Chapter 1: The Fool by the Rice Paddies and the Scholar Newly Arrived in the Village

"Why is that person sneaking around? Is he here to steal grain from the fields?"

"Where?"

"There!"

"Hey, leave him be. You’re new, you don’t know. That’s Fu Zhihou, second son of the Fu family, thirteen this year. He was born slow-witted, a fool. Every year when summer comes, he gets up at the crack of dawn and lingers in the fields, babbling about mountains of gold and silver hidden among the crops! Ignore him. Folks in the village say his father became a merchant and this is his punishment..."

Outside a sprawling village, along a path skirting a patchwork of cultivated fields, three men with swords at their sides chatted idly, their eyes lingering on a figure moving through the weeds not far off.

"How pitiful. I heard the Fu family was once well-off. How did they end up sending someone into trade?"

"Who knows! All merchants are scoundrels, anyway!"

"Come, let’s not bother with that fool..."

Shaking his head, one of the men led the other two away, resuming their patrol of the fields.

After the three had left, the boy they called a fool by the fields scratched his tousled hair, plopped himself onto the grassy bank, and lay back with a sigh.

"One in thirty thousand... searching alone, I’ll never find it, not in a lifetime. And those in the far south, one in three hundred thousand! Heaven help me, I give up!"

Fu Zhihou closed his eyes. His face, scratched by wild grass, was marked with exhaustion and despair.

He had long lost count of the years since he had returned from more than fourteen centuries in the future to the era of Great Ye. All this time, Fu Zhihou had never given up on ‘rice’—this world-changing tool of fortune.

But relying on one person alone, the task was too daunting.

His dream of wielding the 'Grain Almanac,' becoming a hero of the prosperous Zhenguan era, earning lasting fame and fortune, seemed ever more distant.

As for telling others, inviting them to search together, with his age, he would be either mocked as a fool or accused of spreading wild, dangerous rumors.

Either way, the end would not be good.

Fu Zhihou could still recall how worried his parents had been when they’d heard his talk—both growing old, their eyes full of concern.

"Should I wait a few more years and head to Taiyuan? But I have neither status nor background. Not to mention others’ lineage, even my words carry little weight!"

"The world is in chaos. There’s no shortage of scholars full of eloquence, nor of strategists offering grand plans. What’s missing are those whose words won’t get them thrown in jail as a way to prove another’s loyalty to the court! Not to mention, what reason could I give to persuade my parents?"

Turning these thoughts over, he plucked a stalk of grass and put it between his teeth, relaxing only because no one was around to see him in such a state.

In this era, appearance and decorum meant everything—especially for the Fu family, once a declining gentry household.

"Young master!"

A distant shout roused him from his thoughts. Recognizing Old Liu’s voice, he got to his feet and saw the elderly figure searching around at the village entrance.

"Old Liu! Over here!"

Brushing off his clothes, Fu Zhihou cast a final, lingering glance at the surrounding fields.

"Bah! I’m done with this!"

Spitting out the grass, he left the embankment without looking back.

Moments later, back at the village entrance, Fu Zhihou endured the odd glances of passing villagers as he had countless times before.

"Young master, the world is dangerous, with bandits everywhere. Please, be careful out there," said an elderly man in his sixties, sword at his side, approaching to speak softly—a mix of advice and concern.

To Old Liu, the loyal retainer of Fu Rui, the second son of the Fu family, Fu Zhihou was no fool. He knew well that the rumors began with an aunt’s wild talk of hidden gold, then spread and grew in the telling.

The real Fu Zhihou was a sensible child, never one to worry his parents.

Still, seeing the boy’s disheveled clothes and hair tangled with weeds, Old Liu had never understood why the young master was so obsessed with the fields.

"Alright, I won’t go again," Fu Zhihou sighed, his tone tinged with disappointment.

"Wait a moment, Old Liu, I need to clean the weeds off me or I’ll get another scolding from Mother!"

Seeing the old man help pluck the weeds from his head, Fu Zhihou let him, offering no protest.

Old Liu had once been a swordsman. In his youth, during the turbulent Northern and Southern Dynasties, he had dreamed of mastering the martial arts, leading armies to end the chaos, and securing a name for himself in history. After his father died, he spent the family fortune seeking teachers and honing his skills, but just as he was ready to make his mark, the Sui dynasty rose and peace was restored.

Even the Turks to the north were subdued by the renowned General Zhangsun Sheng’s clever strategies, splintering without a fight. For over twenty years, peace reigned, and Old Liu’s ambition faded.

His youthful extravagance sowed misfortune for his later years. To survive, he had to serve wealthy households, and decades left him with hidden ailments.

Three years ago, when Emperor Yang of Sui raised troops to campaign against Goguryeo, Old Liu, unwilling to give up, seized one last chance and enlisted. It was Fu Zhihou’s father who saved his life that winter.

His health broken, Old Liu could not follow the army back to the Central Plains after Sui’s defeat. Resigned, he stayed with the Fu family out of gratitude, never minding the father’s merchant status. For three years now, he had devoted himself to teaching Fu Zhihou swordsmanship, archery, and cavalry skills, though he never called himself the boy’s master.

Yet while Old Liu saw talent and hope, Fu Zhihou showed little interest in military glory, leaving Old Liu at a loss, sighing at the boy’s mysterious ambitions.

Above, the clouds drifted by.

Once rid of weeds, they returned to the village as the sun was setting. Though called a village, it housed over a thousand families, with newcomers arriving all the time.

Since Yang Guang ascended the throne and launched his wars, millions had died each year, and the land was rife with rebellion. The Sui dynasty survived only thanks to generals like Zhang Xuduo, the Zhou family, and Lai Hu’er, but the people fled conscription and disaster at every turn.

Their own village prospered because its head, a Zhao, was kin to the prefect of Huaiyang, Zhao Tuo—a connection that grew the settlement from a few dozen households to over a thousand in just a few years.

"Did you hear? The emperor’s been besieged by the Turks at Yanmen Pass!"

"Is that true? How could the Turks dare such a thing?"

"I’m telling you, it’s true. The county officials are already calling for men and horses to go north. The rewards, they say..."

Just as Fu Zhihou and Old Liu returned, they overheard villagers discussing the latest news from town.

As Fu Zhihou listened, he knew far more than they did—Yang Guang had indeed been trapped at Yanmen Pass, and only escaped thanks to Princess Yicheng’s cunning plan.

Lost in thought, he heard Old Liu sigh beside him. Turning, he saw in the old man’s eyes a mix of resignation and regret, which made Fu Zhihou smile wryly.

"Old Liu, I’m only thirteen. Aren’t you worried about sending me to war, where swords are blind to age? If something happened to me, wouldn’t you feel guilty?"

Knowing Old Liu’s regrets, Fu Zhihou understood what the old man wanted: for him to seize glory at Yanmen Pass.

But Fu Zhihou, unlike his mentor, saw the truth—Yang Guang was a tyrant, the world was in chaos, and the Sui dynasty was doomed.

To fight for Sui was to fight against the people.

The millions killed by Yang Guang, their orphans scattered across the land—the Sui’s great generals could suppress the likes of Wang Bo, Sun Xuanya, Shi Zhizhe, Hao Xiaode, those bandit chiefs with tens of thousands of men, but they could not suppress the common people.

And Fu Zhihou knew well that the Li family, future rulers of the Tang, were already biding their time in Hedong. When Li Yuan and his second son Li Shimin set out for Taiyuan, the fate of Guanzhong would be sealed.

"Young master, you are too modest! I know your skills well. A hundred years ago, Houmochen Chong followed He Ba Yue and Er Zhu Rong to fight Ge Rong, and later at Jingzhou, he charged alone into enemy ranks and captured Wanqi Chounu alive! There have been many such heroes in the last century!"

Old Liu’s confidence was unshaken as he cited heroic examples.

But his words only drew another sigh from Fu Zhihou.

"Old Liu, do I look like Houmochen Chong to you?"

Perhaps having answered this question too many times, Old Liu did not reply, but his gaze remained unwavering.

As they walked, Fu Zhihou noticed a crowd gathered by a wooden hut in the distance. At first, he thought nothing of it—newcomers were common—but then he caught sight of a sign reading "School of Learning."

"Another new school? How many does that make now? All the village children who want to learn to read are already taught by the previous teachers. Who would go here?"

"Just trying to survive, I suppose. These days, even scholars fear going hungry. I heard the new teacher is called Liu Zhiyuan..."

Passing by, Fu Zhihou overheard the conversation. After a moment’s pause, he stopped in his tracks, a look of surprise crossing his face as he peered through the villagers at the hut and the figure working inside.

"Liu Zhiyuan? Could it be..."

Murmuring, Fu Zhihou heard Old Liu’s questioning tone and quickly shook his head, saying only that he was curious.

Yet before leaving, he couldn’t help but glance back at the hut one more time.