In the southwestern reaches of Xie Lake, vast new salt villages were rising from the earth.
These were the welfare settlements—allocated housing—for the salt artisans who had "pledged allegiance to Gao Family Village."
Any skilled worker employed by Gao Family Village received three taels of silver per month, along with full room and board. Food was one thing, but housing had clearly been given even greater thought.
Rows of concrete-built houses stretched neatly along the southwestern shoreline of Xie Lake, uniform in shape and orderly in layout. From afar, the entire settlement looked clean, disciplined, and strangely comforting.
For safety's sake, the salt village was also surrounded by long concrete walls. Should bandits or rebels appear, these outer defenses alone would be enough to delay an assault for quite some time.
Inside the walls lay the true heart of the operation—
salt fields.
But calling them "fields" was almost misleading.
They sprawled outward like genuine farmland, wide, open, and shockingly vast.
The moment the salt artisans laid eyes on them, their scalps went numb.
This big?
How much lake water would this take?
Could we possibly carry all of it by shoulder pole and bucket?
One artisan, carrying his meager bundle of belongings, had just moved into the village when panic seized him. Spotting a Blue Hat nearby, he hurried over.
"My lord—!"
The Blue Hat turned around.
It was Song Yingxing.
Standing beside him was a freshly inducted "trainee Blue Hat," none other than Wang Zheng, who had recently joined Gao Family Village.
Song Yingxing asked calmly, "What is it?"
The artisan swallowed. "My lord, the houses are wonderful—truly wonderful. But these salt fields… aren't they dug a bit too large? To fill them with brine by hand… we simply don't have that many people."
Song Yingxing burst out laughing.
"So that's what you're worried about?"
He waved a hand. "Good. I came here today precisely for this."
The artisan blinked. "My lord… are you planning to help us carry water?"
Wang Zheng couldn't hold it in.
"Pfft—"
Song Yingxing coughed lightly, his expression turning faintly awkward. Still, he was already used to this sort of misunderstanding.
"Go," he instructed. "Gather all the salt artisans. You're about to see our newest machine."
The artisan shouted a few times, and soon the entire salt village assembled.
Once everyone had arrived, Song Yingxing gave a signal. The technical workers moved swiftly.
By the lakeshore, they assembled a massive, unfamiliar contraption. At its core sat a steam engine, solid and imposing. Around it were interlocking gears, rotating wheels, levers, and long pumping arms.
The salt artisans stared blankly.
They understood nothing.
Even Wang Zheng, standing among them, wore the eager, wide-eyed expression of a student who knew he was about to learn something important.
Song Yingxing raised his voice.
"This machine is called a steam water pump. Watch carefully. From today onward, none of you will ever need to carry water from Xie Lake on your backs again."
He opened the boiler, tossed in several chunks of coal, and lit the fire.
The steam engine rumbled, then roared to life.
Wheels turned. Gears meshed. The pumping arms began their steady rhythm.
With a thunderous splash, thick pipes plunged into the lake, drawing water upward and forcefully channeling it into the salt fields.
"—Wow!"
The crowd gasped in unison.
Water poured endlessly into the fields, faster and stronger than any human chain could ever manage. In no time at all, an enormous section of the salt field was completely filled.
Song Yingxing withdrew the pipes and turned back with a smile.
"Well? Still worried these fields are too large?"
The salt artisans erupted with excitement.
"Master, this is divine skill!"
"With this machine, we can produce several times more salt than before!"
Song Yingxing clapped his hands.
"Good. Then produce more."
He continued, "The wage system will also be reformed. From now on, you won't just receive a fixed salary. There will be a base wage, and on top of that, bonuses based on output."
The artisans exchanged glances.
"That's… allowed?"
Song Yingxing laughed.
"Why not? If one man produces a thousand catties of salt in a month, and another produces only five hundred—would you tolerate them earning the same?"
The artisans answered immediately.
"No! Absolutely not."
Song Yingxing nodded.
"Exactly."
Spring of the fifth year of Chongzhen arrived.
A season of rebirth.
The heavens had been merciful. From the previous winter onward, rain had come on time. By spring, gentle showers fell again and again, filling the land with life.
Shaanxi, Shanxi—regions long ravaged by drought—finally saw hope.
Countless displaced people, who had once begged in cities, returned to their ancestral homes. They took out the precious seeds they had protected even through famine—seeds they would rather starve than eat—and began spring planting.
With the people's hearts settled, the rebels faced a brutal truth.
Bu Zhan Ni's forces, having crossed back into Shaanxi, suffered repeated crushing defeats at the hands of Hong Chengchou in northern Shaanxi. In the past, rebel defeats often meant escape—and escape meant growth.
But now?
With land to farm, the common people chose to die guarding their fields rather than follow rebels.
Unable to sustain himself, Bu Zhan Ni personally executed his generals Shuangchihu and Zijinlong, then surrendered to the court.
Still, not all rebels were fools.
In the first month of Chongzhen's fifth year, Huntianhou, disguised as a rice merchant, infiltrated Yijun County. With help from insiders, he seized the city by night, then captured Bao'an and Heshui counties in succession.
Hong Chengchou issued mobilization orders, dispatching Cao Wenzhao and Zhang Quanchang to encircle and suppress him.
In the second month, Kefeitian and Hao Lin'an attacked Qingyang.
By the fourth month, Bu Zhan Ni reemerged once more, establishing seventeen outposts and sixty-four strongholds in Xichuan, launching attacks on Mizhi and Jiazhou.
Hong Chengchou responded decisively, ordering Shaanxi Regional Commander Wang Cheng'en to assemble three thousand elite troops.
Bu Zhan Ni was defeated—and finally beheaded.
In Jishan County, Bai Yuan held a stack of military reports.
Upon reading of Bu Zhan Ni's death, he sighed softly.
"So… Bu Zhan Ni is finally dead. We were old acquaintances."
Mo Xiaopin, standing beside him, nearly jumped.
"Good heavens, Master Bai—what did you just say?"
Bai Yuan laughed.
"Hahaha, I'm joking. Old adversaries, more like it. Back in the first year of Chongzhen, he crossed Huanglong Mountain and attacked my Bai Family Fortress. We fought him many times after that."
Mo Xiaopin finally relaxed.
"You scared me half to death."
Bai Yuan waved it off.
"Enough about rebels. Let's talk about spring planting. How is your fertilizer plant?"
Mo Xiaopin grinned.
"Thanks to you and the Third Miss, it's progressing smoothly. It's already producing large quantities, and it's proving invaluable this spring."
Bai Yuan nodded slowly.
The land was recovering.
And so, quietly, was the world.