Chapter 824 – Are You the Master or Father? (1)
In the heavenly Lingxiao Palace, on Earth, the Shangyang Palace.
The Shangyang Palace is not just the eastern Qing imperial palace; it is also the gathering place for the world’s wealth and nobility.
“Back in the day, the capital city and the Shangyang Palace were bustling with prosperity… Now, only ruins remain… Is there someone living in the distance?”
Wei Ci lifted the carriage curtain, wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead, and gazed at the overgrown ruins in front of him, feeling quite emotional.
It was mid-summer now, and the scorching sun hung directly overhead, making one’s skin feel like it was on fire.
“This is still the capital, a treasure trove where wealthy families gather. An earthquake struck suddenly back then, causing many homes to collapse, all buried under the ruins. The refugees gathered here, scavenging for wealth beneath the debris to survive… That’s why scattered villages slowly started to form nearby…”
Zhang Ping, dressed in coarse hemp clothes with his long hair tied up in a cloth, would likely be mistaken for an ordinary farmer if not for his unmistakable scholarly aura. He took a straw hat from the cart and offered it to Wei Ci to shield him from the sun, “Let’s investigate a bit first, and then we can decide.”
The once seemingly bustling capital, with a transient population of hundreds of thousands, had now become a desolate place where one could go half a day without seeing a soul.
In just over two years, the wild vines had overrun the ruins, and occasionally a few mice could be spotted scurrying about.
Wei Ci and Zhang Ping brought over ten thousand laborers, planning to recruit the remaining workforce locally to take this opportunity to absorb refugees and reduce potential risks.
The two spent several days roaming the capital city and the surrounding high mountains, figuring out the local terrain and re-planning the city layout.
With an exceptional memory, Wei Ci had a near-perfect recollection, quickly mastering the terrain in just a few days and sketching it out on paper. After some consultation, the two adjusted the layout of the district based on the original blueprint of the capital.
“I really wonder if there’s anything in this world you can’t do…”
Zhang Ping returned from outside, his exposed cheeks and neck sunburned dark red by the relentless sun, his clothes soaked with sweat, drying and re-wetting all day. He was parched and felt like his throat was on fire as he rushed back in for a drink.
He saw a large piece of bamboo paper spread out on Wei Ci’s table, with a detailed map of the city drawn in fine charcoal lines.
As for why Wei Ci was using charcoal made from charcoal that had been reshaped, Zhang Ping chose not to ask further.
“Sometimes human strength is limited, and one cannot go against fate. I am but a mere mortal, and there are many things I can’t do.”
Wei Ci smiled as he carefully rolled up the finished product from his late-night sketching and pulled out another scroll of paper, gradually unfolding it.
Compared to the previous blueprint that looked like it was meticulously drawn with a ruler, this one appeared much more casual.
“This map shows the nearby villages, mountains, and forests around the old capital… These spots have very sticky soil, suitable for crafting blue bricks; there are also scattered villages nearby, adding up to a scale of about a thousand people. We can recruit the locals to construct a road directly leading to the capital. The materials needed for the city—wood, stone, and clay—are massive in volume; we can’t just rely on one area…”
The materials for building a city are cheap, but the transportation costs are high.
Wei Ci calculated carefully, intending to first spend manpower to build the main road, and only begin construction of the city after everything was prepared. The vast capital’s ruins needed to be carefully cleared out; use what could be used and figure out how to deal with what couldn’t to save costs.
Zhang Ping nonchalantly waved his hand and said, “Just take the lead on this; I’ll follow your lead.”
Wei Ci’s expression stiffened slightly, casting a resentful look at Zhang Ping.
This is what you call a pig teammate, referring to someone like Zhang Ping.
Under the blazing sun, Zhang Ping and his companions were sweating profusely while their superior, Jiang Pengji, was leisurely chatting with Cheng Cheng while holding a watermelon.
The yield of watermelons was limited, mostly supplied to subordinates who had shown merit, while the remaining portion was sent to the Zhi Ke Zhai, a restaurant catering to patrons.
With Jiang Pengji’s support, the official restaurant—Zhi Ke Zhai—had opened across Wanzhou, with every county under its jurisdiction. Thanks to its innovative dishes and business model, it quickly established a firm foothold in the area. Following Jiang Pengji’s directives, Zhi Ke Zhai took a mid-to-high-end route, openly sharing the menu of ordinary home-cooked dishes with the common people to prevent competition and protect their livelihoods.
The more Zhi Ke Zhai opened, the more job opportunities it created, providing settlements for disabled soldiers or families of those who had fallen in battle.
When did the common people ever see a curious fruit like a watermelon?
In no time, the business of Zhi Ke Zhai flourished significantly, with daily profits on the rise.
Jiang Pengji munched on watermelon while reviewing the accounts sent from various Zhi Ke Zhai establishments.
“The business of Zhi Ke Zhai is quite good, but the profits aren’t substantial.”
The internal affairs of the kitchen were managed by Cheng Cheng’s wife, and he didn’t know much about business, but he understood that restaurants don’t make much money.
After glancing at the accounts, Jiang Pengji felt slightly satisfied.
The shopkeepers at various Zhi Ke Zhai establishments were relatively clever, not indulging in any shady dealings, so she finished her review without taking too long.
“In such a vast Wanzhou, how could we rely solely on the business of Zhi Ke Zhai to sustain expenses? How much profit we make is not important.” Jiang Pengji smiled and said, “Back then, the establishment of Zhi Ke Zhai was merely to provide a place for disabled soldiers and the dependents of those who had perished… Profit isn’t the key; the important thing is to stabilize people’s minds. When soldiers see their families properly settled, they can fight with peace of mind on the battlefield. If they’re not taken care of, it discourages the soldiers and could lead to those individuals becoming refugees… Mr. Cheng, with your greater experience, you should know well what chaos can arise when the number of refugees increases…”
How many bandits were once refugees?
What’s the difference between ancient refugees and modern-day ones in times of chaos?
Wherever there are many refugees, societal security deteriorates, leading to frequent crimes.
Thefts and fights are minor issues; the real fear is home invasions and massacres of innocents—such examples abound.
How could Wanzhou stabilize?
Was it not because the number of refugees had decreased, and more were being welcomed back into their homes and fields?
Cheng Cheng pondered on Jiang Pengji’s words, and after a moment of reflection, a spark of insight flashed in his mind.
“Could it be that the governor’s construction of the district office is also for this reason?”
Cheng Cheng initially thought that Jiang Pengji had spent wealth to build the district office for her own comfort, then he reflected that it was unlikely.
Now, hearing her explanation, he finally understood.
Spending a massive sum to build the district office was secondary; the real goal was to provide a multitude of jobs to attract refugees to work.
In many commoners’ eyes, corvée labor was seen as unpaid, back-breaking work that could easily lead to death; no one was willing to do it.
Yet, Jiang Pengji here had blazed a trail, implementing a paid system to draw the populace to labor.
Even if the scale of the district office was smaller than the former capital, it could still offer tens of thousands of jobs, drastically reducing the number of refugees.
