"How much per acre?" Tang Dongfeng developed a bit of interest.
"One thousand eight hundred catties." Ye Muyu, still doing the accounts and without lifting his head, replied.
Tang Dongfeng coughed vigorously, his eyes wide with shock. Fortunately, he wasn't drinking water, or it might have been a breach of etiquette.
He looked at her incredulously, "One thousand eight hundred catties per acre, that's a lot. Are you still not satisfied?"
Seeing his shocked expression, Ye Muyu swallowed the words 'not satisfied,' "It seems like a lot, but when the war arises, it still won't be enough."
"Do you know that in Great Chu, the yield of potatoes is the highest, and it's only about one thousand five hundred catties?"
Ye Muyu shook his head, "The yield of potatoes can be even higher."
Reliance solely on manual fertilization means yields naturally can't keep up, and there are also some weather-related impacts.
"How do you plan to sell these potatoes?" Tang Dongfeng asked.