Chapter 11: Coal and Fodder

Chapter 11: Coal and Feed

Li Tai let out a sigh of relief; at least his decisions could be further implemented, and that was enough for him.

Li Shimin watched Li Tai leave and immediately summoned Du Ruhui and Fang Xuanling. He briefly explained how Li Tai, using commercial methods, circulated the little ducks in his care to those in need. To Li Shimin, his son’s performance was remarkable, and naturally, he felt proud.

Fang Xuanling pondered for a moment and said slowly, “Although the Prince of Yue is gifted and intelligent, he has methodically advanced the locust control plan step by step. Particularly notable is how he took responsibility for the errors of the Ministry of Agriculture, turning an adversary into an ally—truly a shrewd way to handle matters. Now, by employing commercial means without increasing the Ministry’s burden, he has increased the duck population throughout Chang’an. It’s hard to believe such accomplishments come from a mere youth; he must have capable people behind him!”

“A young gentleman from Qinghe named Ma Zhou has indeed come to Qingque’s side,” Li Shimin nodded. Li Tai had already recorded the recruitment of Ma Zhou in his diary. To Li Shimin, Ma Zhou was a talented individual personally recruited by Li Tai.

Under Li Tai’s heartfelt diary entries, Ma Zhou was evidently marked as part of Li Tai’s faction. Any attempt by Ma Zhou to whitewash his identity and curry favor with Li Shimin was simply a dream.

Li Shimin added, “Since his arrival, Qingque’s performance has been astonishing. It is Ma Zhou’s repeated advice that has made him a true talent.”

“Such a man by the Prince of Yue’s side might not be fully utilized,” Fang Xuanling mused.

“Li Tai regards him as a mentor and friend; there’s no need to separate them,” Li Shimin shook his head. “However, if this locust control effort truly succeeds, Ma Zhou might officially become a military advisor to the Prince of Yue’s mansion, rightfully assisting Li Tai.”

Hearing Li Shimin’s words, neither Du Ruhui nor Fang Xuanling said more.

In officialdom, outcomes often determine one’s fate. If Li Tai could indeed suppress the locust plague, no one would fault his commercial methods or his tender age of eight.

But if the locust control plan failed, Li Tai’s involvement in state affairs would likely have to wait until adulthood.

In a sense, Li Tai’s political career hinged entirely on this locust control effort.

Yet for Li Tai, he had already done all he could in this matter.

From now on, it was only a question of whether his series of measures could suppress the locusts.

Do what one can, leave the rest to fate—that was all there was.

With Li Shimin’s approval, Li Tai returned to the duck farm and found Ma Zhou.

“Thank you, sir. Until the locust issue is resolved, this duck farm may be under my management. Once the farm is successfully managed, I believe Father will naturally hand it over to me.”

Ma Zhou nodded. Although the plan was simple, to Li Tai it was essentially laying the foundation.

The purpose was to demonstrate Li Tai’s managerial talent before Li Shimin, encouraging him to grant further authority.

Whether through the Ministry’s promotion or through Li Tai’s own revelation of the forces behind these ducks, the ultimate goal was for Li Shimin to actively seek out Li Tai, who would then present his locust control strategy face-to-face.

The specifics of the locust control plan mattered less than the fact that Li Tai’s commercial approach catered comprehensively to all parties.

Only in this way could Li Tai’s managerial abilities be casually displayed to Li Shimin, convincing him through tangible results.

If Li Tai were already an adult, none of this would be necessary; he could simply make his demands.

Given Li Shimin’s affection for Li Tai, he would undoubtedly grant him at least one opportunity.

But now, at eight years old, Li Tai had to create established facts and let those facts speak for themselves.

And by showcasing his managerial talent, everything else would fall into place.

After all, as emperor, Li Shimin would not envy twenty thousand ducks; what mattered most to him was the hearts of the people.

If Li Tai could use ducks to suppress the locust disaster, then duck farms would become permanent fixtures for future pest control.

As the initiator of the duck farm and a capable manager, Li Tai could smoothly obtain its management rights.

Moreover, although private commercial activities by officials were naturally forbidden in the Tang dynasty, trade conducted under the court’s name was accepted.

In truth, while officials were legally barred from commerce, many privately engaged in trade through proxies.

Li Tai, however, wished to avoid potential attacks from Li Chengqian and thus did not want to rely on proxies.

He also did not seek personal indulgence; as long as he succeeded in locust control and had Li Shimin invest the duck farm’s profits into his agricultural academy, money itself was insignificant to him.

“But how shall we handle the money earned from selling the ducklings?” Ma Zhou asked. “Though not earning a fortune daily, in just half a month we’ve acquired dozens of fine bolts of silk!”

Li Tai replied, “I’ve recovered the funds from the Ministry of Agriculture. Along with this money, let’s purchase a coal mine. To hatch these ducks and sustain the farm, coal and feed are essential.

“Thanks to our cooperation with the Ministry, feed should be manageable—both Dou Jing and Zhao Yuankai will save face for us. But we have no ties with the Directorate of Imperial Workshops. Relying solely on the Prince of Yue’s name for coal resources will likely provoke censors’ accusations.”

Pressing his temple, Li Tai admitted that when he truly wanted to act, censors were like flies he wished to swat away; yet he had to acknowledge their necessity.

To compete for the Crown Prince’s position, he needed to rely on his own ability while avoiding flaws that Li Chengqian’s advisers could exploit relentlessly.

“So we must have our own coal mine. It needn’t be large, but it must exist,” Li Tai said.

Hearing this, Ma Zhou nodded and took the money to seek a suitable coal mine for acquisition.

In such a coal-rich region of China, though most mines were poor, finding one or two appropriately sized mines near Chang’an in this feudal era was no great difficulty.

Once news spread of Li Tai’s intent to acquire mines, mine owners came forward, eager either to cash out or to leverage Li Tai’s patronage—even offering mines for free.

Indeed, conducting business under the Prince of Yue’s name was quite appealing to these merchants.

Meanwhile, due to the locust disaster, grain prices had skyrocketed, impacting other necessities. Coal usage was minimal in summer, and though Li Tai’s method of incubating duck eggs seemed simple, replicating it was challenging.

Li Tai’s craftsmen were top-tier artisans from the court, highly sensitive to flame temperatures.

Others wishing to learn would have to invest substantial effort in mastering temperature control, which itself was difficult.

Thus, the incubation technique was not something ordinary people could steal and master.

As for noblemen who might learn it, only fools would seek to pilfer a prince’s hatching method.

Though Li Tai was not the Crown Prince, one should not forget how Li Shimin rose to power. Aristocrats with historical lessons would not stir trouble unnecessarily.

Therefore, Ma Zhou’s acquisition proceeded smoothly, securing two small coal mines at relatively low prices.

The miners were pleased, as the Prince of Yue’s purchase meant their survival.

After a year of locust devastation, only wealthy families and the court had stable supplies; ordinary households had likely consumed most of their reserves.

Once Ma Zhou finalized the mines’ acquisition, Li Tai breathed easier.

“Two mines operating normally suffice for now. We can expand as necessary later.

“Also, the miners can experiment with manufacturing honeycomb coal; it might yield a small profit in winter.”

Ma Zhou thought Li Tai bought two small mines as a precaution due to a lack of ties with the Directorate of Imperial Workshops.

But Li Tai knew well that establishing an agricultural academy required significant financial investment.

Ma Zhou assumed an agricultural academy was like a regular liberal arts school, easily supported by a single duck farm.

Li Tai, however, understood this was far from enough. To sustain such an academy, he needed not just a duck farm but an entire industry chain from raw materials to end sales.

Focusing on ducks, he aimed to build a dedicated duck industry chain.

Upstream were energy and feed; then edible duck eggs and meat; further products included duck feathers for arrows and insulating down jackets; even duck bones could be ground into fertilizer and medicine.

Once scaled and industrialized, this chain, spanning upstream to downstream, could easily support an agricultural academy and generate funds for infrastructure and research.

Thus, these two mines were trivial to Ma Zhou but represented a crucial foundation for Li Tai.

Hailing from the modern era, Li Tai’s mindset differed from contemporaries. He valued energy and grain industries because they formed society’s foundation.

Grain was obvious, but energy was an overlooked priority in this era.

Aspiring to monopolize grain step by step, Li Tai saw hope.

Although energy industries like coal were undervalued, coal’s primary ancient use was metal forging.

Under the backdrop of salt and iron monopolies, even a prince could not touch metallurgy.

The only legal coal-using industries left were egg incubation and boiling water.

Choosing poultry as a breakthrough, Li Tai had his reasons.

Though the locust crisis offered opportunity, the poultry industry uniquely combined grain and energy sectors in the ancient world.

Society’s foundational industries were three: grain, energy, and raw materials.

These formed the basis of social division of labor. Any other monopolized industry increased wealth but not social productivity in the same way.

Even if a time traveler with extraordinary abilities rose, without these three industries underpinning his system, it would be like a sandcastle washed away by the tides of time upon his death.

All endeavors are ultimately constrained by these three factors; history continually adjusts accordingly.

For instance, a wheat-based population has an upper limit of about fifty million, barely reaching sixty million—an unchangeable demographic constraint.

Beyond that, the dynasty reaches its zenith and inevitably declines.

Or, no matter how advanced a system one builds, without energy efficiency, productivity cannot rise.

Consider Wang Mang’s tragic attempt to establish advanced relations amid backward productivity.

As for raw materials, Li Tai planned to address that once he became emperor.

After all, many alchemists sought immortality; mentioning research on the elixir of life would summon all manner of mystics from the mountains.

Once they appeared, Li Tai would confiscate all their formulas except the elixir recipe for study.

By rigorously analyzing alchemical knowledge from the Wei-Jin to Tang periods, he might even deduce the periodic table.

For now, the materials on hand sufficed for his non-industrial ambitions.

Hence, coal mines were truly important in Li Tai’s plan, but he knew leveraging energy’s advantage would be a long and arduous path.

Currently, those mining the coal were common folk numb to the future; few would choose to beg in mines unless desperate.

Transforming their worldview seemed nearly impossible to Li Tai.

So even if he changed foremen and improved conditions slightly, that only comforted himself.

It was better to exert pressure, using their old-world labor to nourish the new era’s people.

Thus, Li Tai refrained from managing the mines personally, instructing managers and craftsmen to study honeycomb coal technology while he focused on the duck enterprise.

By July, swarms of locusts again filled the fields!

(End of chapter)