Chapter Seventy-Four: A Pile of Troubles

Only Zhen Qian knew that this seemingly miraculous creation was nothing more than an immature prototype; there were still many unresolved issues before it could be truly used. The fuse was too long, the purification process of the raw materials was problematic, the granulation of the black powder was inconsistent, and even crafting a simple iron shell was no easy task. Then there was the cost of making a homemade bomb—experiments could ignore expenses, but mass production had to account for both cost and time.

Moreover, Zhen Qian had no intention of using the black powder for killing; his true purpose was to carve out a wine cellar in the valley. He had specially invited Song Yi to inspect the site. Although Song Yi was a stone mason, he was no stranger to excavating caves. After examining the location, he told Zhen Qian that, to carve out a cellar here, at least twenty or thirty craftsmen would need over a year to finish even a small wine cave.

Zhen Qian had neither the time nor patience for such a wait; he wished he could conjure a wine cellar by tomorrow. Upon hearing Song Yi’s explanation, that excavating the cave would require burning the rock with fire and then dousing it with water, exploiting the expansion and contraction from sudden temperature changes to peel slabs of stone from the mountain, Zhen Qian learned that managing to excavate a single cubic meter of rock in a day would be considered impressive. Of course, if he were willing to hire a hundred or two hundred craftsmen, the timeline could be greatly shortened.

The primitive method of using heat and cold to excavate caves was tediously slow; constructing a large wine cellar would take years. Thus, Zhen Qian pinned his hopes on the black powder.

He was fully aware how dangerous it was to use black powder for blasting, especially when it came to calculating the amount and designing the blast points—these were matters not even Song Yi understood, nor did Zhen Qian himself. Yet, after experimenting with the black powder, his worries mysteriously vanished. He discovered he could adjust the proportions to minimize its explosive force. The real difference between a bomb and a fuse lay in the formula, and though he couldn’t make the most powerful bomb, he could craft the gentlest fuse, which was no small achievement in his experiments.

He and Zhen San tried it several times, then called Song Yi over to carve out a small refuge in the mountain. The results were quite satisfactory; with enough powder, they could even excavate a simple cave within a month.

After displaying this miracle, Zhen Qian quietly observed everyone’s reactions. As for the bloody scene, he was reluctant to linger—he’d never killed anything, not even a chicken, in his previous life. It wasn’t so much kindness as unfamiliarity; the violence he’d seen on screen could never compare to the reality, especially the overwhelming smell of blood lingering in the air, which made him nauseous.

This feeling was shared only by himself and the two young women; the others were simply stunned by the spectacle, their faces rigid until they reached the valley entrance and finally relaxed a little.

In these times, Daoism was revered, and the pursuit of immortality was widespread. Aside from concocting so-called elixirs, people searched for non-existent immortals. Having witnessed a supposed miracle, Zhen Qian was now linked to the immortals, inspiring a kind of worship in their hearts, though it remained to be seen whether they would approach him to inquire about the secret of long life.

From then on, their attitude toward Zhen Qian changed, marked by genuine respect and awe. Zhen Qian responded with a feast of whole roasted lamb, temporarily quelling their curiosity. Even Zhen Er, usually eager to display his strength, lost his rebellious glare when calling Zhen Qian “godfather,” replaced instead by deep fear.

Brewing wine and running an inn might be profitable, but wealth alone could not guarantee his safety. Thus, making a Tang-style homemade bomb was only the first step; Zhen Qian understood this perfectly.

Since Wang Peng issued a gag order, those who knew about the miracle kept silent, fully aware of the consequences should the story spread. Of course, not all saw it as a bad thing—many were secretly pleased and envious, so the feast was lively and many drank themselves into a stupor.

He brewed spirits himself but had little taste for them, only sipping to keep up appearances; he preferred fruit wines and his drinking capacity was modest. That day, caught up in the merriment, he drank a few extra cups, and afterward his head felt heavy. The clever Xiao Mei had already prepared a tub of hot water, letting him soak and dispel the effects of the alcohol in comfort.

This time, Wang Qun had not come along; any news was relayed through others. In the past days, he’d been busy researching black powder with Zhen San, so he hadn’t had time to inquire about affairs. Xiao Zhu began to chatter nearby.

“Uncle Wang sent word: those foreign merchants have come to an agreement with Song Yi of Drunken Immortal Tavern regarding the spirits. They left ten taels of gold as a deposit and will return every three months to purchase five hundred jars of the strongest spirits. They also offered to help Song Yi open branches of Drunken Immortal Tavern in Fanyang and other places, asking if Song Yi is interested in partnership.”

After speaking, Xiao Zhu stole a glance at Zhen Qian, who lay motionless in the tub, noticing a slight furrow in his brow but no reply, so she continued, “The flatbread shop next to Drunken Immortal Tavern wants to cooperate with Song Yi, offering to rent or sell their front yard to the tavern. They’re hoping to work at Drunken Immortal Tavern as staff, and Song Yi is asking how to handle this matter?”

“Agreed! Tell Song Yi to rent the whole flatbread shop next to Drunken Immortal Tavern. The Song family can move into the flatbread shop, freeing up the second courtyard of the tavern for conversion into two floors of private rooms, with the rear courtyard serving as kitchen and storage. Don’t bring any more matters to me—let him handle everything himself. Oh, and the front yard of the flatbread shop should be turned into a general store, preferably finished by the end of the month; I’ll need it then.”

Xiao Zhu noted down his instructions, and seeing he had nothing further to say, mentioned a few more minor issues, but he was too lazy to respond, obviously unwilling to be bothered by trivialities, so she closed her mouth in disappointment.

“Master, if you don’t care about these small things, aren’t you going to deal with Steward Xing, who’s been spreading rumors about dividing the family in the Zhen household?”

Zhen Qian opened his eyes a slit, his lips curling into a mocking smile. “If he didn’t spread rumors, he wouldn’t be Steward Xing. You think he dares act without the Xing clan’s approval? Don’t make wild guesses.”

After their last confrontation, Xiao Zhu realized Zhen Qian’s threats were more sound than fury; Steward Xing remained firmly in position, and though he’d reined in somewhat, Zhen Qian hadn’t dealt him a fatal blow. Xiao Zhu, who harbored deep hatred for Steward Xing, was greatly displeased, wishing he would be thrown out.

Steward Xing was but a dog let loose by the Xing clan, and one must always consider the master before beating the dog. Besides, this dog was still loyal to his master, so he was not easily dismissed. Zhen Qian naturally would not pursue him relentlessly; once the family division was settled, Steward Xing would no longer be an obstacle.