New Ming Calendar, Year 8.
The capital library.
Night had long since fallen, yet the building remained lit.
Zhu Youjian, now serving as the librarian, walked quietly through the dim corridor until he reached the last pool of light still burning. He sighed when he saw the familiar figure seated beneath it.
"Mr. Zhao," he said, "the entire capital is asleep. Why are you still here? What are you reading so late?"
Zhao Sheng looked up and smiled, his eyes carrying a trace of distant memory.
"You know, this reminds me of something," he said. "More than ten years ago, I studied by lamplight in Shiyou Temple, hoping to pass the imperial exams. In the end, I was accused of reading military texts at night like Huang Chao preparing a rebellion. That accusation pushed me into rebellion for real. Back then, I even earned a nickname. 'Lamp-Lighter.'"
Zhu Youjian gave an awkward chuckle. "The conditions of that time… I bear a great deal of responsibility. I wronged you."
Zhao Sheng waved it off lightly. "That's all in the past. No point dwelling on it. Come, take a look at this. One of the Heavenly Books granted by Dao Xuan Tianzun."
"A Heavenly Book?" Zhu Youjian's interest was immediately piqued. He sat down beside Zhao Sheng.
The book in Zhao Sheng's hands had an unusual author's name, a foreign one: Henry Beachell.
Zhu Youjian blinked. "A foreigner?"
Zhao Sheng nodded. "Minister Wang Hui once said that these Heavenly Books come from Tianzun's celestial library, where writings from all realms are gathered. It is only natural that even Western immortals might have contributed."
Zhu Youjian nodded slowly. "I see."
Zhao Sheng tapped the page. "This man, Henry Beachell, studied rice. In this book, he describes a method for cultivating a kind of 'immortal grain.' Unfortunately, it is not suitable for large-scale use."
Zhu Youjian looked confused.
With a grin, Zhao Sheng pulled out another book. "Now this one is different. Written by one of our own."
Zhu Youjian leaned closer. The author's surname was Yuan.
Zhao Sheng's tone grew lively. "This great figure is known as the Father of Hybrid Rice. When it comes to rice, no one surpasses our own people."
Zhu Youjian still looked puzzled. "What exactly do these Heavenly Books do?"
Zhao Sheng leaned back, his voice turning serious. "You do not need the technical details. Just understand this. If we can replicate the hybrid rice method described here, our yields could double, triple, even increase fivefold. The more we dare, the more the land can produce."
Zhu Youjian sucked in a breath.
As a former emperor, no one understood better than he did the weight of grain.
The great drought at the beginning of his reign had not turned into a nationwide rebellion for no reason. It was hunger that broke the empire. If such rice had existed back then, history might have taken a different path.
His voice trembled slightly. "Mr. Zhao… how far have you progressed?"
Zhao Sheng smiled. "By day, I experiment in the fields. By night, I study here, reading and rereading these books. Give me five years. I will recreate this hybrid rice."
Zhu Youjian straightened. "Then it must succeed. It has to succeed."
Zhao Sheng chuckled. "Leave it to me."
Zhu Youjian lifted a lamp. "Then I shall hold the light for you."
…
Three years later. New Ming Calendar, Year 11. Autumn.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, people gradually left the library. Zhu Youjian cleaned as usual, glancing toward the corner where Zhao Sheng always sat.
But today, he was not there.
A flicker of worry crossed his face. "Could he be ill?"
Suddenly, a figure came running from afar.
"Librarian! Librarian!"
Zhu Youjian looked up and immediately recognized him. Relief spread across his face. "Mr. Zhao, you are late today. I thought you would not come."
Zhao Sheng was practically shouting as he ran. "It's done! It's done! Come with me. To the fields."
Zhu Youjian froze for a moment, then his expression lit up. "You mean… it worked?"
Without another word, he followed.
They had not even run two hundred meters before Zhao Sheng began gasping for breath.
"Careful," Zhu Youjian said quickly. "Your asthma is not fully healed. Do not overexert yourself. Ah… this is bad. It is getting dark. The buses have stopped running."
Just then, a dazzling golden vehicle rolled past the road outside the library. A five-clawed golden dragon ornament stood proudly at its front.
Zhu Cunji leaned out from the driver's seat and laughed. "Well, if it is not Youjian and Mr. Zhao. Long time no see. How have you been?"
Zhu Youjian beamed. "Perfect timing. We need a ride."
Zhu Cunji grinned. "Then you have found the right man. Hop in."
The shining vehicle carried them out of the city toward the experimental fields.
The land they reached had once been Zhu Youjian's imperial estate. He remembered when He Fengsheng and Liang Shixian had experimented with fertilizers there, turning it into a sea of gold.
Now, as the vehicle moved through the fields, the sight before them was even more astonishing.
Golden rice stretched endlessly, heavy with grain, each stalk bending under its own abundance.
Zhu Youjian's mouth fell open. "Incredible… truly incredible."
He stared in awe. "The Heavenly Books deserve their name. This Master Yuan… truly lives up to his title."
Zhao Sheng laughed. "Did I not say so? When it comes to rice, our own masters are unmatched."
After a long while, Zhao Sheng exhaled. "Well then. We have seen it. Let us return."
Zhu Cunji glanced at the sky. "It is already fully dark."
Zhu Youjian blinked. "So?"
Zhu Cunji pointed ahead.
The problem became obvious immediately.
These early steam-powered cars had no headlights.
In complete darkness, the road vanished. One wrong turn, and they would end up in the fields.
Zhu Youjian and Zhao Sheng exchanged a look.
In the end, the two of them held up lanterns, lighting the way while Zhu Cunji drove at an agonizingly slow pace. By the time they returned to the city, all three were drenched in sweat.
…
That year, Zhao Sheng successfully cultivated hybrid rice. The people revered him, yet he refused all credit, urging them instead to thank the great Master Yuan.
By Year 12, hybrid rice began spreading across the nation.
By Year 15, grain production surged.
By Year 20, improvements continued without pause.
By Year 25, yields rose again, wave after wave.
By Year 30, Zhao Sheng had grown old. His asthma made long walks difficult, and he wished to obtain a driver's license so he could travel between fields more easily. However, he had exceeded the official age limit.
In recognition of his immense contributions, the authorities granted him a special license.
Chang'an Automobile Factory gifted him their latest model, the "Deep Blue."
From that day forward, Zhao Sheng finally drove himself to the fields, continuing to watch over the rice that would feed a nation.