Just after the fifth watch, the sky was still a murky bluish-gray.

Thick fog covered the entire Su Family Village. Beyond five paces, human figures were indistinct, leaving only a few scattered rooster crows piercing through the mist, sounding especially distant.

Su Shan didn’t light a lamp. By the faint light seeping through the window, he carefully fastened his short jacket, which had been starched until it was whitish and had the fewest patches. His movements weren’t fast, but they were steady.

Su Ming was already fully dressed, standing quietly in the shadows by the doorway.

“Let’s go.” Su Shan’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a determined, deliberate weight.

Father and son, one after the other, melted into the morning fog. The mist hit their faces with a damp, cold scent of earth and vegetation. Su Shan’s back was ahead, his steps heavy, each one measured as if with a ruler, no longer the slightly weary stride of his usual trips to the fields.

Su Ming followed behind, communicating with his master in his mind.

“Master, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Nervous is good,” Lin Yu’s voice held a trace of lazy amusement. “It means your mind is clear, knowing this matter concerns life and limb. Don’t be afraid, follow the plan we rehearsed last night. Remember, your father is the ballast stone, you are the pole-man. He steadies the boat, you find the right direction to set the pole.”

“My father… he seems different today.” Su Ming looked at his father’s back, straighter than usual by a few degrees.

“Hmph, even a clay figurine has a bit of earth’s temper. Your father just doesn’t like to fight, not that he lacks substance. This is how he is when he’s carrying something heavy in his heart.”

Village Chief Zhao Dequan’s house was in the eastern part of the village, with blue brick walls and a courtyard nearly twice the size of the Su family’s. Su Shan stopped at the courtyard gate, pondered for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked three times on the sturdy wooden door—not too lightly, not too heavily. The sound was clear, showing neither impatience nor timidity.

“Who is it? Knocking before the sky’s even fully light.” A bleary-eyed woman pulled open the door; it was the Village Chief’s wife.

“Sister-in-law, sorry to disturb your early morning. I’m Su Shan. There’s an urgent matter, I’d like to ask Brother Dequan to help deliberate on it.” Su Shan gave a slight nod, his tone calm, his face showing no extra expression.

The woman looked the father and son up and down. Seeing they were damp with morning dew but their expressions were composed and serious, not like they were panicked or had caused trouble, she stepped aside to let them into the courtyard.

“Wait in the main room, he’ll be right out.”

The main room was brighter than the Su family’s. In the center was a cleanly wiped Eight Immortals table with four long benches. A faded New Year’s painting of the Gods of Wealth was pasted on the wall. The air held a faint scent of tobacco.

Zhao Dequan shuffled out from the inner room in cloth shoes, draped in an outer coat. He was in his forties, not tall in stature, but his back was straight, a neat short beard on his chin, his eyes holding their usual shrewdness. Seeing the Su father and son, he was somewhat surprised, but didn’t show much on his face.

“Shanzi? So early, what’s the matter?” He walked to the table, casually picking up a coarse ceramic teacup.

Su Shan didn’t reply immediately. He walked to the table and gently placed the tobacco pipe he had been clutching in his hand onto the table with a soft *thump*. He looked up at Zhao Dequan, his gaze steady.

“Brother Dequan,” he began, his voice not loud, but each word clear, “I’ve run into a matter, too big, my family can’t shoulder it alone, my mind can’t untangle it. You’re the backbone of our whole village, I must ask you to help judge it.”

His words were steady, and heavy, like a weighty stone thrown into calm water.

Zhao Dequan’s hand holding the teacup stopped. He narrowed his eyes, carefully examining Su Shan’s expression. That weathered face held no fear, only a heavy, solemn resolve. This made him shed some of his casualness.

“What matter could make you, Su Shan, utter the words ‘can’t shoulder it’?” He put down the teacup, leaning forward slightly.

Su Shan didn’t answer directly. Instead, he turned his head and gestured to Su Ming. “Xiao Ming, show the thing to your Uncle Zhao.”

Su Ming took out the palm-sized, coarse-textured piece of paper from his robe, smoothed it flat, placed it on the Eight Immortals table, and pushed it toward Zhao Dequan.

Su Shan extended a rough finger, tapping the paper scrap, but his gaze remained fixed on Zhao Dequan. “Brother Dequan, you’ve seen much of the world, please take a look. Tell us, this thing, in the hands of us farming folk, is it truly food that can keep people alive, or… a root of disaster that can take lives?”

Zhao Dequan’s brows completely furrowed. He picked up the paper scrap. The rough texture and unique resilience transmitted through his fingertips made his expression change slightly. He carefully examined the grain, brought it close to his nose to smell it, even following an old habit, pinched a tiny corner, put it in his mouth to chew, then spat it out.

“This… is paper?” He looked up sharply, his eyes sweeping back and forth between Su Shan and Su Ming. “Shanzi, you father and son, what kind of play are you performing?”

“Master, my turn,” Su Ming silently recited in his mind.

“Uncle Zhao,” Su Ming stepped forward half a pace, standing at his father’s side, his tone respectful yet unafraid, “This thing wasn’t bought from outside, nor given by someone else. I found an ancient recipe in an old book about miscellaneous studies, saying you could try to make paper using the tender bamboo from the back mountain and the plant ash from the stove hearth.”

He paused, meeting Zhao Dequan’s scrutinizing gaze, and continued clearly, “I was young and reckless, so I actually tried tinkering with it for a few days. My skill is crude, the technique is far off, I only barely managed to produce this rough, crude thing. But it… it truly worked.”

“What?!”

The paper scrap in Zhao Dequan’s hand trembled violently. He abruptly stood up, eyes wide, his body leaning forward in shock, grabbing Su Ming’s arm. “What did you say? Made from bamboo? This… you made this?!”

His grip was strong. Su Ming felt a slight pain, but didn’t struggle, just nodded affirmatively.

Zhao Dequan’s breathing instantly became heavy. He was the Village Chief, he had been to the town, seen the government offices. He knew all too well the value of paper! That was silver! It was the dignity of scholars! It was wealth that could flow!

Using the bamboo covering the mountains? Using the ash left over from burning firewood?

If this was true… that stretch of green on the back mountain of Su Family Village instantly transformed into a dazzling mountain of gold and silver in his eyes!

The immense impact made his mind buzz, but the caution cultivated from years of handling village affairs immediately suppressed the wild joy. He slowly sat back down, his eyes becoming unfathomably deep, staring intently at Su Ming as if trying to see right through him.

“Boy, words spoken are nails hammered. Do you know the consequences of toying with the Village Chief over such a serious matter?”

Su Shan now took half a step forward, his broad shoulders slightly blocking Su Ming. He looked at Zhao Dequan, his voice still deliberate, yet carrying an undeniable seriousness. “Brother Dequan, you know what kind of man I, Su Shan, am. I wouldn’t bring a baseless matter before you. Precisely because this matter is truly too big, big enough to overturn the heavens, and my single household simply cannot bear it, I must come to you to make this major decision.”

Su Ming knew the critical moment had arrived. He had to pierce the most vital joint.

“Uncle Zhao,” he took over from his father, his tone even more grave, “What my father says is true. The moment this thing was made, my father and I were first stunned, then terrified.”

He looked directly into Zhao Dequan’s sharp, probing eyes, each word dropping like a hammer in the quiet main room. “This recipe is a mountain of gold, it can keep countless people alive; but it’s also a basin of red-hot charcoal! Whoever holds it can be burned to ashes! With the meager foundation of our Su family, we simply cannot keep this treasure hidden. If even a hint of the news leaks out, what awaits us won’t be fortune, but likely a calamitous disaster that will destroy our family and take our lives!”

“So, my father pondered it all night. Before dawn, he brought me here.”

“This fortune, our family cannot swallow it alone. This disaster, we cannot shoulder it alone either. After much thought, the only way is to place it in your hands, for you, the head of the household, to take charge. That is its only proper path, and also the possible… lifeline for our entire village!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep