Chapter 236: He Lingchuan's Shop

A dusting of white snow clung to He Chunhua’s shoulder, and a twig was snagged in He Yue’s cloak. They had clearly walked a long way. Only when they came close did He Lingchuan ask, “Father, Brother, why didn’t you take a carriage? It’s freezing out.”

“Heh, well, a stroll can count as rest,” He Chunhua said, breath fogging in the air. “A bit of air helps clear the head.”

His voice was steady, but up close his face was drawn, the hollows under his eyes shaded gray. Even for a cultivator who could stave off fatigue, he looked exhausted. He Yue, for his part, had dark circles under his eyes and faint red streaks along the whites of his eyes. He had clearly not slept properly for several nights.

“What happened to you? Were you up at midnight stealing chickens?” He Lingchuan teased as he fell in step between them.

The three of them walked toward the residence gates, their boots crunching softly on the frozen path. The air was still except for the muted sound of carpenters somewhere hammering at the far wing of the residence.

There had once been an easy rhythm between father and younger son, a silent understanding in their steps. Now, with He Lingchuan between them, that balance felt momentarily disturbed, the air charged with faint dissonance.

“I’ve been auditing ledgers and accounts through the night these past few days.” He Yue yawned. “Tonight, I’ve got to audit the garrison farms, wasteland that the garrison troops and commoners have opened up for grain. The situation’s not encouraging.”

The father and son both looked like frost-bitten eggplants. He, meanwhile, felt lively and well, which made him a little guilty.

“How bad is not encouraging?”

“Xia Province’s garrison farms are spread across five counties. The figures I have total eight garrison farms,” He Yue said, frowning. “That’s way too few. Father found me the original register from forty-five years ago, and it was stated that back then, Xia Province had twenty garrison farms in all!”

He glanced at his father with a touch of awe. Even well-hidden original registers could not hide from his old man.

He Chunhua coughed lightly. “Let’s just say that I had someone retrieve it.”

He never fought unprepared.

He Yue saw his brother counting on his fingers and explained, “Each garrison farm is about three hundred and thirty hectares big. In other words, we’ve lost over four thousand hectares in forty-five years.”

Garrison farms were a type of public farmland. They were originally unclaimed wilderness seized by the state and cultivated under organized supervision. Local soldiers or civilians cultivate them, and the grain harvests from these lands went straight to the army.

Everyone in the He Faily had seen military service before; they knew the saying, before an army marches, its provisions must move first. Transporting grain over five hundred kilometers consumed seventy percent of it along the way. With Xia Province now the new northern front of the state, local grain production mattered more than ever. Grain grown and delivered locally would greatly shorten transport times and reduce losses in transit.

The question now was, why were more than half of Xia Province’s garrison farms lost over the years?

He Lingchuan said, “Were they seized?”

He Yue rubbed his eyes. “Mm-hm. It’s the result of years of collusion between officials and gentry. They sold the garrison farms off as private fields. Another rotten account to settle. We’ll need the next few days to trace every hectare.”

“They actually dared to sell garrison farms?” He Lingchuan let out a low whistle. “Bold.”

“When bad harvests came, the provincial office borrowed from the local magnates. When they couldn’t repay them, they traded off land—sometimes garrison farms—as collateral.” He Yue gave a humorless laugh. “And that’s just one reason among many.”

Seeing the fatigue in their faces but the fire in their eyes, He Lingchuan could not help asking, “Father, anything I can do?”

“I was just about to ask you to do something for me.” He Chunhua looked him up and down. “You’ve broken through again?”

“Mm-hm.”

He Yue’s envy was palpable. “You’re unbelievable, Brother. You just broke through when imperial nectar fell, yet you’ve already broken through again?”

“When did the world ever promise fairness?” He Lingchuan laughed. “My blade’s been itching. Next time there’s a real fight, I’m going.”

“You’ll have your chance,” He Chunhua said with a faint smile. “Once we’ve cleared up the mess in Dunyu, I’ll tour Xia Province, especially the northern front. You’ll be coming with me then.”

As the Governor-General of Xia Province, he had to see to every county’s terrain, people, governance, and sentiment. With war clouds hanging overhead, a new leader needed to travel far and wide to calm the region’s nerves.

He Lingchuan clenched his fists until his joints cracked. “Sounds good.”

“Before that,” said He Chunhua, eyes glinting, “I’ve got another task for you.”

* * *

When he next awoke, snow covered the yard of his little wood house in Panlong City. It reached his calves and resisted the swing of the gate when he pushed it open.

He grabbed a broom and began sweeping, piling the thick snow into heaps by the wall before turning to his morning training.

The mountain of gifts that had once filled the courtyard was nearly gone. Now, only neat stacks remained, sorted and tucked inside the kitchen. The last two jars sat beside the water vat.

It was Sun Fuling’s doing, no doubt. She had promised to help donate the thank-you gifts he had been drowning in. If not her, then perhaps some mischievous thief had taken it upon himself to clean house.

He called her name twice through the wall, but he received no answer. She seemed to have gone out again.

Still, whenever the wind stirred, a delicate chime answered.

He stepped on the low stool by the wall and peered over. He saw that her courtyard was even more barren than his. There was nothing but a chair and a wooden ladder. Yet under the eaves hung a wind chime of seashells, polished smooth and round.The faint colors of coral and sand gleamed as they struck one another in the wind, producing that clear, bell-like music.

He recognized it. It had been among the thank-you gifts left for him. So, she had kept this one.

The snow in her courtyard lay thicker than it did his. It appeared that she had not been home in at least three or four days.

Does she have another play to stay?

He shrugged, drew back, and focused on his training again. His focus today was the grappling hook. He had bought a set here in Panlong City as well. Of course, the one he had here was not a magical artifact and nowhere near as good as Li Fubo’s, but it was good enough.

His first goal was simple. He wanted to strike down a specific branch of the jujube tree.

He had a feeling that his skill with this tool would prove invaluable later on, so he needed to master it fast.

The list of things he had to train grew by the day. Even practicing day and night felt insufficient now.

The rope’s handling was nothing like a blade or a bow. It was soft, too pliant, and the weight was hard to control. After only a few throws, his hook snagged on a crotch up high and refused to come down no matter how he tugged.

Just then, footsteps crunched outside the gate.

They stopped at his gate. A moment later, a sealed envelope slid under the gate.

After that, the footsteps moved away.

He bent down and picked it up. A wax seal glinted red on the flap.

It was an official letter.

The Bureau of Bright Prospects was urging him to take possession of his shop.

Right, I got that shop.

He had exchanged all his military merits for a storefront on Panlong’s main street, then promptly forgotten about it. Apparently, the previous owner’s odds and ends still cluttered the place, and it had to be cleared before he could lease it out again.

He had been busy, but the bureau clearly had no intention of letting him drag his feet. Storefronts on the main street were no different from gold mind; management there was strict.

Technically, the property belonged to Panlong City itself. He merely held the right of use. If the authorities wanted it opened for business, then open for business it must.

With no way out, he found the key, tossed on a cloak, and hired a donkey cart toward the main street.

Panlong City’s main street was laid out in a perfect cross. The southbound stretch was Wanglin Avenue, which was where his shop was located.

To his surprise, the storefront was not at the far corner but in a bustling section. The façade was narrow and plain, its wooden doors barred, yet the flow of foot traffic outside was a constant stream of shoulders brushing shoulders, merchants shouting over one another, vendors hawking steamed buns from bamboo trays that sent clouds of warmth into the frigid air.

On a street like this, you could sell anything.

A uniformed city guard stood by the door, arms crossed against the cold. When he produced the key, the guard straightened, stepped back two paces, and gestured politely.

A yellow seal paper was pasted across the doors.

He Lingchuan asked, “What’s this about?”

“People keep trying to break in,” said the guard as he watched him peel off the seal. “Since you’re here now, the shop’s yours to manage.”

Then, with his job done, the man pivoted on his heel and left without another word.

He Lingchuan shook his head at the retreating back, set the key to the lock, and pushed the doors open.

They creaked wide open inward.

A wave of stale air hit him in the face—the smell of dust, mildew, and disuse. He coughed twice and, with a flick of his fingers, summoned a gust of wind to drive the haze out through the doorway.

Word was that it had once been an antique shop that also sold general goods. It seemed that that was true. Inside, the place looked like it had been caught mid-evacuation. Furniture leaned at odd angles, chairs tipped against tables. A thick layer of gray powder coated everything like frost.

Footprints marked the floor. Someone had been here recently. No wonder a guard had been posted.

He covered his mouth and nose with a cloth and rummaged casually. As expected, nothing of real value remained.

The most expensive things here were probably the rosewood eight-treasure cabinet and a matching set of chairs in the back room. The previous owner must have left in a rush and could not take them with him.

However, none of that mattered. The real prize here was the store’s location itself.

He was still muttering about the mess when a sharp squeak made him turn. Two rats shot out from the cabinet, their tiny claws skittering across the dusty floorboards. They streaked along the wall and vanished through a crack under the door.

Left shut long enough, even rats made a home of it.

In their panic, one of them collided with a wicker basket, sending it crashing to the floor. A few objects tumbled out and scattered.

He looked down and saw that it was a collection of books.

Most were popular storybooks; two were collections of myths and strange tales. The remaining five, however, were unmistakably bedroom literature—frankly written, utterly unrestrained, and even with illustrations to boot.

Even someone as thick-skinned as He Lingchuan felt his temples twitch.

Such corrupting things shouldn’t be left lying around. I’d better take them back—to dispose of, of course.

Food, desire, and sex—humans’ three great cravings. It was not surprising that a general store would sell this sort of thing; in fact, it was probably their best-selling stock.

Aside from those, there was a map and a thin booklet.

The map showed the eastern region of the Panlong Wasteland, crudely drawn, with only a few main roads and major landmarks marked out, like the Guizhen Stone Forest. It was the first time He Lingchuan had seen a full outline of the Chipa Plateau.

This was something that merchants and travelers used when crossing the wasteland.

As for the thin booklet, he picked it up and saw the title on the cover:

The Hundred Scents Compendium.

He assumed that it would be the usual flowery drivel of poets with too much leisure, but when he opened it, it turned out to be a manual of edible spices, complete with instructions for preparation and blending.

The pages, however, were riddled with worm-eaten holes. When he turned them, clouds of dust rose with the smell of old mildew. The author’s signature on the final page had long blurred into illegibility, so He Lingchuan had no idea who had written it.

Still, the book had illustrations.

Spices like cardamom and angelica, things that He Lingchuan already knew well from another world, were described in detail, with drawings to aid identification. The artwork was spirited, but the author’s intent was earnest enough.

The most valuable part was the latter half, which laid out in detail how to mix and combine various spices, explaining their effects and uses.

Wait—this, this is...!

He Lingchuan’s eyes lit up. Without a second thought, he tucked the book away.

To be fair, ordinary cityfolk would not find much use for it. Their cooking was simple. They would have salt if they were lucky, soy sauce if they were rich. These complicated spice blends were far beyond them.

But was he, Young Master He, an ordinary man? Hardly.

It turns out this shop wasn’t all junk after all. I found myself quite a treasure.

Just then, the light at the doorway dimmed. Someone had come in.