Qingshan

Chapter 47 : Chapter 47

Chapter 47: Between Heaven and Earth

Some knowledge, without guidance, you’d struggle endlessly to grasp, but once revealed, it’s no big deal—like the formula for gunpowder.

Take the simplest mnemonic: “One nitrate, two sulfur, three charcoal, add some sugar for a big Ivan.” Saltpeter, sulfur, charcoal—in this era’s sixteen-tael-per-catty scale, that’s a 16:2:3 ratio.

Adding sugar boosts gas output during combustion. In a confined space, this gunpowder’s explosion is like a miniature nuclear bomb indoors—probably even Yunyang or a Division Officer couldn’t withstand it.

Sulfur? The clinic had it.

Charcoal? Easy to make.

As for saltpeter, or potassium nitrate, it’s just the frost on earthen walls. Ancient people made fireworks by “digging at wall bases” for it.

In Luocheng, with its many brick-and-mud houses, I recalled wall frost was everywhere.

The firearm secret the Jing Dynasty’s Military Intelligence Division sought so desperately? They’d be better off asking me than the Liu Family!

Even blueprints for various front-loading muskets were no challenge for me. Front-loading muskets consist of barrel, chamber, and breech. From handguns to city gate cannons, I knew a bit about them all…

But most crucially, since arriving here, facing people like Yunyang, Jiaotu, or the Division Officer, I was always at their mercy, lacking the power to resist.

Now, I had that power.

The next moment, someone interrupted my thoughts: “Dare I ask, what works have you three brought? Why so silent?”

Liu Quxing and She Dakang exchanged glances, unsure what to do. After all, this was a literary gathering, and coming to freeload without works was improper.

But I suddenly smiled: “We just came with the prince’s mansion invitation to the clinic, not skilled in this art. So, enjoy yourselves, gentlemen—we’ll take our leave. Brothers She and Liu, I heard from the waiter at the diner across the street that Mu Xinzhai on Zhenghe Street makes excellent knife-cut noodles. My treat.”

With that, I turned to leave, showing no embarrassment. If you’re skilled, you’re skilled; if not, you’re not—no need to fake it for pride.

Everyone has their specialty. You know art; I know art too… My art might just blow yours away.

Chen Wen Zong and Chen Wen Xiao watched my calm, carefree back as I chatted with friends, unaffected by the gathering or the earlier incident.

Chen Wen Zong suddenly felt I wasn’t speaking out of spite but genuinely had no intention of returning to the Chen Family.

Didn’t everyone yearn for the Chen Family’s grand, shining legacy? How could someone willingly let it go?

At the banquet, Princess Baili looked at the Heir: “Brother, did you invite him?”

“No,” the Heir shook his head: “I don’t recall sending the clinic an invitation… But it doesn’t matter!”

Princess Baili thought for a moment, then stood abruptly: “This place is boring. I’m going for a walk!”

The Heir watched her leave, wanting to speak but stopping: “You…”

…

…

On the way back, I asked: “Brother She, why did you stand up for me?”

She Dakang walked, his tall frame less imposing with his head bowed, saying softly: “I almost harmed you yesterday. I’m sorry; I lost my head. Two years of friendship, and I ruined it. I deserve to die.”

I asked: “Was it just to save Chunhua’s life?”

“There was selfishness too. Chunhua said if this worked, she’d ask Consort Jing to let her marry me, and we’d live quietly together.”

Liu Quxing scoffed: “You believed everything Chunhua said? Your family’s so poor—would she give up the prince’s mansion’s wealth for you?”

She Dakang retorted: “She’s not that kind of person… Chen Ji, please don’t tell my brother or father. They’d beat me to death.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I smiled.

Liu Quxing, annoyed, said: “I don’t know what my dad was thinking, naming me Quxing. I’m such a letdown. A literary star descended, yet I can’t grasp those classics. Now, introducing myself feels embarrassing.”

From peasant to palace scholar was the greatest dream of Ning Dynasty’s literati.

But that wasn’t my dream.

What was my dream? Once, it was to be a diplomatic military officer, but neither Ning nor Jing Dynasty was worth my loyalty, so now I had none.

No one to protect, no place to guard, just barely surviving, pushed along by this era’s currents.

Today, the words “gunpowder” and “Sword Seed” held a fatal allure for me.

If those two were placed on the scales, perhaps fate’s balance would tip in my favor.

As I pondered, someone shouted behind: “Chen Ji!”

I turned to see Princess Baili catching up, still in her dashing white outfit with the red pendant, unchanged.

But today, her hair was tied in a silver-threaded cloud bun, adorned with a ring of beaded tassels, swaying as she walked.

I asked curiously: “Princess, what’s the matter?”

Without explaining, Princess Baili waved grandly: “Come, I’m treating you to knife-cut noodles at Zhenghe Street, like you said!”

She strode ahead, hands behind her back, steps light and proud. Looking at her, I thought she resembled a free antelope.

The three martial brothers exchanged glances. I suddenly said: “You go ahead. I’ll go back to the clinic to get Liang Mao’er…”

Half an hour later, at the noodle shop, Princess Baili propped her chin on the table, staring dumbfounded at the stack of bowls before Liang Mao’er: “Five bowls, six bowls, seven bowls… Chen Ji, you’re too much!”

I smiled at Liang Mao’er: “Eat your fill tonight, but don’t eat this much tomorrow morning.”

Liang Mao’er glanced cautiously at Princess Baili: “Princess… Am I eating too much?”

I said seriously: “The Princess has a chivalrous heart. We’re all martial world folk—how could she mind you eating a lot?”

“No worries, it’s just a few coins per bowl!” Princess Baili said, grimacing as she pulled out her purse: “But you eat too much… No wonder last night, while everyone drank, you were just gobbling food.”

Liang Mao’er explained awkwardly: “I don’t know why, but I’ve always eaten a lot. When I was three and my brother was ten, I ate more than him.”

Princess Baili let it go. Since she was treating, she’d do it generously.

After paying, she turned to me curiously: “They said those things about you at the gathering—why didn’t you get mad?”

“No reason to get mad.”

“I spoke up for you. Can you waive my toll fee from now on?”

“No way.”

Princess Baili fumed: “I’ll never defend you again—let them slander you!”

I smiled: “Let them say what they want. Time will prove everything.”

Liu Quxing suddenly said: “Chen Ji, you can write poetry. I’ve seen it.”

“Huh?” I was stunned.

Liu Quxing whispered: “I saw you studying late at night, copying notes on the back of prescriptions. While you slept, I peeked and saw half a poem.”

Princess Baili asked curiously: “What was it?”

“Between heaven and earth, man is but a fleeting traveler.”

Reading that half-line, Princess Baili felt as if she were walking alone in a snowy mountain at dusk, profoundly lonely.

That day, I woke in the twilight, amid bustling streets, waiting for family that never came. I scribbled a rough line of poetry, and Liu Quxing saw it.

Princess Baili looked at me slowly: “Is this your…”

Before she could finish, a head poked out, exclaiming: “Chen Ji, your poem? You can write—why didn’t you say so at the gathering?”

I froze, seeing the Heir and Little Monk behind us. The host of the literary gathering had slipped out too—so careless!

And oddly, didn’t this world have that poem? The Double Ninth Festival’s origin was identical.

I replied thickly, unfazed: “I got this half-line by chance; there’s no full poem. Besides, poetry isn’t my aspiration.”

The Heir held back, then rubbed his hands sheepishly: “Um… you want to earn money, right? Can you sell me this half-line?”

Me: Huh?

The Heir explained: “Three years at Donglin Academy suffocated me. Those scholars churn out poems daily—lotus here, moonlight there—but I’ve got nothing. I know some call me a straw-bag Heir behind my back. I’ve always wanted a poem to shut them up, but I can’t write. This half-line’s strong. Ten taels of silver for it—I get face, you get coin. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Writing poetry wasn’t necessary, but selling half a poem? That I could do.