The chieftains of the Shanyue tribes looked at one another, exchanging uneasy glances.
As Jiangdong's officially designated, long-term "experience farm," they probably understood the relative strength of Jiangdong's generals even better than Sun Quan himself.
This knowledge was the very foundation of their survival.
And so, when they had first encountered Ma Liang and his small party the previous year, their immediate reaction had been sheer alarm.
Which Jiangdong general was so shameless as to use stratagems and humiliation just to deal with the Shanyue?
Back then, the Shanyue were weak, yes—but Ma Liang had come with no more than seven or eight Wuling tribesmen and five or six Han men.
Barely a dozen people.
"What is there to fear from such a small group?"
"Let's see what tricks he intends to use."
That had been the simple consensus the Shanyue chieftains reached.
And that cautious trial, maintained up to this very day, had yielded remarkably generous returns.
The Shanyue were a collective term.
"Shan" referred to mountain folk.
"Yue" referred to the Yue people.
Han civilians fleeing war, evading taxes, or lacking official registration became mountain folk.
The Yue were descendants of the Minyue, Ouyue, and other southern Yue peoples.
With the rise of competing warlords and the onset of chaos, life became unbearable. Mountain folk and Yue people banded together, retreating into the forests rather than submitting to Jiangdong's rule. They scattered across Danyang, Xindu, Poyang, Kuaiji, and other commanderies.
They were collectively called the Shanyue—and from time to time, Jiangdong would sweep in and beat them down.
Relying on ancestral traditions and techniques passed down by Han refugees, the Shanyue survived through fishing, hunting, farming, and pottery-making.
When Ma Liang first arrived, his greatest concern was, unsurprisingly, food.
Farming came first.
But after a preliminary inspection, Ma Liang was genuinely stunned.
"You're… still using lei and si tools?"
The Yue man who brought out the farming implements to explain their cultivation methods was equally astonished.
"So that's what these things are called?"
The two fell into an awkward silence.
Ma Liang suddenly thought of the light screen—of General Zilong and Lord Xuande's delighted expressions when they had successfully tested the curved plow.
The curved plow, now the very foundation of Lord Xuande's benevolence toward the people, would probably look no different from these crude tools in the eyes of later generations.
There was no need to explain all that in detail.
After a moment's thought, Ma Liang asked to see the fields.
Back in Gong'an, he had privately consulted Zhuge Kongming many times. After the strategist departed for Chengdu, letters still arrived from time to time—along with a compiled edition of the light screen every half year.
Ma Liang now understood a thing or two about what "science" meant.
And after several years of tempering in Wuling Commandery, he had also come to understand that craftsmanship always depended on local conditions.
If the Shanyue were still using lei and si instead of plows, there had to be a reason.
And very soon, Ma Liang saw their farmland—and it was exactly as he had expected.
To someone like Ma Liang, who had grown up in northern Jing Province, accustomed to seeing vast, uninterrupted stretches of fertile land, the terraced, fragmented slopes of Kuaiji Commandery barely qualified as farmland at all.
In Jingbei, no one would even consider cultivating land like this.
Yet here, it was the sole means of survival for hundreds of thousands of mountain folk.
Ma Liang didn't complain.
After all, Wuling Commandery had been endured. This was simply harsher by comparison. What was there to fear?
Back in Wuling, Ma Liang had already discovered that the curved plow was an unquestionable treasure for southern mountain farming.
In complex terrain like this, it could turn more easily and adapt to uneven ground.
It could also be made small. Compared to straight plows that required at least two men to lift, a compact curved plow could be carried on one man's shoulder—ideal for transporting through mountain paths.
Thus, by relying on locally made curved plows, Ma Liang had successfully opened a path among the Shanyue starting from last June.
And thanks to the warm climate, even July allowed for cultivation.
The result was that the final harvest of the previous year firmly secured Ma Liang a position of authority—one that made everything afterward much easier.
From there, the next steps followed naturally.
The curved plow made farming easier.
Simple composting methods further increased yields.
An insect-repellent powder formula provided by Physician Zhang spared them from venomous pests.
And a strict ban on drinking raw water and eating raw food completely spared Shanyue youths and children from the ravages of miasma.
Of all these measures, the one that earned the greatest goodwill was Ma Liang's ban on raw water and raw food.
At first, the Shanyue chieftains resisted.
The climate was warm—raw food was convenient.
Firewood took effort to gather—and could be traded for food.
Left with no alternative, Ma Liang patiently explained that raw food carried tiny parasites—once ingested, they burrowed into the body, gnawing at the brain and marrow.
He backed this up with a large collection of case records he had painstakingly gathered.
Most convincing of all was the story of Chen Deng, who had died without cure.
Firstly, Chen Deng had been the Grand Administrator of Guangling.
North of Kuaiji lay Jianye—Jiangdong's heartland—and beyond the Yangtze lay Guangling. Calling it a neighboring region was not a stretch.
Secondly, Chen Deng's illness was not uncommon among the Shanyue.
After death, worms sometimes emerged from the body. Terrified, the Shanyue had named such afflictions "yin poison," "water gu parasites," or "inner cold sores."
Now, with two divine physicians vouching that such illnesses originated from raw food, the chieftains were finally persuaded. One by one, they vowed to strictly enforce the ban.
Ma Liang did not rely solely on himself.
He sent Dong Jue and the Wuling tribesmen along to explain these dangers among the people.
This was a deep incursion into Jiangdong's rear. Ma Liang had never intended to rely on Jing Province for support, so his preparations were meticulous.
The disease cases had all been learned from the disciples of Physician Hua—Wu Pu and Fan A, both eminent doctors.
For ease of explanation, Ma Liang personally wrote them down and added illustrations, ensuring that even the Wuling tribesmen could understand them and relay the message accurately.
The ban was never perfectly enforced—but those who violated it and fell ill became the strongest proof of its necessity.
The chieftains' respect for Ma Liang only deepened.
Over these six months, life among the Shanyue visibly improved.
Children and youths no longer suffered from miasma or water parasites.
Able-bodied men used curved plows to carefully till the land.
During the off-season, they prepared compost according to Master Ma's teachings.
Even the women were astonished—this Master Ma even understood weaving.
Ma Liang taught textile techniques simple by Jing Province standards, but advanced to the Shanyue.
And, "incidentally," he improved their looms—designs personally requested from Lady Huang.
The looms were simple, easy to make, and produced coarse cloth that was sturdy and durable.
At last, the chieftains' doubts vanished.
Whenever they saw Master Ma, they bowed deeply. Their curiosity and reverence for the distant Lord Xuande only grew.
To send Master Ma across such distances—truly the act of a benevolent man.
To inspire such a man to serve—surely the mark of great virtue.
But with Jiangdong's official mobilization, an old worry resurfaced.
Had Lord Xuande sent Master Ma here… to have them fight Jiangdong to the death?
Respecting the benefits Ma Liang had brought, the chieftains went straight to him with blunt honesty.
"Does Lord Xuande care for us… only to ask us to strike Jiangdong?"
After giving an answer that made them sigh in relief, Ma Liang bent down, examined the color of molten iron, and nodded in satisfaction.
Then he waved for them to speak outside.
Before they could say anything, Ma Liang spoke first.
"If I wished you to attack Jiangdong, I could have come in the first month by sea, carrying weapons."
"Place blades in your hands, and the Shanyue would naturally fight Jiangdong to the death."
"Why go through all this trouble?"
The chieftains fell silent.
And in their hearts… they knew he was right.
Their hatred for Jiangdong's great clans went beyond blood feuds.
Blood feuds were between people.
Jiangdong had never treated the Shanyue as people at all.
One chieftain softened his tone.
"Now that Jiangdong has betrayed its alliance and attacked Lord Xuande… does Master Ma truly not need our help?"
Ma Liang laughed.
"Fei Zhan—what scheme do you have that I wouldn't know?"
"You see Jiangdong is empty, and you wish to lead your warriors down the mountains to raid, correct?"
Fei Zhan fell silent.
Ma Liang continued, naming names.
"This is not your idea alone. You—Youtu. Peng Qi. Pan Lin."
The once-mighty chieftains now stood like chastened students, heads lowered.
Ma Liang sighed.
Among the Shanyue, some fled, some endured—but some were fierce. These four were of the latter sort.
Their thinking was easy to guess.
"You believe that since Jiangdong attacks your people without cause, you may rightfully retaliate against Jiangdong's common folk?"
One chieftain protested.
"Why not? I heard Chancellor Cao does exactly that!"
"And Sun Hou broke the alliance—what harm is a few villages?"
Ma Liang was unmoved.
"But my lord does not act so."
They fell silent.
"If you insist on placing the grudges of great clans upon Jiangdong's commoners," Ma Liang said calmly, "I would rather see you take these methods of survival and flee south to the sea."
They hastily promised never to raid civilians.
As for doubting Lord Xuande… they could not.
They had received too much.
To mock his integrity would be to slap their own faces.
Fei Zhan paced anxiously, then stopped.
"Master Ma, I'll speak plainly."
"I don't want to flee. I want to help Lord Xuande."
Others raised their heads—hope shining in their eyes.
"I don't understand restoring the Han," Fei Zhan said, "but if Lord Xuande wishes to pacify the realm, I want to help him take Jiangdong!"
"Good!"
Someone shouted.
"Take Jianye! Throw Sun Hou off his perch and invite Lord Xuande to sit!"
"We're Jiangdong people too—and I don't accept him as ruler!"
The Shanyue were direct to the core.
The scene erupted until Ma Liang climbed higher and raised his hand for silence.
Looking at their eager faces, his heart stirred.
Perhaps because of their Han blood, cultural unity required no effort. Their ancestors had been Han subjects since Emperor Wu's time.
Unlike the Wuling tribes—whose reconciliation had demanded everything he had, even swearing brotherhood with Shamoke.
The Shanyue…
They came too quickly.
"Follow me."
Still bare-chested, Ma Liang led them back into the smithy.
Iron had cooled into bars. A Wuling tribesman folded and hammered them repeatedly.
Dong Jue explained in plain terms nearby.
The chieftains understood—this was iron smelting.
Their lands were rich in ore, but lacked proper techniques. Their iron was brittle—worse than bronze.
Bronze, meanwhile, was too precious for weapons. Better to trade it secretly to Jiangdong.
A treasure mountain they could not enter.
Now, Ma Liang believed their basic survival was secured. It was time to improve tools.
Iron farming implements would make everything easier.
He picked up a ring-pommel saber and handed it to Fei Zhan.
"Try it."
Fei Zhan drew his own sword and struck.
A clear metallic ring—and his sword snapped in two.
"This is—?"
"Forged from Shanyue iron," Ma Liang said plainly.
Faces flushed red. Joy could not be contained.
They knew better than anyone what such weapons meant.
Fei Zhan shouted without hesitation:
"Jiangdong belongs to Lord Xuande!"
Dong Jue glanced back, shook his head, and continued teaching this crude smelting method.
No tall furnaces. No water-powered bellows. No true casting or fining.
But for farming tools—it was enough.
Ma Liang watched them rejoice, amused at how easily satisfied they were.
Then his thoughts drifted—to the light screen.
The last record he'd seen upon leaving Jing Province was the end of the An Lushan Rebellion.
He truly wished to return and see it again.
And if he could see Strategist Kongming in person—better yet.