Chapter 166: The Society of Heaven and Earth

“One trial after another, and we’ve finally overcome,” Wu Nanhai sighed, gazing out at the undulating sea of rice, a bountiful harvest shimmering on the horizon. In the distance, the Meitaiyang Plain bustled with the construction of new high-yield fields, a sight that warmed his heart.

The first early-season rice planting had been a difficult journey, and the harvest had fallen short of expectations, but it had been a crucible of learning. They had forged practical solutions to the myriad problems they faced. At the current pace, he estimated the 1,500 mu of new high-yield fields would be ready for sowing by August—just in time for the late-season crop.

Achieving a modern yield of two thousand jin per mu was, of course, impossible. He conservatively estimated the experimental fields could reach 800 jin per mu—a figure that was nothing short of miraculous in Lincheng County.

The rain-fed fields, however, had yielded lackluster results, managing only 300 to 400 jin per mu. Wu Nanhai had also discovered that without proper agricultural supplies and meticulous field management, the performance of hybrid rice was not significantly better than ordinary lodging-resistant varieties. The yield gap was a mere 50 to 100 jin more per mu.

Nonetheless, this achievement, combined with the bumper sweet potato harvest in April, had sent shockwaves through Lincheng County. Landlords from all corners were desperately trying to discover the secret of the “Australian” seeds. The workers of the collective farm became overnight celebrities. If recognized on the road, they were immediately pulled aside for a drink, their questioners fishing for information. A few wealthy farmers and minor landlords even offered their daughters in marriage for a change of allegiance. Others tried to curry favor with the farm’s staff, hoping to procure some of the miraculous seeds come harvest time.

Wu Nanhai remained unconcerned. Saving seeds from hybrid rice was a fool’s errand, and the sweet potatoes would turn toxic if not processed correctly. Without the support of the Agriculture Committee’s technical infrastructure, such miracles were not replicable. Still, for the sake of appearances, he convened several large meetings, announcing a strict ban on the outflow of seedlings. The punishment for any caught smuggling was to be “sent to the Labor Reform Team.”

The “Labor Reform Team” had become a name that struck terror into the hearts of the local workers. Its captain, Fu Youdi, had cultivated a reputation nearly as fearsome as Himmler’s. To instill a proper respect for the law, Wu De periodically organized “tours” of the facility for the local populace, a grim reminder of how fortunate they were to serve the transmigrators with loyalty and diligence.

Those with connections to the transmigrator group, like Zhang Youfu—the go-between during last year’s peace talks with the county government—would occasionally visit Wu De, subtly hinting at their desire for the new seeds. As for Fu Bu’er, the former captive turned representative of Meiyang Village, he heard the “Kun bandits” had worked new magic, harvesting a staggering seven or eight hundred jin of rice in a single season. He could not remain idle. He rushed to Dongmen Market to find Ma Peng, hoping the man could serve as an intermediary to some important figure at the farm. “A little silver,” he assured, “will not be a problem.”

Ma Peng, however, waved his concerns away. “The Chiefs are establishing a ‘Society of Heaven and Earth’ to help everyone with their farming. If you want to learn their methods, just go to the society’s office in Dongmen Market and register.”

“Tiandihui?” Fu Bu’er was perplexed. “As in, ‘adding a younger brother’?”

“No, the Society of Heaven and Earth,” Ma Peng corrected. “As in the heavens above and the earth below.”

Fu Bu’er hurried to Dongmen Market. Near the edge of Dongmen Street, a new two-story building stood tall. Before it was an incongruous wooden memorial archway, bearing the three large characters for “Society of Heaven and Earth.” It was flanked by a couplet:

An earthquake shakes the high ridge, yet the streams and mountains remain beautiful for a thousand ages; Our gate faces the great sea, where the waters of the Triad flow for ten thousand years.

Muttering his courage, Fu Bu’er stepped inside. A receptionist listened to his request and handed him a registration form. Though he knew a few characters, Fu Bu’er was functionally illiterate and had to ask for assistance. The form asked for the usual details: name, address, family size, and so on. Then came the question of land: how many mu he owned, and how much was irrigated versus dry.

Fu Bu’er opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. A flicker of suspicion, the ingrained wisdom of a thousand years of peasants exploited by officialdom, made him cautious. After a moment’s thought, he claimed his family had only fifty mu of irrigated land. In truth, they owned over four hundred mu—three hundred irrigated and over a hundred dry. Who knew what these Kun people truly intended with their so-called “Society of Heaven and Earth”? It was always best to hedge one’s bets.

After he was registered, the clerk gave him a numbered bamboo token. He was told to return to the Society’s office on the first day of the next month for a general meeting, which would be presided over by the president himself, Ye Yuming.

Fu Bu’er was confused. “I came to buy seeds.”

The clerk smiled. “It’s not quite so simple. First, you must attend the meeting. President Ye will explain everything.”

A knot of anxiety tightened in Fu Bu’er’s stomach. “May I ask… is there a fee to join?”

“A fee?” The clerk glanced at the form. “With only fifty mu of irrigated land, you’re considered a middle peasant. You likely won’t have to pay. Only the large households with extensive landholdings are required to pay. It’s a ‘technical service fee’.” The clerk consulted his papers. “Charged per mu.”

What a relief! Fu Bu’er silently congratulated himself. Just as he’d suspected, there was no such thing as a free lunch. A fee was involved! He was lucky he had only reported fifty mu. Otherwise, he would have been saddled with another tax for no good reason. All officials were cut from the same cloth! Still, the Kun people seemed to show some consideration for the smaller households. He might even get his seeds for free.

Fu Bu’er walked out of the Society of Heaven and Earth’s office, pleased with his own cunning. He plotted as he went: once he had the seeds for fifty mu, not a single grain would go to his tenants. He would personally lead his long-term laborers in the planting. Then, he would carefully select the best plants for seed, and by next year, all his irrigated fields would be sown with the new variety.

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“The president of the Society of Heaven and Earth is no longer Chen Bachi,” Ye Yuming thought with a smirk. Ye Bachi… that doesn’t have a good ring to it at all.

He stood in a meeting room on the second floor of the Society’s new headquarters. The freshly whitewashed walls were still slightly damp, and the black paint on the blackboard at the head of the room was not yet dry. This space was intended for future promotional meetings with clients. Training itself would be a hands-on affair at the farm.

The room was already filled with personnel from the Agriculture Committee, the Civil Affairs Committee, and other relevant departments. They were gathered for the first “Agricultural Work Conference” to hammer out the operational details of the Society of Heaven and Earth.

Everyone agreed that using the Society as a public-facing organization to promote agricultural technology was a brilliant move. Demand for new farming techniques was already palpable among the county’s farmers and landlords.

Originally, Ye Yuming had envisioned the society as a simple entity for providing small poultry loans and engaging in contract farming, supplemented with basic technical training for local farmers. But after days of discussion, the plan’s scope had expanded dramatically.

The new Society of Heaven and Earth would have two divisions: the Heaven Department for technology and the Earth Department for promotion.

Their improved seeds and agricultural technologies would be marketed to two distinct client groups:

First, the landlords—defined as those who owned and directly managed over one hundred mu of land, either cultivating it themselves or with hired labor. These were termed “managerial landlords.”

The promotion of advanced planting technology was primarily aimed at this group. The model was straightforward: the Society would supply the seeds and train the field management personnel. In the first year, the Heaven Department would dispatch its own people to assist the landlords with field management, simultaneously training the landlord’s own staff. Naturally, this technology came with a price—a “patent fee” bundled into a service package with the seeds. The fee was designed to introduce the concept of intellectual property rights from the very beginning.

Thereafter, clients would pay an annual membership fee. In return, the Society of Heaven and Earth would provide a continuous supply of improved seeds and essential services, such as pest and disease control, technical guidance, and the supply of pesticides and fertilizers.

“Hold on,” Ye Yuming interjected. “Fertilizer is one thing—we have lignite and the synthetic ammonia industry is on its way. But pesticides? Where do we get those? Don’t we need an organic chemistry industry for that?”

“We’ll use local pesticides,” said Wu Nanhai. He had already gained considerable experience with indigenous pesticides during the early-season planting and spoke with confidence. “The success of this early rice harvest was largely due to them. They’re not as potent as modern pesticides, of course, but they are effective.”

“Bordeaux mixture? Copper sulfate and limewater? How effective is that? I thought it was for fruit trees. Can you use it on rice?” Ye Yuming dredged up memories from high school biology.

“Bordeaux mixture is a protectant. Sprayed before a disease emerges, it works well and the effect lasts for two weeks. It’s very effective against downy mildew, less so against rust. For other early inorganic pesticides, there’s the lime-sulfur mixture. It’s an excellent fungicide, especially for rust and powdery mildew. It has a lasting effect and even deters some insects,” Wu Nanhai explained, sounding like an expert who had spent weeks buried in old textbooks. “For rice pests, there’s a local formula called ‘Huangkou Tu 666’. It’s a mix of Chinese medicinal herbs and simple inorganic compounds, and it’s effective against rice aphids. There must be many more such formulas out there.”

He continued with growing excitement, “I plan to propose that the Executive Committee establish a pesticide factory and a local fertilizer factory under the Agriculture Committee. In the Ming Dynasty, these two things alone are superweapons. Besides our own use, we can sell them. People will be lining up to buy!”

Wan Lihui chimed in, “The profit margin on external sales would be low. The products are too bulky and heavy for their value.”

“Not a problem,” Wu Nanhai countered. “The first year, we’ll use the Society of Heaven and Earth to distribute them. Besides supplying members, we can give free samples to villages in the green and blue zones. By the second year, we can sell them across the county. Let the farmers handle transport. Volume and weight are irrelevant when the cost is so low. The cost of local pesticides is almost entirely labor; the raw materials are dirt cheap.”

“But Commissioner Wu,” Wan Lihui asked, still puzzled, “I don’t understand the regulation. Why are we only targeting ‘managerial landlords’? Aren’t all landlords the same?”