.

In this way, three minutes of mimicking Master Zhang, followed by three minutes of expert analysis and demonstration, and so on and so forth. Unconsciously, Wu Qingchen’s harrowing technique grew more and more accurate, his movements finally free of obvious defects.

Of course, it was only the movements that had lost their major flaws.

If Wu Qingchen were set loose to harrow several acres now, he knew well enough that the results would be disastrous.

But such was the purpose of this emergency training. After a brief rest, a new master and a new group of experts stepped forward, and Wu Qingchen began to learn how to turn the soil.

Then came weeding.

Then seedling cultivation.

Then transplanting, sowing, thinning, fertilizing, hoeing, loosening the soil, watering, pest control, harvesting, drying, and sunning.

And so on, and so forth.