Chapter 004: The Wolf Father at Home

Seeing Wei Ba fall silent, Wei Feng, irritated, added, “This Yang Yi, a mere pedant, thinks himself a great noble of Xiangyang and has always looked down on our Wei family for being of martial stock. He’s often spoken ill of Father. Now he’s serving as an adjutant in the Prime Minister’s office, responsible for procuring provisions. Using the excuse of state affairs, he deliberately makes things difficult for Father. If Father refuses, it’ll be seen as hindering the Northern Campaign, and then the Prime Minister will surely be displeased. But how could one possibly produce so much grain on such short notice? That’s why Father is so upset…”

After listening to Wei Feng, Wei Ba finally understood a little. The conflict between Yang Yi and Wei Yan was nothing new. Although both hailed from Jingxiang, Yang’s family were ancient nobility in Xiangyang, with deep roots, while the Wei family were merely minor gentry from Yiyang, unlettered and risen solely by martial merit. The two families were simply not on the same level.

If Wei Yan were the submissive sort, it might not be an issue, but he was anything but—never willing to yield, and he paid Yang Yi no heed. Their clashes had been frequent, and their relationship strained to the breaking point. After Liu Bei’s death, when Zhuge Liang took charge, Yang Yi was made an adjutant in the Prime Minister’s office. During Zhuge Liang’s southern campaign two years ago, Yang had distinguished himself organizing provisions, and now was favored by Zhuge Liang. With the banner of the Northern Campaign above him, it was all too easy for him to set obstacles before Wei Yan.

Hanzhong now had only four counties, fewer than twenty thousand households. Even if every old man and child joined in, there was no way to feed an army of over a hundred thousand. There was no avoiding transporting grain, but moving it from the Chengdu Plain to Hanzhong meant traversing nearly a thousand miles of mountain roads—a formidable challenge. Thus, the best plan was to solve as much as possible locally, but the quotas for this were entirely in Yang Yi’s hands. With a stroke of his pen, all of Wei Yan’s efforts could be for naught, as it would be impossible to meet his demands.

In short, all initiative in this matter rested with Yang Yi. No matter how much Wei Yan toiled, he could not accomplish the task.

Nor could Wei Ba. He was no immortal—he couldn’t conjure something from nothing. Yet he was not entirely powerless. He had studied agricultural machinery and firmly believed that the progress of tools was the true driver of civilization. He knew well what a small improvement in tools could achieve.

Since ancient times, China had been a nation built on agriculture; its development was always a primary concern for rulers, and agricultural machinery was of utmost importance, yielding many remarkable achievements. However, setting aside complex machinery, the simplest tools—spades, hoes—were limited by smelting technology and progressed slowly. Not until the mid-Tang dynasty, with the advent of advanced steelmaking, did farm tools shift from casting to forging, allowing for larger, lighter, and more effective iron tools. In the Han, although iron farm tools existed, they were either tiny and impractical—like the common digging tool, which was mostly wood with a small iron edge, sometimes no bigger than a palm—or so large and heavy that only animals could wield them. Even Han-era plows required two oxen, being too heavy and poorly designed.

To give a simple example: an iron spade is clearly superior to a wooden digging tool, and a two-handed iron spade is more efficient than a one-handed one. Yet if cast in iron, a spade large enough for two hands would be so heavy that only someone with godlike strength could use it all day. Ordinary people couldn’t manage, making the iron-edged wooden tool more practical. In his recent runs outside the city, Wei Ba had noticed that nearly every farmer still tilled with wooden tools. He had thought it quaint—a true relic of the past, not like the modern-day “ancient” reenactors in costumes but modern shoes. Now, hearing Wei Feng’s complaints, he suddenly saw an opportunity for improvement.

If, for example, he could replace the wooden digging tools with the iron spades of later centuries, a single farmer could do the work of at least two. To double productivity was not a fantasy.

For the first time, Wei Ba realized his field of study had found its place. He broke into a smile.

Wei Feng, in the midst of cursing Yang Yi, saw Wei Ba smiling and was baffled. He stopped and looked at him in confusion. “Ba, what are you laughing at?”

“It’s nothing. I just thought of a way that might help Father complete this task.”

Wei Feng’s brow furrowed even tighter, and he studied his brother for a long moment. “Really?”

“Would I lie to you?” Wei Ba grinned broadly, suddenly in good spirits. He clapped Wei Feng on the shoulder. “Eat up. After we’re done, take me to find some blacksmiths.”

“Blacksmiths?” Wei Feng was utterly confused, but Wei Ba kept his plan to himself, hungrily wolfing down his food. Seeing this, Wei Feng shook his head with a laugh. “Ba, I’ve never seen you eat like this before—it’s almost unsettling.”

Wei Ba forced a laugh, quickly finished his meal, wiped his mouth, and let out a satisfied burp. Wei Feng, preoccupied, put down his bowl as soon as his brother finished and dragged him along. Wei Wu, seeing this, hurried after them like a shadow.

Following Wei Feng out the county office gate, Wei Ba arrived at the smithy. Here, Wei Feng summoned a dark-faced old master, pointed at Wei Ba, and instructed, “Do as he says. Whatever he asks you to make, you make it. Understood?”

The old master grinned, revealing yellowed teeth and deeply lined features, and bowed deeply to Wei Feng. “Yes, young general. I’ll do my utmost.”

Wei Ba felt awkward. Though not a model of virtue and etiquette, he was used to respecting elders. He smiled, a little stiffly, and returned a bow. “Master, I’d like your help in forging something. May I count on your assistance?”

The old man was startled by this gesture of respect and, without a second thought for the dirty ground, dropped to his knees, which in turn startled Wei Ba. Wei Feng frowned, displeased. “Ba, he’s just a government servant. Such courtesy is wasted on him.”

Wei Ba, embarrassed, suddenly realized that craftsmen in this era were a low class, not the working class of later times, and these were government serfs—people without personal freedom. He coughed and, skipping further ceremony, explained his idea concisely.

At first, the old man listened with a respectful but vacant expression. But when Wei Ba mentioned the process of mixing pig iron and wrought iron to make steel, the old man’s eyes lit up, a hint of eagerness in his gaze and even a touch of awe.

In truth, Wei Ba had only described the steel-casting process. Invented around the late Han and early Jin, by the Northern and Southern Dynasties this method was commonly used for forging farm tools. Technically, it wasn’t difficult—just a refinement of the existing technique of repeated folding and forging. The best weapons at the end of the Han were made by folding and forging to remove impurities, then quenching to harden the edge while keeping the body tough. But this method was labor-intensive and reserved for weapons, not farm tools. The steel-casting method, by adding wrought iron to pig iron to create what was called “mature iron,” cut down on labor while boosting efficiency.

A lifelong blacksmith, the old master quickly grasped the essence of the technique. Wei Ba drew him a diagram, which the old man, delighted, took away.

Wei Feng, however, grew worried, pulling Wei Ba aside. “Ba, will this thing you’re making use a lot of iron? With a big campaign coming, iron is scarce. If it uses too much, that won’t do.”

Wei Ba grinned. “Why so anxious? By tomorrow morning at the earliest, or tomorrow evening at the latest, you’ll see for yourself how much iron it takes.”

Wei Feng glared at him, then laughed helplessly. “Keeping secrets, even from me. Fine, I won’t ask. We’ll see tomorrow. If it’s good, I’ll tell Father and he’ll reward you. If it’s no good… well, I’ll tell Father anyway and let him tan your hide.”

Wei Ba rolled his eyes. Just this morning, Wei Wu had said their father would beat him until his backside bloomed, and now Wei Feng said the same. Did this mean his behind had often been flowered before? Their father must be quite the violent sort. No wonder just seeing him made Wei Ba uneasy—it seemed this fear had seeped into his bones, becoming instinct.

Ah, how did I end up with a wolf for a father?

…

The next morning, Wei Ba dragged himself from his warm, soft bed with immense willpower and began his self-imposed morning exercises. Since he’d started training, he’d been sleeping soundly—gone were the sleepless nights and other petty ailments of the refined classes. Of course, getting up had become more difficult, requiring ever greater effort to wrench himself from bed.

After he and Wei Wu finished their morning run around the mountain, the sun was already high. With matters on his mind, he didn’t linger but returned straight to the city. As he entered, he saw Wei Feng holding a freshly forged iron spade, grinning from ear to ear, while the old blacksmith stood before him, bowed, pride and hope for a reward written on his face.

Seeing Wei Ba, Wei Feng waved him over eagerly. “Come, look! Here’s the iron digging tool made just as you described.”

Wei Ba took it, hefted it, and found it still a bit heavy. The old master’s first attempt was not yet refined—some parts were too thick.

“Too heavy,” Wei Ba frowned. “Master, can you make it lighter?”

“No problem, no problem!” the old man replied, toothless grin wide. “This was my first try, so I wasn’t quite practiced. Next time, I can definitely make it lighter—by two or three tenths, at least.”

Wei Ba turned to Wei Feng. “Elder brother, what do you think? Will it do?”

Wei Feng thought his brother was just being modest and laughed. “You’re a sly one. No problem—even at this weight it’s fine, and if it gets lighter, even better. I’ll have a hundred made first, let people try them out. If they work well, we’ll make more. It can only help.”

Wei Ba only smiled. “Only help?” he thought. “You don’t realize, this thing, simple as it is, may be the start of a new era.”

At the very least, it was a beginning for him in this era.

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Regular updates keep failing. Yesterday’s third update, scheduled in advance, didn’t post. Sorry! Making it up today. Please recommend, bookmark, and support in any way you can!