These words were harsh, and the faces of the few constables standing nearby turned pale. Xiang Changqing was so enraged that his face turned crimson; he was just about to speak up in rebuke when Duan Jin stopped them.

Duan Jin gently set the bamboo basket on the ground, straightened up, and let his calm gaze sweep over the crowd.

He didn’t lose his temper; in fact, a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. His voice was soft but steady, reaching everyone’s ears clearly: “My fellow villagers, this land has lain fallow for more than a year or two. It pains you, and it pains me as well. I cannot guarantee that this plan will succeed, but if we do nothing, this land will remain barren forever. Land is lifeless, but people are alive—we must try it to see if it works.”

“Exactly. The magistrate spends his own money and provides us with food every day to tend our fields. Sun Tian, you’d better tone it down a bit.”

“You may not believe it, but we do.”

“If you don’t believe it, you can always just stop farming your own land.”

No one was entirely sure of the outcome, but since the land was their own—and they wouldn’t have to spend a single coin to have it cultivated, while even earning a little wage—no one wanted to let Sun Tian ruin this rare opportunity, so they all spoke up to rebuke him.

Sun Tian snorted, turned his head away, and though he said nothing more, his face still wore an expression of disbelief.

Duan Jin said no more. He walked to the edge of the field, picked up the plow, harnessed the oxen, and with a light flick of his whip, the oxen began to move forward.

The iron plow cut through the soft soil, leaving a deep furrow in its wake.

The other constables and laborers each claimed a plot of land, working in pairs—one plowing while the other scattered seeds.

Row after row of furrows stretched straight toward the rising sun, as if they could bring people endless hope.

Xiao Yunqing had arrived at some point, dressed in a neat outfit. He rolled up his sleeves and followed Duan Jin into the furrows to sow seeds.

As a prince of such high rank, he had never done such manual labor before, and his movements were quite clumsy. When he scattered the seeds, some fell too densely, some too sparsely, and some landed right outside the furrow.

Eunuch Liu stood nearby, stamping his feet in frustration: “Your Highness, you’re scattering them off-center! To the left, to the left—oh, no, to the right…”

Xiao Yunqing grew exasperated and thrust the basket toward Eunuch Liu. “You scatter them. I’ll steer the plow!”

Duan Jin watched his puffed-up expression and couldn’t help but chuckle. He whispered, “Your Highness, farming isn’t a game of make-believe. If you’re tired, go rest on the ridge—I’ve got this covered.”

“Who said I’m tired?” Xiao Yunqing retorted defiantly, grabbing another handful of seeds. “I refuse to believe I can’t even handle a task this simple.”

Duan Jin noticed the dirt clinging to his eyelashes and the streak of dust on the tip of his nose; his fair complexion had long since lost its usual luster. He couldn’t help but soften his voice: “You never even watered the flowers back in the palace. Now you’re willing to cover the costs of my saline-alkali land and spend every day rolling around in the fields with me—I’m already deeply grateful. But…”

He paused, the corners of his mouth curving upward slightly. “If you truly wish to help, why not go over there and assist with distributing the seeds? This side is all mud and water—you’ll only end up getting your clothes dirty.”

Xiao Yunqing looked down at the mudstains on the hem of his robe, and in the end, he relented. He stepped carefully out of the field and stood on the ridge, helping the villagers distribute the seeds.

Although he was born into a privileged family, he wasn’t at all haughty; he spoke to the common people in a friendly and approachable manner. When someone asked him what sesbania was, he patiently explained, explaining that it was a crop from the south, highly resistant to saline-alkali soil, and that planting it would improve the land.

Several elderly women were charmed into beaming with delight, and they all remarked that the young prince was truly a good man.

In addition to the recruited laborers, many elderly villagers from both villages came out to collect seeds—not just the men, but the elderly women and young brides as well, all volunteering to participate.

After all, this was their own land; there was no reason for them to stand by and watch the county magistrate spend money to hire others to work it while they themselves did nothing.

Though they couldn’t plow the fields themselves, they worked alongside the constables and laborers, scattering seeds from behind.

They were all seasoned farmers; watching Duan Jin’s demonstration, they immediately understood how to plant. In no time, the fields were filled with people, a scene of bustling activity.

As the sun climbed higher, Duan Jin’s back was soaked through, and beads of sweat the size of soybeans trickled down his cheeks. The short brown tunic, tied with a straw rope, clung to his body, outlining the contours of his sturdy shoulders and back.

Only after plowing two furrows himself did he finally straighten his back and exhale a long breath. He thought to himself, no wonder they say scholars are frail and bookish—this body was simply too frail. If he still had his old physique, plowing an acre of land would be a piece of cake.

Xiao Yunqing brought over a bowl of water and handed it to him. He took it and drank it in one gulp; his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as beads of sweat trickled down his neck and into the collar of his robe. Xiao Yunqing frowned and said, “You’re working yourself to the bone. You’re a Seventh-Rank County Magistrate, after all—do you really need to handle everything yourself?” 

Duan Jin fell silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping past Xiao Yunqing’s shoulder to the plot of land where the seeds had just been sown.

Sunlight bathed the field in a golden glow, as if it were draped in brocade. He said, “If this plot yields a good harvest, we’ll have an extra few hundred shi of grain next year—enough to feed over a thousand people. What does a little hard work mean to a seventh-rank county magistrate like me?”

Xiao Yunqing looked up at him. The sunlight cast a golden halo around his face, making his eyes and brows appear particularly deep and intense against the backlight.

He suddenly recalled the words his father, the Emperor, had once spoken: “Among the officials of the realm, capable officials are easy to find, and honest officials are easy to find; but officials who truly have the people in their hearts—they are the truly rare ones.”

He had never understood the meaning of those words before, but now, looking at Duan Jin’s sun-darkened face and his straw sandals caked in mud, he suddenly understood.

Over the next few days, Duan Jin went out to the fields to check on the crops every day. For the first three days, there was no sign of life; the soil remained just as it had been, and not even a hint of a green sprout could be seen.

On the fourth day, tiny cracks finally appeared on the surface, as if something beneath was straining to push its way up.

Early on the fifth day, just as Duan Jin had gotten out of bed and before he had a chance to step outside, Liu Cheng stumbled in, his face a mixture of shock and delight, stammering, “The… the seedlings have sprouted! Sir, they’ve sprouted! The sesbania has sprouted!”

Duan Jin hurriedly finished getting ready and rushed anxiously toward Bailang Village.

That field—that saline-alkali land that had lain fallow for who knows how many years—was now glistening with a layer of tender green.

Dense clusters of young sesbania seedlings had pushed their way up from the soil, their two plump leaves a glossy green, like countless tiny hands waving gently in the morning light. A thin morning mist hung over the fields, making the green appear hazy and indistinct, like a faint wash of color bleeding across an ink-wash painting.

A crowd had already gathered on the field ridges. The first to arrive were several elderly farmers from Bailang Village; they had come before dawn. Now, each of them was too overcome with emotion to speak. A few old men crouched on the ridges, gazing at the green shoots, their lips trembling.

Sun Tian was among the crowd. He stared at the fresh green covering the ground for a long, long time, then finally managed to say, “It’s grown… it really has grown…it’s not a dream, is it?”

Someone who’d always taken a dislike to Sun Tian’s sharp tongue took the opportunity to say, “Sun Tian, I remember you didn’t believe Magistrate Duan. What do you have to say now?”

“I heard you think it’s dirty—you don’t even compost the chicken and duck droppings from your own yard. Why don’t you just give them to me?” the man said with a smirk.

Sun Tian was deeply shaken at that moment and was secretly plotting to slip away when he spat out, “You’re dreaming.” Even if sesbania produced sprouts, he didn’t believe that stinking, filthy stuff could make the crops grow any better.

The few families who had believed him, however, were now filled with regret, already thinking about going home to ask their neighbors for advice on how to make compost.

An elderly woman tugged at Duan Jin’s sleeve, tears streaming down her weathered face. “Magistrate Duan, I’ve never seen a speck of green on this land in my entire life! Do you know? I married into Bailang Village when I was sixteen, and now I’m sixty-two—that’s over forty years! All this time, this land has been barren and white, with nothing growing on it! You’ve been here less than half a year, and now it’s sprouting! You are a great benefactor to our village!”

As she spoke, she tried to kneel, but Duan Jin quickly held her up. “Please don’t do that, old lady. This is simply my duty; I don’t deserve such a great honor.”

“You deserve it! You deserve it!” The old woman clung to him with trembling hands, refusing to let go. “You don’t know, but my old man was beaten with dozens of strokes of the cane by the previous county magistrate because we couldn’t pay taxes on this land. After he came home, he fell ill and never recovered—he passed away within a few months…” Her voice choked with emotion, and she could say no more. Those standing nearby also had tears welling in their eyes.

More and more people poured to the edge of the field—men, women, and children alike. Some carried baskets, some held children, and some supported one another, filling the entire ridge.

They gazed at the lush green seedlings. Some smiled, some wept, some knelt on the ground and kowtowed, and some raised their hands to the sky in prayer.

“Long live Magistrate Duan—no, Magistrate Duan, the Honest Magistrate!” Someone shouted, and the crowd immediately erupted, with cries of “Honest Magistrate” and “Magistrate Duan, our savior” rising in waves.

Duan Jin stood at the highest point of the field ridge, facing the dense crowd, his heart churning with indescribable emotions.

He raised his hand to signal for silence. His voice was hoarse from days of hard labor, yet every word rang out with conviction: “Fellow villagers, the seedlings have only just sprouted here; harvest is still a long way off. We still need to water, fertilize, and weed—every step must be done with care. I promise you here and now that as long as you are willing to work hard on the land, the county will provide its full support. And it’s not just this plot—I intend to transform all the saline-alkali land in the county into fertile fields!”

“Bravo! Bravo!” A thunderous chorus of cheers erupted from the crowd.

A burly young man pushed his way to the front, his voice booming so loud it echoed across the entire field: “Magistrate Duan, my name is Zhao Tiezhu, and I’m from Zhao Village. I used to doubt you could ever fix this saline-alkali land. I even cursed you in my heart, calling you a bookworm who only knows how to waste money and grain. But today, seeing these seedlings sprout with my own eyes, I, Zhao Tiezhu, am convinced! From now on, if you tell me to go east, I’ll never go west; if you tell me to plant something, I’ll plant it. And if anyone dares to say a single bad word about you, I’ll be the first to confront them!”

He spoke with sincerity, and several people nearby chimed in: “That’s right, I’m convinced too!” 

“Magistrate Duan, we were too quick to speak before—please don’t take it to heart!” 

“If you ever need our help in the future, just ask!”

Duan Jin looked at these simple, unassuming faces; his heart swelled with warmth, and his eyes began to sting.

He took a deep breath, just as he was about to speak, when suddenly a little girl emerged from the crowd, holding a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. She timidly held them out to him and said in a soft, high-pitched voice, “Sir, these are for you.”

He recognized the little girl; she was the daughter of Niu Dali, the square-faced man from the family that had borrowed water. The wildflowers in her hands were the most common dandelions—bright yellow and still glistening with dew.

Duan Jin crouched down to meet the little girl’s eye level, accepted the bouquet solemnly, and said earnestly, “Thank you. These flowers are beautiful.” The little girl giggled and ran back to her mother’s side.