The night was as dark as ink. The village had long since extinguished its lights, leaving only a few scattered barks that sounded especially clear in the silence.

The main hall of Zhao Dequan’s house, however, was unusually lit by an oil lamp, its dim, yellowish light seeping through the paper window.

Shadows flickered inside. Besides Su Shan and Su Ming, father and son, there were five others. Three were the clan elders of the Su, Zhao, and Wang surnames in the village, their hair and beards white, their expressions solemn. The other two were Zhao Dequan’s nephews from his own family, Zhao Dazhuang and Zhao Eryong, around thirty years old, with sturdy builds, standing to Zhao Dequan’s left and right like door gods.

The air was so thick it was suffocating.

Zhao Dequan was not sitting. Clutching the piece of coarse paper Su Ming had made, he paced back and forth in the not-so-spacious main hall. His footsteps were heavy, each step seeming to land on the very heartstrings of those present. Su Shan hung his head low, staring at his old cloth shoes where his toes peeked through. With each step Zhao Dequan took closer, his gaunt shoulders involuntarily tightened a fraction more.

“See that? That’s the old fox for you.” Lin Yu’s voice sounded in his mind, carrying its usual lazy mockery. “Knowing a single plank can’t support a bridge, he swiftly roped in the most influential old-timers in the village. Once they’re on the boat, there’s no getting off. Shared interests, shared risks. If this ever comes to light in the future, it’ll be the disaster of the entire Su Family Village’s core, not just Zhao Dequan’s fault alone. Your father’s little schemes are as transparent as paper in front of him.”

Zhao Dequan finally stopped walking.

He slapped the piece of coarse yellowish paper onto the Eight Immortals table with a soft ‘thwack’. The sound wasn’t loud, but it startled everyone’s hearts. His gaze was like a knife tempered with ice, slowly sweeping over every face present.

“Three great-uncles, two worthy nephews, Shanzi.”

His voice was low, yet each word was clear, hammering into the silent air.

“The reason I’ve troubled you all to come here in the dead of night is precisely for this object on the table.”

The three clan elders’ murky gazes all focused on that unremarkable piece of yellow paper, filled with doubt and scrutiny.

“Su Shan’s third son, Su Ming, by chance, obtained a fragmentary recipe from an old, tattered book. Using those unwanted young bamboos from the back mountain, he actually managed to concoct this thing.”

Zhao Dequan’s words were concise, without embellishment.

“Paper! Paper that can be written on to record things!”

“Buzz—”

It was as if a thunderclap had exploded beside the elders’ ears. Their withered hands trembled violently, their eyes suddenly widening, staring fixedly at that piece of paper as if trying to see through it. Their deep wrinkles were filled with utter disbelief.

“De… Dequan, is this… is this true?” The Su clan elder’s voice trembled. His bony finger pointed at the paper, almost touching it before jerking back sharply, as if it were a hot potato.

“This… this really came from bamboo? I’ve lived over sixty years, never heard of such a marvel!” The Wang clan elder leaned forward, his murky eyes erupting with a terrifying gleam.

Zhao Dequan didn’t answer, only turned his gaze to Su Ming. “Xiao Ming, repeat what you told me this afternoon for these great-uncles. Make it clear.”

Su Ming stepped forward, bowed deeply to the three clan elders with proper etiquette.

Then, he recounted the story he had already memorized, steady and clear. From how he accidentally obtained the fragmentary recipe, to the numerous failed attempts, until the final success, and then to the immense wealth and catastrophic disaster hidden within it.

Finally, his voice, though not loud, was exceptionally firm as he laid out the distribution plan for that “Su Family Village business”.

“…Our Su family provides the recipe and the technique, taking thirty percent of the profit. Uncle Dequan and the three clan elders will oversee the core, steer the ship, set the rules, and quell disturbances, taking twenty percent as silent partners. The remaining fifty percent will be distributed among the fellow villagers who contribute labor, according to their work.”

As his words fell, the hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Only the occasional faint “crackle” of the oil lamp’s wick breaking.

The shock on the three clan elders’ faces had transformed into complete horror. They looked at each other, each seeing a stormy sea of shock in the other’s eyes. Pulling the entire village into a business? And rewarding based on merit? This child’s thinking is simply… appalling!

Zhao Dequan watched their reactions coldly, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly.

He cleared his throat heavily, shattering the dead silence. His voice was grave and solemn, delivering the final, decisive blow for this earth-shattering plan.

“Three great-uncles, Xiao Ming’s words are my, Zhao Dequan’s, meaning.”

“This object is a heaven-sent cornucopia for the descendants of our Su Family Village to turn our lives around and establish ourselves! However, it is also something that can invite a bloody disaster!”

His tone suddenly rose sharply, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s, scraping over each person’s doubtful, unsettled face.

“If even a whisper of this leaks, forget about getting rich. I fear our Su Family Village could face the danger of a nest overturned in an instant! By then, everyone present here will be the village’s eternal sinners!”

The murderously cold words made the clan elders shudder all over, the last trace of color draining from their faces. With the earth already at their necks, they understood all too well the bloodiness behind the eight words: “A common man’s only crime is possessing a treasure.”

“Therefore, if we proceed with this, your mouths must be sealed shut with molten iron! Your hearts must be weighed down with giant boulders!”

Zhao Dequan suddenly drew a gleaming dagger from the small of his back. With a sharp “clang!”, he drove it fiercely into the tabletop. The blade vibrated, emitting a low hum, casting his face in a cold, severe light.

“Today, right here, right now! We shall swear a blood oath!”

He grabbed a coarse pottery wine bowl from the table, broke the clay seal on a jar of strong liquor, and poured it full with a gurgle.

Then, he pulled out the dagger and, without hesitation, drew it across the thumb of his left hand.

Crimson blood beads immediately welled up, dripping down, rapidly spreading in the clear liquor like a bizarre, blooming flower.

“I, Zhao Dequan, swear to heaven today!”

He lifted the wine bowl with both hands, his voice like muffled thunder, vibrating within the cramped space.

“If a single word of the papermaking secret leaks from my mouth, may I be struck dead by heavenly lightning, torn apart by five horses! May I not be buried in the ancestral graves after death, my soul scattered to the winds, never to be reincarnated for all eternity! May my descendants, men become thieves, women become prostitutes, generation after generation of base and lowly status!”

The venomous oath was utterly ruthless, each word piercing the heart, sending chills down everyone’s spine and cold sweat trickling down.

“Your turn!” Zhao Dequan’s gaze was like a torch, pressing upon the three clan elders.

The three elders’ faces were deathly pale, their breathing rapid. Exchanging glances, they saw the resolve within them. From the moment they stepped into this room and heard Zhao Dequan lay out the plan, there had been no way back.

“This old man… is in!” The Su clan elder gritted his teeth, reached out a trembling hand, took the dagger, and drew it harshly across his bony, age-spotted finger.

“Count me in!”

“Me too!”

The Wang and Zhao clan elders also gritted their teeth and followed suit.

Blood, drop by drop, merged into the wine, dyeing the bowl of strong liquor an unsettling pale red.

It was Su Shan’s turn. He looked at that bowl of blood wine, his hands shaking terribly. A lifetime of honest simplicity, when had he ever witnessed such a scene?

Su Ming quietly reached out, steadying his father’s arm. He could feel the stiffness and faint trembling beneath that thin arm.

Su Shan looked up, met his son’s gaze for a moment, then met Zhao Dequan’s icy, unyielding stare. He took the dagger, closed his eyes, and drew it forcefully across his own rough fingertip.

Blood dripped into the bowl.

Zhao Dazhuang and Zhao Eryong didn’t even blink, cleanly slicing their fingers and squeezing out blood.

A bowl of wine, infused with the blood of seven men.

“Drink!”

Zhao Dequan barked the command, leading the way by lifting the large bowl and drinking deeply.

The others also picked up the wine bowls distributed to them, pouring the spicy liquid mixed with blood and oaths down their throats.

The fiery heat and faint metallic taste intertwined, burning a path down, as if hammering a heavy brand directly into their very organs.

After drinking the blood wine, everyone looked up. Their eyes now held a touch more ferocity and the connection of co-conspirators.

From this moment on, the seven of them were truly grasshoppers tied to the same rope, sharing glory and disgrace, rising and falling together.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep