Moreover, if this yield of one shi (a unit of measure) is confirmed to be true, Prefect He would undoubtedly be reassigned—likely recalled to the capital for a more prominent position.

Before they could revel in their excitement, Yue Fuguang’s dismissive remark about the low yield dampened their spirits.

They thought to themselves that the grain yields of the mortal realm could never compare to those of the immortal world.

Even so, they were more than satisfied with the seeds Prefect He had brought. If these could be widely cultivated, it would be a dream come true.

However, the Crown Prince was a remarkable young man—not yet twenty but already exuding a composed demeanor. Still, his youth showed when faced with someone of Yue Fuguang’s stature, revealing a more playful side.

He also wanted to ask about the grain situation on behalf of his father, the Emperor, and the people of Dayan.

Leaning in casually, he struck up a conversation with Yue Fuguang, using the earlier topic as an opener: "Fuguang, did you see? The rice seeds Prefect He presented yield up to four shi per mu—practically an auspicious sign!"

"Is that so?" Yue Fuguang responded absentmindedly while internally discussing with her system: "Little Pearl, did I hear that right? A yield of four shi per mu is considered auspicious? Then what about rice and corn yielding a thousand jin per mu, or potatoes and sweet potatoes yielding seven or eight thousand jin? Would that count as a divine miracle?"

Emperor Mingxi, the Empress Dowager, the Crown Prince, and the entire court of Dayan felt their heads spin.

All other sounds faded away—only the numbers echoed in their minds: a thousand jin per mu… seven or eight thousand jin…

[Master, is it possible that such high-yield crops don’t exist here yet?]

"They don’t? No wonder I haven’t come across them since arriving. I thought it was just because we were too poor to afford them!"

Yue Fuguang went on to list a hundred different ways to prepare corn, potatoes, and sweet potatoes.

Meanwhile, those who could hear her thoughts were stunned by the mention of these unheard-of crops and their culinary uses.

Could such high-yielding grains truly exist?

It wasn’t that they lacked knowledge—it was simply beyond imagination. The yields were downright terrifying.

Suddenly, they found themselves agreeing with Yue Fuguang’s description of it as a "divine miracle."

Then came the realization from the "artifact’s" words: "Here, these high-yield crops don’t exist yet!"

Some widened their eyes, wanting to speak, but only incoherent gasps escaped their lips.

Others, eyes bloodshot, nearly turned to stare at Yue Fuguang but restrained themselves at the last moment, shifting their gaze instead to the Emperor seated on the high platform.

Their eyes pleaded: "Your Majesty, think of something! High-yield seeds—Dayan doesn’t have them. We need them…"

Emperor Mingxi: "I want them too, but do I dare just ask for them outright?"

Meanwhile, the Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, Old Minister Wang, was so overwhelmed that he fainted on the spot.

Imperial Physicians swiftly attended to him, their movements discreet enough to avoid drawing attention.

Faced with their suddenly agitated and erratic colleagues, those who couldn’t hear the internal monologues shuddered.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, they wondered: What on earth has gotten into my perfectly normal colleagues today?

Even their wise and mighty Emperor seemed infected by the odd behavior, his moods swinging unpredictably.

The sharper ones, however, began to suspect that something extraordinary—something they weren’t privy to—was unfolding at this banquet.

Discreetly, they observed their surroundings, noting the unusually tense expressions around them, and resolved to gather whatever information they could after the event.

To survive in court, one couldn’t afford to be left in the dark. Otherwise, they might unknowingly cross a line and fall out of favor—only realizing their mistake when it was too late.

And that would spell the end of their career.

At this moment, the Crown Prince's hands, hidden beneath the desk, trembled uncontrollably.

His robes were nearly torn apart from the unconscious force of his grip as he struggled to suppress his emotions.

Suppressing the urge to voice his thoughts, he continued the earlier discussion, "In the Great Yan Dynasty, even the most fertile fields yield no more than three dan per mu in a good year.

So if this four-dan-per-mu strain were to be widely cultivated, imagine how many lives it could save. Calling it a divine blessing would be no exaggeration."

Yue Fuguang nodded in agreement.

The system chimed in, [Master, the agricultural yields here are shockingly low! I just checked—the Great Yan Dynasty currently has no corn, potatoes, or sweet potatoes.

Are you planning to introduce these crops?]

"Introduce them? Why should I? We must respect the natural progression of history. At this point in time, these crops shouldn’t exist in the Great Yan Dynasty.

Besides, they haven’t achieved enough merit to warrant such a divine blessing.

More importantly, do you really think high-yield crops alone would ensure the people are well-fed? Have you forgotten about land monopolization…"

[Ah, right! The starving are the commoners, most of whom don’t even own land. Introducing these crops would only benefit the landlords and officials!

Not to mention, the Great Yan Dynasty will fall in just ten years—giving them these crops would only aid their enemies!]

What? Their mighty Great Yan, ranked among the top three strongest nations of the six kingdoms, would collapse in a mere decade?

Impossible! They refused to believe it! The Divine Artifact must be lying—yes, surely it was deceiving them!

Some eyes burned red with fury, faces flushed in outrage.

Others turned deathly pale, biting their lips hard to stifle their cries.

They wanted to protest—even if you were an immortal descended from the heavens, how dare you spread such lies!

But then they remembered—this was an immortal descended from the heavens.

An immortal who saw mortals as mere ants would never bother lying to them.

They knew their place. To an immortal, they weren’t worth the effort of deception.

As much as they hated to admit it, they knew—they weren’t worthy.

Which meant… Yue Fuguang’s words were true?

The Great Yan Dynasty had only ten years left before its fall?

The realization struck like a blade. Some broke into quiet sobs; others tried to stand but collapsed back into their seats.

Suddenly, the chairs beneath them felt icy, their bodies chilled to the bone.

Emperor Mingxi fared no better. Having already believed Yue Fuguang’s identity to an eighty percent certainty, he now held the same belief in her prophecy—his Great Yan was doomed.

What could have caused such a mighty dynasty to collapse in a decade? Had he grown senile in his later years? Died too soon? Or was the Crown Prince unfit to rule?

Was the destruction wrought from within—rebellion—or by their so-called "friendly neighbors"?

Emperor Mingxi and his Crown Prince—ruler and heir, father and son—locked eyes across the room.

The same thoughts raced through both their minds.

Yet, upon hearing of the dynasty’s impending doom, the Crown Prince’s first assumption was that he himself was the problem—not rebellion, but an early death.

In that instant, his world drained of color, leaving only endless gray.

Amid the desolation, only two hues remained:

The golden yellow of his father’s imperial robes.

And the soft jade green of Yue Fuguang’s gown.

Yue Fuguang casually glanced around the room, never expecting her single spoiler to cause such a stir.

If these people knew just how brutal the future would be, wouldn’t they all faint from sheer fury?

What a sin, what a sin!

Muttering apologies under her breath, she continued twisting the knife, "Of everyone here today, ten years from now—aside from those who die early or defect—the rest will meet increasingly gruesome ends. Ah, such a pity!"

Gah!