In the imperial palace of Great Ming, under the deepening twilight, Zhu Biao sat stunned, confusion clouding his youthful face as he turned to his father.
“Father, what do you mean by this?” he asked, blinking rapidly. “I don’t understand. How did Yang Yi manage to scheme against everyone under heaven? And what great deed did he accomplish without anyone noticing?”
Zhu Yuanzhang, the founding emperor, let out a heavy sigh. His weathered face, carved by countless storms, held a complex expression, and in his sharp tiger-like eyes, a trace of lingering shock remained.
“Mark, aren’t you curious?” Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice was low. “The pastureland that had once been eaten bare by the sheep has somehow, inexplicably, recovered.”
The emperor leaned forward slightly, his tone deepening.
“You must understand, when the sheep devoured the grass, they ate even the roots. What they left behind was barren land, so depleted it would normally take eight to ten years to heal.
“It was with this vicious scheme that Yang Yi nearly collapsed the Turks’ economy. Jie Li Khan, overwhelmed and unable to attend to both ends, was defeated by the Zhou in a single stroke.”
Zhu Biao frowned, trying to process the information, but Zhu Yuanzhang was not finished.
“The herders themselves could do nothing to revive the ruined grasslands in such a short time. Yet now, Great Zhou has achieved what should have been impossible—and not only that, they plan to restore Turkic animal husbandry. This alone proves that most of the grasslands have already recovered.”
Zhu Yuanzhang paused meaningfully.
“Tell me, in the past half year, what major action has Great Zhou taken?” Get full chapters from novel★fire.net
Zhu Biao blinked, struggling to recall.
“It doesn’t seem like they did anything…” He trailed off, but then a flash of realization lit his eyes. “Wait… could it be…”
He hesitated, a stunned look overtaking his face. “Could it be related to the so-called ‘Turkic treasure’?”
Zhu Yuanzhang drew in a long breath, his expression heavy.
“Exactly. That is the key.”
He leaned back slightly, voice slow and deliberate.
“Half a year ago, you and I both dismissed the rumors of the Turkic treasure as mere folklore. We never imagined that this was Yang Yi’s true layout.”
Still reeling, Zhu Biao struggled to make sense of it.
“But Father,” he protested, “how does treasure have anything to do with restoring pastureland?”
Zhu Yuanzhang gave him a bitter smile, a rare glimpse of the farmer he had once been.
“Don’t blame yourself. Even I, who once tilled the fields, failed to see through Yang Yi’s plan.”
His gaze sharpened, commanding the room.
“Think about it. Once the rumor of the Turkic treasure swept across the world, countless greedy souls were drawn in, blinded by gold. They flocked to the Turkic grasslands, digging and overturning the soil in search of treasure.”
He let the words sink in.
“But in doing so, they unknowingly turned the fields over entirely. Fresh soil brings fresh sprouts. The barren land, once broken open and exposed to new air and nutrients, allowed grass seeds to regrow. Within less than a year, the devastated Turkic pastures were covered once more in fresh wild grass.”
Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice carried a mixture of admiration and awe.
“This was Yang Yi’s true aim!”
He shook his head slowly, his tone tinged with disbelief.
“Who would have thought the so-called ‘Turkic treasure’ was never about treasure? Those fortune-seekers thought themselves clever, yet they were nothing but oxen plowing fields for Great Zhou.”
As Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice faded into the silence of the grand hall, Zhu Biao sat frozen. His eyes widened until they seemed to take up half his face, his lips trembled, and a numbness crept up his scalp.
Without his father’s careful explanation, he would never have realized how deeply they had been played. Yang Yi’s strategy was like a venomous needle hidden in silk—so concealed that even seasoned rulers had no defense.
After a long while, Zhu Biao swallowed hard and muttered, his voice hoarse with awe, “This strategy is truly brilliant…”
Zhu Yuanzhang nodded gravely, his heart heavy with a mixture of admiration and unease. Even he, a veteran of a hundred campaigns, had been outmaneuvered without knowing it. There was no doubt: Yang Yi was a once-in-a-generation strategist.
Meanwhile, within the marble halls of the Taiji Palace in Great Tang, under the crisp light of early spring, a different drama unfolded.
“Your Majesty…” Fang Xuanling burst into the grand hall, clutching a memorial tightly in his hands, his usually composed face marked by urgency.
Emperor Li Shimin, who had been calmly discussing affairs of state with his ministers, looked up, startled.
“What is it?” he asked sharply.
Around him, Gao Shilian, Wei Zheng, and other ministers exchanged worried glances. It was rare—almost unheard of—to see Fang Xuanling so shaken.
Facing their expectant stares, Fang Xuanling paused, a bitter smile twisting his lips.
“We’ve been played by Yang Yi…” he confessed.
Seeing the confusion still lingering in their eyes, he pressed on.
“Great Zhou has been laying out its plans for over half a year. Now, they have issued a new decree: to heavily subsidize the Turks in raising horses, cattle, and other livestock. They are developing animal husbandry with the full support of the court.”
“Great Zhou intends to turn the Turkic lands into a vast pasture, a supply base for their cavalry and warhorses.”
The ministers looked at one another, their disbelief plain.
Du Ruhui, stroking his beard thoughtfully, voiced the question on all their minds.
“How is that possible?” he asked. “Weren’t the Turkic grasslands utterly destroyed? Shouldn’t it take seven or eight years for them to recover?”
“And yet they are already raising livestock?”
Fang Xuanling met their bewildered gazes and sighed again, heavier this time.
“That’s why I say we were tricked. The Turkic grasslands have already recovered. New shoots cover vast stretches, and the wild grass grows thick once more.”
A stunned silence fell over the hall.
Li Shimin’s brow furrowed deeply. His voice, when he spoke, was grim.
“How could this be? How did they do it?”
Fang Xuanling took a deep breath, steadying himself.
“Do you all remember the rumor that suddenly swept the empire half a year ago? The one about the Turkic treasure?”
The ministers nodded instinctively.
Fang Xuanling’s voice grew solemn.
“Yang Yi used that rumor to lure people from all corners of the world to dig through the barren grasslands, turning the dead soil and exposing fresh earth beneath.
“In the months that followed, though the land had once been eaten bare, the constant digging rejuvenated it. Now that spring has come, the grass has returned.
“This,” he said, voice heavy with reluctant admiration, “was Yang Yi’s true plan.
“During the months of gold digging, there were indeed rumors of people finding gold… but every time someone struck it rich, they disappeared without a trace. Looking back now, it’s likely that Great Zhou orchestrated those discoveries, deliberately feeding hope to keep the gold seekers working.”
Within the hall, no one spoke. Even the mighty Emperor Li Shimin could only clench his fists, his face darkening.
They had all been led by the nose, without even realizing it.