Fortunately, the village chief didn't faint. After the initial shock, he quickly recovered. No matter how much the count was spending, for them, the common folk, this was a huge win.
He no longer bothered with formalities and directly questioned the soldier, "Is it really true that *every* registered person will get a piece of candy? Regardless of age?"
"Of course," the soldier replied impatiently. "The Count's decree has been posted—how could we go back on it? Look at these baskets we brought; they're filled with candy just for you."
As he spoke, he lifted the cloth covering the baskets to reveal neatly stacked blocks of candy.
Hank, whose registration had been interrupted, chimed in, "The candy is really sweet—tastes amazing. You can bring your children over to register and get a piece; they'll love it. If you wait until we're done registering and leave, they won't get anything."
The village chief glanced at the candy in the baskets, then at the two soldiers, both of whom wore knowing expressions. They'd figured out that some villagers were hiding people.
The village chief flushed with embarrassment. Still, he couldn't blame the villagers—who wouldn't be wary of a sudden decree from a new lord? After all, this count had only been in power for a year. The people barely knew him, much less trusted him.
If not for the visible improvements in Sardinson over the past year—clear evidence that their better lives were thanks to the new count and his wife—they might not have welcomed the registration teams so warmly.
Having their little secret exposed—especially by a child—was humiliating. But when he looked down at the candy in his hand, he quickly forgot the discomfort.
Nothing was more real than a tangible benefit.
Seeing the village chief still unmoving, the soldier scowled and reminded him, "The Count's orders are clear. If you don't register now and try to make it up later, there will be fines—double the amount of tax owed. If you want to pay twice the poll tax, then by all means, keep hiding people."
The other soldier added, "And don't think just because the Count is being kind and cutting taxes now, you can wait it out. If you're caught later, you'll still be fined—but according to the *old* tax rate. Think about which is the better deal."
He was calling out the villagers' calculations. Some had thought, "Well, if kids under seven don't have to pay taxes anymore, we'll just wait a bit. Once we're sure the new policy is real, we'll register our kids then—no tax owed either way, right?"
But the soldiers' warning made it clear: you *must* register now. If you don't and get caught later, you'll pay the old tax rate—*doubled*. A quick mental calculation showed just how much labor it would take to make up that fine. If they couldn't pay it… would they be enslaved?
Fear spread among the villagers, but they still hesitated—until they all turned to look at the village chief.
Now fully aware of the consequences—and tempted by the candy—the chief didn't hesitate any longer. He turned and shouted to the crowd, "Everyone, go home and bring your children to register. Don't leave anyone out!"
He held the candy high for everyone to see and added, "Look at this—it's sugar! Sweet and precious like honey! Just one piece is worth more than a year's poll tax! If the Count is willing to give us something this valuable, would he deceive us?"
The villagers' eyes widened, and the way they looked at the candy turned fervent.
Sugar—an expensive treat they had only *heard* of, never seen. Anyone who'd tasted even a bite could brag for years. How could they not know its name?
Suddenly, they were desperate to grab the candy from the village chief's hand to see if it tasted as good as it looked. The quicker ones yelled at their wives and children, "Run home and bring all the kids! Don't leave a single one behind! What if we're too late and they run out of candy?"
Teenagers trailing behind their parents stared at the candy, swallowed hard, and then dashed off like the wind.
One person's movement set off the rest. Everyone suddenly panicked: *What if there's not enough candy for everyone?*
So what were they waiting for? Time to grab their family and get back in line!
The once orderly line collapsed as people rushed home to gather children. The scene was chaotic—but impressive.
Billy, the first to register, also thought about leaving. Since registration was by house number, he was first, followed by his wife and eldest son. But he didn't want to risk them losing their spot if they went home to fetch the younger kids. No one would willingly let them cut the line again in this chaos. Better for him to go fetch the rest himself.
But first, he looked at the soldier handing out candy.
"Sir, the village chief took my piece of candy, so that counts as his, right? Can I have another one?"
He'd seen the chief lick the piece. That was his family's candy—he wasn't about to let that go without getting a new one.
The village chief fumed. *He's lucky I didn't complain about his dirty hands! Who knows what he touched before grabbing that candy?*
Billy got his fresh piece and, not wanting to eat it right away, just gave it a quick lick like the chief had. Once he confirmed the sweetness, he rushed home to gather the rest of his children.
Suddenly, Oak Village was buzzing. Shouts rang out as people searched for their kids. Soon, children who had been told to stay hidden were led out by older family members, lining up to register—many of them still swaddled infants.
"Since last year, life for the people has improved greatly. The birth rate has gone up. According to records, there were 365 babies born around this winter alone. And based on reports from the registration teams, quite a few women are currently pregnant. There will be even more births this year."
It wasn't just the Chinese who loved having kids. In 13th-century Europe, the poorer the area, the higher the birth rate. People believed having more children was the path out of poverty. High infant mortality rates only drove them to have more.
Even when times were hard, Sardinson's residents would still try to have children—hoping those kids would grow up to help with work and improve the family's lot.
Now that life was getting better, and jobs were easy to find—from road construction to town labor—it was no longer a question of *can* they afford to raise children, but *why wouldn't* they? Especially during the slower winter months.
Thus, in just one year, Sardinson's birthrate reached a historic high. Roughly one in every three households had a new baby, and the other two were either expecting or trying.
It was practically a baby boom.
When the registration forms were returned and compiled, the data presented to Felix and Wei Wei showed a population growth that exceeded expectations.
"Good thing we had them bring extra candy," Wei Wei said, tapping her pen on the desk. "Otherwise, we'd have to make another trip, which would be such a waste of time."
Candy combined with tax cuts proved to be an irresistible combo. Once people knew candy was being handed out, they were more enthusiastic than ever—some heavily pregnant women even asked if they could register their *unborn* babies just to get an extra piece.
Of course, that wasn't allowed. And there would be no more candy in the future. This was a one-time wedding gift from the count—what, were they expecting him to marry again just to hand out more sweets?
"Though… we *could* consider offering other benefits," Wei Wei murmured, the tip of her pen tapping rhythmically against the desk.
The census data had given her new ideas. Sardinson needed to encourage childbirth. Raising kids was costly at first, but once they grew up, the increase in population would be a major boon.
"If more babies are born, maybe we can give some grain or small rewards. What do you think?" she asked Felix.
Felix was staring at her with a hint of anticipation. Confused, Wei Wei asked, "What is it?"
Spurred by the data, Felix blurted out, "Should we have a child too?"
Wei Wei was caught off guard.
To her, she still felt too young—childbearing could wait a few more years. But thinking about it from Felix's perspective, she could understand his desire.
Felix was already twenty-five. In modern times, that might be considered young. But this was the 13th century when average life expectancy was under fifty. He had already passed the midpoint of his life. The Williams family had no other male heirs. If they didn't produce an heir, it would be disastrous for the lineage.
Given that, Wei Wei thought it wasn't unreasonable to start a bit earlier. She didn't dislike children—she even liked them, so long as they weren't little monsters.
Lost in thought, she went quiet, which Felix misunderstood as a rejection.
He truly loved Wei Wei. He didn't want a disagreement over this. It was just a sudden thought, anyway. He'd always planned to let it happen naturally. Though disappointed, he quickly said, "Of course, you're still young. We can wait a few more years."
Wei Wei snapped out of it just in time to catch his forced nonchalance. She blinked, smirked, and said, "Really?"
Felix saw her smile and became more convinced she didn't want children. "Of course."
"What a pity," she said, twirling the pencil between her fingers. "I thought you'd be excited about having a healthy baby. I was planning to start preparing my body for pregnancy. But since you don't want one, we can just wait. Things are really busy anyway—we wouldn't have time to care for a baby."
Felix froze, then suddenly lit up. "You were planning to have a baby? Really?"
Wei Wei played coy. "That *was* the plan."
But Felix heard only the important part: she said *yes*.
He leaned in, kissed her hard, then scooped her into his arms and strode out of the room.
Caught off guard by the sudden bridal carry, Wei Wei yelped and clutched his neck to keep from falling. "What are you doing?"
"Going to the bedroom. Time to make a baby."
That day, the two of them left a pile of unfinished documents behind and stayed in their room the whole day. They didn't appear until lunchtime the next day.
When they reappeared, everyone in the castle gave them the same knowing auntie smile.
Indeed, the Count and Countess were as affectionate as ever.
Though the census was completed in just a few days by a team of children, compiling and reviewing the data—along with adjusting the new tax policies—still had to be handled by the officials in charge of records.
As for the candy? Most of the people didn't eat theirs. Instead, villagers pooled their pieces and brought them to town to sell. Individually, a piece wasn't much, but collectively, it amounted to several pounds. The money they got was much more practical than the sweet.
Of course, they didn't sell it all. Most families kept at least one or two pieces for the children to taste and remember the flavor.
Meanwhile, the foreign merchants in town learned that 'Sardinson County was producing sugar'.
The Pradi Empire didn't produce sugar domestically. They used cane sugar imported from other countries—an expensive luxury. Merchants who had tasted it before immediately noticed the difference: Sardinson's sugar wasn't quite the same. Beet sugar was a little sweeter, and its flavor and aroma differed enough to tell them apart.
To be able to hand out sugar to tens of thousands of people—even just one piece each—meant the total quantity had to be significant. The merchants had never seen the Count purchase that much sugar, so it must have been produced locally.
But how? Sardinson wasn't a place where sugarcane could grow. Nor had any shipments of cane passed through.
Many were curious about the sugar's origin, but more important was its potential: *Could they buy it and resell it?*
That question was quickly answered. The merchants in Dingle noticed a new store had quietly opened—selling exactly that kind of sugar and in large quantities.
One merchant asked the price and found that it was much cheaper than the sugar from abroad.
The shop assistant said, "That's the wholesale price—for bulk buyers only. Minimum purchase is 100 jin. If you want to buy smaller amounts, it's at full market price."
The lower wholesale price accounted for merchants having to handle their transportation, taxes, and sales. Beet sugar couldn't be priced higher than cane sugar. If the margin wasn't attractive, no merchant would bother.
Still, even at wholesale, it was highly profitable for Sardinson. Beets were dirt cheap. Sugar, on the other hand, was practically a luxury. No matter how they priced it, they'd never lose money.
The price stimulated merchant interest immediately. On the first day, sugar sold like hotcakes. Some wealthy buyers tried to buy out the entire stock, but the store limited sales to 100 jin per customer. To buy more, they had to place a preorder, pay a deposit, and wait for future batches. No single order could exceed 1,000 jin.
Fortunately, new beets had just arrived. Farmers under contract had delivered tens of thousands of jin. After this batch, though, they'd have to wait until the next harvest season.
Sugar wouldn't be produced year-round. Wei Wei planned to start sugar production in beet harvest season and run it until the end of winter—then stop until the next year.
Now, the question was: *Should they monopolize the sugar business?*
Wei Wei said, "It'll be hard to keep beet sugar a secret for long."
Felix nodded. Every move Sardinson made was being watched. Their large beet purchases would eventually leak—if not from their people, then from the beet merchants.
Once outsiders realized there were no new products in Sardinson *except* for sugar, it wouldn't be hard to figure out the connection between beets and sugar.
After all, cane sugar production wasn't a secret. Pradi just didn't grow sugarcane, but merchants familiar with foreign trade knew where cane sugar came from.
So instead of struggling to protect a leaky secret, they decided to *use* the sugar formula to gain greater benefits.
Felix pulled out a map of the Pradi Empire, tracing his finger over several nearby counties before stopping on one by the coast.
"Slot County. It borders Melk Town. It's half the size of Sardinson. Most residents rely on fishing. It used to belong to an earl's family, but they offended a powerful noble and were demoted to baron. Most of the land was confiscated, and now it's unclaimed."
Titles weren't permanent. Nobles who displeased the king or powerful figures could be stripped or demoted. Their surplus lands would be reclaimed and reassigned.
Slot County had long gone unclaimed. It wasn't rich—no docks, no trade routes, and poorly managed. No noble with options would take such a worthless holding. So for years, the king's tax collectors were its only visitors.
People might think that having no lord meant more freedom, but in reality, life was *harder*. No protection from soldiers or knights. Wild beasts and bandits ran unchecked. Taxes still had to be paid, but the king's collectors only accepted money and grain—no labor in place of payment. Many people paid their taxes and still starved.
Only because fishing and hunting were untaxed did the locals manage to survive.
Most free citizens had long since moved away. The only ones left were the old, the sick, and those too poor to leave.
They desperately needed a lord.
And Felix had set his sights on this forgotten land.
"You want to trade the sugar recipe to the king for this county?" Wei Wei quickly understood his plan.
"Yes. The royal territories are mostly in the empire's west—prime beet country. I looked into it; the king already grows a lot of beets. This recipe will tempt him. Trading it for Slot County? He's very likely to agree."
Wei Wei flipped through the documents Felix had compiled. At first glance, the place didn't look promising—but on closer inspection, it had serious potential.
Slot County had long stretches of coastline. One particular area was ideal for building a dock. The previous lord might've lacked the will or the means to build it, but with Felix's resources, they could create a decent port.
"Not a bad idea. But Sardinson is already a full count's domain. Can you own more land?"
"Of course," Felix replied, knowing she wasn't familiar with noble customs. "In theory, nobles are only supposed to have a set amount of land. But in practice, powerful nobles *always* have more than their allotment."
"It's not uncommon for one noble to hold two or three territories. All it means is an additional title."
"For example, Allen's father—the Duke of Devonshire—holds three titles. One duchy and two counties. One of the counties is in his wife's name, but everyone knows it's his—and it'll pass to Allen in the future."
So acquiring more land wasn't difficult—just a matter of whether the king was willing.