Compared to Weiwei's childbirth, the delivery of her jade lion mare was much quicker. By the time Weiwei had dressed and rushed to the stables, the horse had already gone into labor.
The white mare lay groaning on a bed of straw, neighing in pain, but everything was progressing smoothly. The foal's front hooves and head—wrapped in a pale, bluish membrane—were already emerging. The stablehands were carefully pulling the tiny legs to help guide the foal out more quickly and ease the mother's burden.
In the stall next door, Rios—the black stallion who had been separated from the jade lion for days—was pacing anxiously. He had made multiple escape attempts to see his "wife and child," only to be blocked each time by the stablehands.
"How's it going?"
"All smooth, madam."
Because the birth had started in the middle of the night, the torches flickered and the lighting in the stable was dim. From outside, it was hard to see anything, so Weiwei simply opened the gate and walked in. She might not know as much as the seasoned horsemen, but at the very least, she could help comfort the jade lion.
Sure enough, the mare visibly calmed when it saw its owner. As Weiwei crouched beside her and gently stroked her head, the laboring horse leaned in and nuzzled her hand affectionately.
The soothing moment didn't last long. One of the stablehands soon called out, "It's out! It's out!"
Weiwei looked up and saw the foal had been fully delivered. The white birth membrane had already been peeled away, revealing a wet, wobbly baby horse lying on the straw. It lifted its tiny head toward her, its big, innocent eyes filled with pure curiosity. Even covered in gunk, it looked adorable.
The stablehands quickly wrapped the foal in a clean towel, dried it off, and placed it beside the jade lion. Then they examined the remaining placenta, confirming it had been cleanly expelled with no remnants left inside the mare—only then did they breathe a sigh of relief. They immediately cleaned up the afterbirth and soiled straw, replacing it with fresh bedding.
The jade lion didn't rest long. Regaining her strength, she stood up and began nudging her baby to get it to stand.
The foal was just like its father—a beautiful little black horse. A filly, to be precise. Though its coat had been wiped clean, it was still damp. The jade lion licked her foal while gently nudging her with her nose, encouraging her to get up.
The filly had a slender body and even more delicate limbs. Newborn foals' legs are nearly adult-length, but their backs are still short, making their legs seem disproportionately long and fragile—as if they might snap at the slightest pressure.
Still, under her mother's urging, the foal began to rise. First her front legs—half crouched, half pushing herself upright—then her hind legs.
After some awkward attempts, she finally stood. But she wobbled immediately, leaning heavily to one side. Just when everyone thought she was about to fall, she tilted back the other way, stumbling like a drunken man. The comical scene drew chuckles from everyone present.
But in that unsteady, tipsy gait, the filly finally learned to stand and walk. Her steps were still wobbly, but she managed to return to her mother and, driven by instinct, nuzzled her way to the udder.
Only now could they say the birth was truly successful.
Meanwhile, the foal's father in the neighboring stall continued trying to break through to see his child. But the stablehands couldn't let him in—not yet. Mares are extremely protective after giving birth and won't allow any other horses near their foals—not even the father.
Weiwei didn't linger long. Once the foal began nursing, she fed the jade lion some fresh hay, made sure she had water and then left—despite the mare's reluctant eyes following her.
It was summer, and daylight came early. By the time Weiwei left the stable, the sky was already glowing faintly with dawn. After all that, the night had nearly passed.
When she returned to her room, she found Felix cradling little Antonio in his arms, gently walking him around. The child was making soft sobbing sounds in his father's arms.
"What happened? Did Antonio wake up?"
"Yeah. He peed himself, woke up, and cried when he didn't see you."
Little Antonio wasn't shy around strangers, but he was extremely attached to Weiwei. The moment he woke up, he had to see her—otherwise, he'd cry nonstop. Nobody else could calm him, not even Felix. At best, the child would whimper quietly in his father's arms instead of wailing loudly.
Knowing that Weiwei had just returned from the stables, Felix didn't hand the child over. Instead, he adjusted his stance so that the tearful Antonio could see her. He probably still couldn't see clearly at that age, but somehow, he always seemed to sense her presence.
Weiwei played along, stepping closer. Sure enough, Antonio's tears stopped instantly. He stretched his arms toward her, babbling softly, asking to be held.
"Mama's dirty right now. I'll hold you in a minute, okay?" she said, heading over to wash up with the warm water a maid had brought. She cleansed her hands and face thoroughly, applied lotion, changed into clean clothes, and only then took Antonio from Felix.
Throughout the whole process, the little one followed her with his eyes, not making a fuss at all. He couldn't have been more obedient. Once back in Weiwei's arms, he instantly transformed into a grinning little angel.
Weiwei checked him—his diaper had already been changed, and he didn't seem hungry. After crying for a bit, he was getting sleepy again. She gently rocked him to sleep.
Felix sat by the bed, watching her care for their son, and then asked, "So, how was it at the stables?"
"Everything went well. It's a black filly—adorable. I'm thinking of naming her Polly." Weiwei smiled, then suddenly asked, "What do you think about giving the foal to Dolores?"
Felix looked at her in surprise. "Didn't you say it was meant for Antonio?"
"I did… but he's still so young. Even if he starts riding early, it won't be before he's five, right?"
Mares are usually gentler than stallions, making them more suitable for children. But by the time Antonio is ready to ride, the foal will already be fully grown.
She'd considered giving it to Caroline too, since she would also need to learn riding someday and didn't have a horse yet. But in this era, girls didn't start riding as early—usually not until age seven or older. So whether for Caroline or Antonio, it wouldn't make much difference. There would be other foals later. This first one might be better suited for an older child.
"Three years old," Felix said. "I started riding at three. If Antonio starts then, Polly would be the same age. It's perfect."
Weiwei gave him a look—he made it sound so easy. Felix's father had always intended to raise him as a knight, so he'd started early. But Antonio wasn't going to be a knight. Even five would be considered early for him.
"Even if he starts at three, Polly will be an adult horse by then. Antonio won't be tall enough. He'd need a pony, not a full-sized horse," she pointed out. Judging by Polly's long legs, she'd likely be tall like her parents.
Felix shook his head. "You said the foal would be his. So it should stay that way."
Call it favoritism if you wanted, but Felix believed that once you promised something to a child, you shouldn't break that promise.
"If Antonio grows up and finds out you gave it away, won't he be upset? And this is Rios and the jade lion's first foal. Can you bear to part with it?"
Dolores was likely to marry soon. A horse gifted to her would naturally leave with her. Horses might not care once they're separated from their foals, but people feel differently. And Weiwei suspected the jade lion wasn't an ordinary horse—its intelligence rivaled a child's. It might grieve if Polly were taken away.
Felix wrapped an arm around her. "That filly is perfect for Antonio. They can grow up together and bond. Besides, Dolores already has a good mare she loves. Switching now might not make her happy."
Indeed, after Dolores started riding lessons, Felix had arranged for her to have a lovely young mare she adored. Asking her to replace it now might feel more like a loss than a gift.
Weiwei, hearing his reasoning, gave up the idea.
That night had worn them both out. Once Antonio fell asleep, Felix and Weiwei finally returned to bed, sleeping straight through until morning light.
When Dolores heard that the jade lion had given birth, she brought Caroline to the stables to see both the mother and the newborn foal, Polly. Caroline was a bit afraid of the large horses, but she was fascinated by the tiny foal. If Dolores hadn't stopped her, she probably would've run straight into the stall to touch it.
That said, Caroline didn't seem particularly taken with the black Polly. After seeing her, she was soon distracted by another foal in a nearby stall—a striking brown-and-white one. Its mother wasn't a noble's mount, but one of the stables' regular mares. Hoping to impress, the stablehands guided the foal closer to the gate and let Caroline pet it.
Felix, who had also come to check on the jade lion, noticed this scene and decided on the spot to gift the brown-and-white foal to Caroline. With that settled, Polly no longer needed to be given to anyone else.
Soon after, Sardinson entered its annual wheat harvest. Fields rippled with golden waves—the most glorious sight of the season. Everyone was out working the land. The updated tools made harvesting faster and easier. Loads of wheat were hauled in. Newly regularized civil servants, now out of probation, had been assigned to follow tax officers to the fields for grain collection. They were sunburnt and blistered, but not a single one complained. The job was tough, yes, but the benefits and stipends made up for it. And anyone who couldn't take the hardship had already been eliminated during their probation. Those who remained were all capable, diligent young men—not one of them just idling away the days.
This year's harvest confirmed what everyone had hoped for: it was even better than last year. Even the average yield per acre among commoners exceeded 2,000 jin (roughly 1,000 kg), about 200 jin more than last year. As for the best-managed manorial fields, which received more fertilizer and used superior techniques and seeds introduced by Weiwei, they reached up to 2,800 jin per acre—approaching the best yields seen in modern times.
However, because the estate had planted more crop varieties this year, there were fewer wheat fields overall, so the total wheat output was less than the previous year. Fortunately, the grain collected through taxes from the peasants helped fill the shortfall.
Even so, the castle's granaries were now full. Even the pasta factories reported that they had no space left to store new wheat, since much of last year's grain and purchased supplies remained unused. Most of their warehouse space was filled with finished pasta.
After reading the pasta factories' ledgers, Weiwei discovered that business had started to slow in the fall of last year and had continued to decline this year. When the factory directors came to report, they even complained that with the new harvest coming in, their situation might get worse.
"Last year we heard from a few merchants that other places had started building pasta factories. Since then, traders aren't so willing to make the trip to Sardinson for pasta anymore. This year, even more factories have popped up. It's getting harder and harder to do business."
The method for making pasta was simple and had never been a trade secret. Nearly every household in Sardinson knew how to make it. Anyone with a bit of curiosity could easily learn and open a factory elsewhere. Meanwhile, as the local inventory of wheat grew, pasta production had increased, but the number of buyers had shrunk. The unsold pasta slowly piled up in warehouses. A temporary slowdown might be manageable—but if left unresolved, it would become a serious problem. Even pasta has a shelf life.
Weiwei was furious. This was something they should've reported immediately when they first noticed it. Instead, they'd kept it quiet until the warehouses were overflowing. If it weren't for the urgent need to repurpose the warehouse space, would they have said nothing at all?
Felix hadn't expected the situation either. He'd been told sales were down due to increased competition but had no idea the managers had done nothing to scale back production. As a result, too much pasta was made with nowhere to sell it.
"What's the point of having you if you hide problems like this?" Felix snapped. "You just sat there watching everything rot in storage? Even if you couldn't solve it, could you not have at least told someone?!"
Weiwei was just as angry. What should've been a small issue had snowballed into a logistical mess. If they'd just reduced output, she could have diverted the wheat to the bakery, used it to make bread for soldiers and workers, or opened a bakery for the public. Even selling it as flour would've worked. After all, no matter how much diets had improved, bread remained a staple—and flour would always sell.
But pasta? It was more expensive, harder to sell, and redundant for most locals, who could just make their own. Distributing it as a welfare item was one thing—but turning it into a staple? That would mean a financial loss.
Felix immediately dismissed all three factory directors along with anyone who had known about the problem and failed to report it. He also ordered a temporary shutdown of the pasta factories.
The workers panicked. They'd been employed at the factories for two years, earning enough to support their families. Many had even given up farming altogether. Now, with the factories closed, they had neither jobs nor land. Even if they wanted to return to farming, most fields had already been leased out. Their meager savings wouldn't last forever.
The town mayors of the three factory towns—Dingle, Uke, and Melk—were deeply troubled. Thousands of people worked at those factories. If they were all suddenly unemployed, unrest could erupt. In fact, without the sheriff's intervention, angry workers might've already stormed the former managers' homes.
Fortunately, their fears didn't last long. A public notice was soon posted outside each factory, stating that the closures were temporary and meant only to facilitate inventory inspections. After that, new plans would be implemented. The process would take one to two weeks, and once completed, the workers would be called back.
Even the dismissed factory directors and managers were allowed to stay on as regular workers—if they were willing. Though they were unfit for leadership, they hadn't been guilty of embezzlement or bribery. Their inventory records matched their books. They were simply foolish, not corrupt.
The question now was whether they could set aside their pride and accept a demotion.
This news cheered up the workers and even some of the former managers. Most had kept quiet only out of fear of the factory directors. Though bitter about being dragged down, they were relieved to still have jobs. Sure, the titles were gone, but the count hadn't said they'd never get promoted again. They still believed in their abilities. If they'd risen once, they could do it again—maybe even higher this time, now that the top leadership had been removed.
Of course, things weren't that simple. Felix had already picked new factory directors. Still, there were plenty of mid-level roles up for grabs.
The only ones not celebrating were the three ex-directors and their closest cronies. Once factory heads, they now faced being treated like regular workers—possibly mocked by their former subordinates. Most couldn't accept the humiliation, and very few chose to return.
Weiwei didn't personally involve herself in the personnel decisions. She didn't even know who Felix had chosen as the new director—she only met them later during official briefings. Her focus now was on what to do with the pasta factories: continue or pivot?
She drew up a blank sheet, marking the factories located in Dingle, Uke, and Melk. Keeping all three as pasta factories no longer made sense—but closing them all wasn't viable either.
She circled the Dingle factory. That one would continue producing pasta.
For Uke and Melk, she decided to switch to new products.
First, Uke: she wrote "Tomato Sauce" beside its name. This year's tomato harvest was massive—tomatoes were the most widely grown crop, especially in Uke, which had enough land to serve as the county's tomato production base. Originally, Weiwei had planned to have the meat-processing factory handle tomato sauce production, but now she thought it better to treat it as a separate business.
Tomato sauce and pasta were the perfect pair. Producing them together could help boost pasta sales as well.
As for Melk, her pencil tapped the paper several times before she finally wrote three bold characters:
Instant Noodles.
A staple of modern life, convenient and delicious—even if people today said it "smelled better than it tasted," no one disliked it when they first tried it. Plus, instant noodles had a long shelf life and were easy to prepare. Even without cooking, they could be soaked in hot water and ready in minutes—far simpler than traditional pasta. For travelers and merchants constantly on the go, it would be a godsend.
Melk was near the coast, and Slot produced sea salt. That could help supply key ingredients for the seasoning packets. Though salt wasn't the only component, in an era when spices were expensive, it was certainly the most important. She could even create product tiers—with basic packets containing only salt.
And while we're talking about sea-based condiments… what about MSG?