The line outside the fertilizer shop had grown so long it looked like a migrating snake—slow, patient, and full of hope. People clutched silver, copper coins, even IOUs written on scraps of paper, all waiting their turn to buy the miracle powder that made crops grow like they were afraid of being left behind by history.
Next door, a brand-new signboard hung crookedly in the wind:
"Agricultural Technology Training School."
Inside, several villagers from Gaojia Village—men who, just months ago, had considered "farming experience" to mean not starving to death—were now officially titled Agricultural Technology Experts. They lectured enthusiastically, chalk flying, about "scientific planting methods," "soil improvement," and "rational fertilization," phrases they themselves had only learned recently and now wielded like sacred mantras.
Classes were free.
The instructors were paid.
The money came from Wu Shen.
Wu Shen's original hundred thousand taels had long since evaporated like morning dew. But fate—or perhaps political guilt—had refilled his purse in recent days.
The source of this fresh silver was unmistakable.
The Prince of Qin's Residence.
Without being asked twice, the princely estate had solemnly announced its willingness to donate fifty thousand taels toward "disaster relief." No speeches. No explanations. Just carts of silver delivered efficiently, quietly, and with the unmistakable air of please take this and let us all pretend nothing happened.
At this moment, Wu Shen and Shi Kefa were seated in the fertilizer shop's back courtyard, sharing tea with Li Daoxuan.
The tea was good.
The mood was not.
Shi Kefa sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that carried an entire bureaucracy's worth of frustration.
"The agents my men dispatched to the capital…" he said slowly, "…all fell ill on the road. A strange illness. They died before reaching their destination. Not one survivor."
He paused, jaw tight.
"The Prince of Qin's Residence denied everything. The Emperor expressed great concern, but in the end… there was nothing he could do. Only an edict. A stern reprimand."
He laughed bitterly. "That's all."
Wu Shen took a sip of tea, his expression strange—half amused, half resigned.
"The Prince of Qin's Residence got scolded," he said, "and then handed me fifty thousand taels of silver."
Li Daoxuan smiled faintly, as if admiring a painting whose outcome he'd predicted long ago.
"A good result," he said. "More or less exactly as I expected."
Wu Shen and Shi Kefa spoke at the same time.
"You call this good?"
Li Daoxuan spread his hands.
"Gentlemen, do you truly believe a matter this small could shake the strongest princely fief in the realm?" he asked mildly.
"Disband the fief? Impossible. Strip their military power? Also impossible. Their guard detachment was reduced to five hundred men a century ago—how much more can you cut? Execute the Prince of Qin's heir outside the Meridian Gate?"
He smiled. "Over fertilizer?"
He leaned forward slightly.
"Put yourselves in His Majesty's shoes. What, exactly, could you have done?"
The two officials fell silent.
After thinking it through, they had to admit it: there really was nothing more that could be done. A harsh reprimand and fifty thousand taels was, by imperial standards, already considered heavy punishment.
All the righteous indignation they had built up leaked away with a soft, embarrassing puff.
Li Daoxuan added casually, like tossing salt on a wound:
"As for those agents who died of a 'strange illness'—that was the Embroidered Uniform Guard, without a doubt."
Shi Kefa's back stiffened. "Impossible. Those men were selected by me personally. Loyal to the Emperor to the bone. They could never have been bought by the Prince of Qin's Residence."
Li Daoxuan raised an eyebrow. "Who said the Prince of Qin ordered it?"
Shi Kefa froze.
"What if," Li Daoxuan continued calmly, "the Emperor himself ordered their deaths? If they lived, this affair would never end. The civil officials would stir trouble endlessly. Better to silence the witnesses and close the case."
Shi Kefa went completely rigid.
Then Li Daoxuan laughed.
A light, unbothered laugh.
Shi Kefa's voice dropped. "How… how could it be like this? We worked so hard. Investigated so carefully…"
Li Daoxuan suddenly said, in a tone sharp enough to cut porcelain:
"This is the flaw of supreme imperial authority."
The courtyard went deathly still.
That sentence alone qualified as treason.
Wu Shen's first instinct was pure terror: If the Embroidered Uniform Guard hears this, we're dead.
His second instinct was worse.
Shi Kefa is the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
Wu Shen braced himself for an explosion.
None came.
Shi Kefa's expression twisted—like someone wanting to flip a table while forcing himself to stay seated.
"Mister Li," he said stiffly, "I cannot pretend I didn't hear that."
Li Daoxuan laughed again and immediately shifted gears.
"The civil officials have too little power," he said smoothly. "The Emperor's power is too great. This imbalance is unhealthy. The Grand Secretariat should be given more authority."
That single sentence struck its mark.
Wu Shen brightened instantly. "I find that extremely reasonable!"
The words had barely left his mouth before he clapped a hand over it in horror.
Shi Kefa was now in agony.
He was a civil official—but also part of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Li Daoxuan's words resonated deeply… yet his identity screamed rebellion.
If he agreed, how could he explode?
If he exploded, how could he deny agreeing?
Li Daoxuan watched his struggle with quiet amusement.
In truth, by the late Ming, capitalism had already begun to sprout, and even the faint outline of constitutional monarchy could be seen. The Grand Secretariat and the Six Ministries openly resisted the Emperor on multiple occasions. The Ministry of Rites once delayed approval of the Prince of Qin's succession indefinitely—and the Emperor could do nothing but issue angry edicts.
The civil officials weren't visionaries. They were simply grabbing power for themselves.
It just so happened that their selfishness aligned perfectly with the inevitable direction of history.
No wonder Li Daoxuan's words resonated.
He continued gently, pressing the blade deeper.
"Minister Shi, my wife once told you that advanced productivity requires an advanced political system. If governance lags behind, productivity is strangled. You remember that, don't you?"
Shi Kefa hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "I remember."
"Then you understand," Li Daoxuan said. "An autocratic system where one man decides everything is inefficient. It would be better for the Grand Secretariat and Six Ministries to deliberate collectively—vote, advise, assist."
He smiled.
"As the saying goes: three cobblers together are smarter than Zhuge Liang. The Six Ministries are six cobblers. That's at least two Zhuge Liangs."
Both officials found this… disturbingly persuasive.
But the discussion had gone far enough. Neither dared voice support aloud.
Li Daoxuan didn't push. Seeds only needed planting.
He changed the subject effortlessly.
"Now that the Prince of Qin's Residence has backed off, they won't cause trouble for a while. This gives us a rare window where politics won't strangle productivity."
He looked at Wu Shen.
"Minister Wu—why not take advantage of it and move faster?"
Wu Shen snapped back to reality. "Please enlighten me."
"With interference gone," Li Daoxuan said, "I can establish fertilizer factories, experimental crop fields, chicken farms, pig farms—throughout Xi'an. With Heaven granting rain and the people barely stabilizing, these projects will boost grain output and save more refugees."
Wu Shen's eyes shone. "That makes perfect sense."
Politics was distant. Disaster relief was immediate.
And now, with another fifty thousand taels in hand, following Li Daoxuan's path seemed wiser than ever.
"Mister Li," Wu Shen said earnestly, "however you wish to proceed, simply instruct me. I will assist fully. And—I hope to learn from you as well."
Li Daoxuan smiled.
"Gladly. Minister Wu, you're welcome to learn from my factory-building experience."
Outside, the fertilizer shop buzzed with life.
Inside, the foundations of the Ming dynasty quietly shifted—one teacup, one dangerous idea at a time.