Traveling back to the Northern Song Dynasty: Picking up a princess as my wife

The biting wind of the northern desert, carrying the stench of blood, swept across the withered grass. Xue Fugui tightened the collar of his fox fur coat, his gaze sweeping over the rising black smoke in the distance. A caravan of camels from COFCO Oil was slowly moving along the cracked riverbed, the bronze camel bells ringing crisply in the chilling wind.

"Stop!" The guide at the front suddenly raised his scimitar.

The camel caravan immediately stopped, and the well-trained camels knelt down in unison. Xue Fugui landed, his boots brushing against several bloodstained scales. As he bent down to pick them up, he discovered that the inner layer of the scales was engraved with a wolf head totem—a unique mark of the Western Mongolian tribes.

The sound of hooves came from behind a mound thirty paces away, and seven Khanate cavalrymen swept up to the caravan like a whirlwind. The centurion leading the group had a centipede-shaped scar on his face, and his gold-inlaid saber pried open the outermost cargo box, spilling brown tea bricks onto the ground.

"Sir, we are a caravan from the Han Kingdom, and our camels are full of the finest Anhua black tea." Xue Fugui said with a smile, handing over a silver wine pot, the dark patterns on its surface gleaming eerily in the sunlight.

Scarface's gaze suddenly froze on the white camel in the middle of the caravan. Xue Fugui followed his gaze, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his inner shirt—the straw ropes binding the goods had somehow come undone, revealing a section of ebony hilt. It was a goose-feather sword forged from the fine iron of the Jin Dynasty, which had just been inspected by the envoys of the rebellious Khanate tribes last night.

“This tea brick…” the centurion suddenly spoke, his saber flashing coldly in the air, “Why does it taste rusty?”

Before he could finish speaking, Old Wu, one of the caravan's workers, suddenly sprang into action, firing three arrows at Scarface with a crossbow hidden in his sleeve. Xue Fugui rolled towards the camel's belly and ripped open the fuse of a grenade disguised as a food bag.

With a deafening roar, three warhorses reared up. Xue Fugui leaped onto the white camel, ripped off the oiled paper covering the tea brick, revealing twenty gleaming, cold-looking longswords. Just then, the Mongol tribe's reinforcements arrived from the southeast, their wolf-head banners fluttering in the wind.

That night in the rebel camp, Xue Fugui used a silver needle to pry open the hidden compartment of a wine jug and retrieved a secret letter soaked in medicine. In the flickering firelight, the deployment map of the Mongol Khanate's western army gradually came into view. Suddenly, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the tent. He quickly threw the letter into the brazier and turned to see Urentuya lifting the curtain and entering; the female leader's leather armor was still stained with fresh blood.

"Manager Xue, you have some good methods." She tossed over the blood-stained Khanate command arrow, "But next time you transport crossbow parts, remember to smear the arrowheads with horse manure."

Xue Fugui smiled and took out the jade abacus from his pocket; the jade beads gleamed with a faint green light in the firelight.

"Hahaha... Chief Urentuya is truly a woman who is just as capable as any man. This time I have brought a lot of weapons from the Han Kingdom, enough for your tribes to use. However, I have to double the price this time, because you should know that I was almost killed by the Mongol soldiers."

Scenes like this kept playing out on the grasslands. Naza, who was commanding his army in the Western Mongolian region to fight against those tribes, also learned about the Han state selling weapons to the Mongolian tribes.

Naza's expression was solemn, his gaze sharp as he turned to Wan Hanzhong, his tone carrying an unquestionable authority: "Mr. Wan, what are your thoughts on the matter of Han State selling weapons to those Mongol tribes?"

Upon hearing this, Wan Hanzhong smiled calmly, his eyes gleaming with shrewdness: "Your Majesty's concern for the affairs of the state is truly wise. The Han Kingdom is teeming with merchants, and it's inevitable that a few greedy individuals will disregard the prohibitions and sell such goods to those Mongol tribes who have abandoned the grasslands. Please rest assured, Your Majesty, I will immediately write a letter to the Han Kingdom to inquire about the details of this matter and will surely give Your Majesty a satisfactory answer."

Leaving Wan Hanzhong's tent, Naza's face grew increasingly gloomy. He whispered to the Mongol general standing beside him, "Keep a close watch. Don't miss any movement. Report back to me immediately." After speaking, he turned and left, his back revealing an unyielding decisiveness and coldness.

The official road, soaked by spring rain, smelled of fresh grass. Li Zhen reined in his horse and gazed at the distant, sprawling farmland. The smoke signals that had hung over Huining Prefecture, the capital of the Jin Dynasty, three years ago seemed to still linger before his eyes, but now they were covered by the scent of freshly turned earth. He reached for the brocade pouch at his waist, where the last bag of hybrid rice seeds—from the mysterious space bound to his soul—was kept.

"Your Majesty, Qing Shi Town is just ahead." Minister of Agriculture Zhang Mingyuan wiped the sweat from his forehead; the hem of his official robes was covered in mud.

This middle-aged official, who came from a humble background, was currently comparing the data with the leather-bound "Agricultural Records," repeatedly checking the tables in his hand: "According to the data relayed back by the post station, 70% of the arable land here has been replaced with new crops."

Li Zhen nodded, his gaze sweeping over the gleaming irrigation ditches in the fields. That was the cement irrigation system he had championed last year, defying all opposition, and now it was channeling melted snow water to the tender green wheat seedlings. Suddenly, a sound of arguing came from the field ridges.

"Old man, you really can't mix these seeds!" The village head, dressed in a short linen coat, squatted by the edge of the field, holding a wooden measuring cup. "Look, these potatoes should be planted with a row spacing of one foot and two inches..."

"What do you young people know!" The white-haired old farmer clutched the dark red tubers tightly, refusing to let go. "Our ancestors have always grown a mix of grains and beans. Even if this taro is precious, we have to follow the old ways!"

Li Zhen gestured for the guards to stay put, then approached, his footsteps piercing the dew. The damp spring breeze lifted the hem of his rough linen coat, revealing the gold-embroidered lining underneath. Zhang Mingyuan was about to speak when a single glance from Li Zhen silenced him.

"Brother, how are these new seeds?" He squatted down, his fingertips brushing against the newly sprouted seedlings.

The old farmer's cloudy eyes suddenly lit up: "Young man, you've also planted this heaven-sent grain?"

He lowered his voice mysteriously, "I heard this is a treasure the Emperor brought from the celestial realm!"

A rough palm opened, revealing three golden kernels of corn. "The county government said yesterday when they delivered it that each stalk can produce two ears!"

Li Zhen couldn't help but chuckle. The "New Chapter of Shennong" that he had commissioned the Ministry of Agriculture to compile last year had indeed had an unexpected impact on the people. Just as he was about to speak, he suddenly saw the old farmer pull out an oilcloth package from his bosom, and after peeling back the layers, he found a well-worn booklet.

"This is......"

"The Illustrated Explanation of Farming and Weaving issued by the county school!"

The old man proudly pointed to the simple drawing above, "I followed the method in the drawing to build a greenhouse, and look, these eggplant seedlings were planted half a month earlier than in previous years." His muddy fingernails scratched across the pages, leaving a yellow mark on the composting diagram.

Zhang Mingyuan suddenly coughed lightly.

Li Zhen turned his head and saw several yamen runners rushing towards the town entrance. The leader's bronze badge gleamed bluish in the sunlight—it was the performance evaluation badge he had personally designed. The magistrate on duty hurriedly stood up and bowed, revealing the three small characters "Encouragement of Agriculture" embroidered on his inner shirt.

"No need to make a fuss." Li Zhen helped the village head, who was about to kneel, and glanced at the fresh mud on the soles of the man's shoes.

This is the "traveling thirty li a day along the field ridges" requirement of the new policy, and it seems to be being implemented well. He looked at the clerks in the distance who were measuring the fields; the copper rulers in their hands were engraved with uniform markings, replacing the old method of measuring with rice straw.

As dusk deepened, Li Zhen stood on the second floor of the post station, watching the endless stream of grain carts on the official road. The cart tracks were exceptionally clear on the improved cement surface, and the sacks laden with grain bore the markings of different prefectures. Suddenly, a strange rumbling sound came from the southeast.

“Your Majesty, it’s the water-powered mill of the Yongfeng Canal.” Zhang Mingyuan unfolded the map, his fingertip landing on the area marked with a red circle. “According to the blueprints you provided, the Ministry of Works built these…” He paused, then continued, “…these automated processing stations.”

Li Zhen gazed at the startled birds taking flight on the horizon, recalling the steam engine model he hadn't yet retrieved from his spatial storage. The Han Kingdom's territory unfolded in his palm under the twilight, like a hybrid rice plant sprouting ears in an old farmer's hand, each new leaf holding the secrets of a civilization spanning millennia.

Li Zhen believed that if he injected more futuristic technology into this era, the people of Han would surely live a happy and prosperous life. China had already suffered too much hardship, and Li Zhen believed that Heaven had sent him from the modern era to change history. As for the future? He'd just have to wait and see.