Keeping the embers
Deep within the folds of the vast mountains, time seemed to be frozen by the thick moss and ancient rocks. Xiao Yuxuan trekked for three days in the direction Yun Youzi's last gaze had pointed. The wounds on his body throbbed faintly in the cold wind, and every breath pulled at his shoulder blades, which had been branded with a hot iron. But an unprecedented calm had replaced the clamor of despair, supporting him as he passed through treacherous passes and traversed decaying plank roads, finally arriving at the valley Yun Youzi had described as "sparse in malevolent energy and teeming with life."
The valley entrance was narrow, half-hidden by gnarled vines and fallen giant trees, almost impossible to spot without Yun Youzi's precise, star-map-like guidance. Upon entering, a scent mingled with humus, damp rocks, and a faint hint of sulfur filled the air. The valley was dimly lit; the branches of the ancient trees intertwined high above, filtering sunlight like shattered jade, dappling the thick moss and ferns. A babbling brook flowed, and the air was filled with mist, creating a more humid and vibrant atmosphere than the outside world. However, beneath this seemingly secluded tranquility, Xiao Yuxuan keenly sensed something unusual—a deep-seated wariness and a deliberately crafted desolation.
There were no villages, no inhabitants. Only jagged cliffs and dense vegetation. Following the description given by the wandering cloud, at the base of a massive rock formation resembling a reclining ox, he parted a layer of perfectly concealed vines and decaying leaves, revealing a narrow entrance barely wide enough for one person to bend over and enter. The cave was dark and deep, chilling to the bone.
He lit the last half of the oil-soaked pine branch he carried, the flickering, dim light barely illuminating the path ahead. The cave walls were slippery, covered with condensed water droplets. The air was stifling, carrying a heavy smell of dust and a faint, almost imperceptible, metallic rust. After descending several dozen feet, the view suddenly opened up before him—a vast natural cave. Countless strangely shaped stalactites hung from the ceiling, while even more robust stalagmites stood on the ground, forming a bizarre and surreal stone forest.
However, what attracted Xiao Yuxuan's attention was not the natural wonders, but the traces of human intervention deep within the stone forest.
Several relatively flat rock walls had been carved into rudimentary niches, containing faded wooden tablets. Scattered in front of them were withered grass stems and rough, dull pottery shards, clearly traces of rudimentary rituals. In one corner of the cave, a large amount of discarded ore debris lay scattered, alongside several rusty, oddly shaped tools—a massive bronze gear, a grooved remnant of a sliding rail, a twisted metal rod… They lay silently in the dust like the skeletons of a colossal beast, radiating the cold, heavy embers of pre-industrial technology. Some massive wooden frames lay half-collapsed, with broken ropes and tattered animal skin bags hanging from them.
This place was once a hidden stronghold. A stronghold belonging to exiles, attempting to protect the flame of life in the darkness.
Xiao Yuxuan's gaze finally settled on the deepest part of the cave. There, a slender figure, her back to him, squatted beside the embers of a campfire, intently polishing some metal component with a small file. The leaping firelight cast her shadow long and distorted onto the jagged cave walls, like a lurking black beast. It was Jing Zhi.
She seemed to have already sensed someone entering, her movements without the slightest pause. Only her taut shoulders and her slightly turned, cold profile, half-lit and half-shadowed in the firelight, revealed her extreme vigilance.
“It’s you.” Jing Zhi’s voice echoed in the empty cave, hoarse and metallic, devoid of warmth, like icy water dripping from the cave ceiling. “You actually found this place. Did Yun Youzi point the way? Or… have you already sided with the Court of Justice, using this place to exchange for your head?” She slowly stood up and turned around. The firelight illuminated her pale, almost transparent face, the bandage on her left shoulder still tinged with dark red, the wound at the Luoshui sluice gate clearly not yet healed. But her eyes, in the shadows, shone with an astonishing light, like quenched, cold stars, filled with undisguised scrutiny and hostility.
Xiao Yuxuan stopped and met her gaze across the flickering campfire and the ruins of abandoned mechanisms scattered on the ground. He didn't rush to explain, but slowly took two items out of his pocket.
The first item was a piece of coarse linen cloth with torn edges and stained with dark brown dirt—it was the blood letter left by Ji Zhai, the leader of the artisans of Black Stone Fortress, before his death, using his blood as ink and his armor as paper! On the cloth, the bronze beast head brand of "Suspended Blade" and the twisted blood characters "All artisans under heaven suffer under the Qin laws" were shocking to behold in the firelight.
The second item was a locust seed, carefully wrapped in oilcloth, still plump and heavy.
He gently placed the two items on a relatively flat rock between the two of them. The movement was slow and solemn.
Jing Zhi's gaze swept over the blood-written letter and the locust seed like a hawk's, her pupils suddenly contracting! The image of Senior Brother Ji Zhai's withered hands, his despairing eyes, and his hunched figure in the dark, sunless workshop of Black Stone Fortress instantly flashed before her eyes! Her breathing quickened noticeably, and her fingers gripping the file turned white from the force. However, the deep-seated vigilance did not dissipate; instead, it sharpened even more. She raised her eyes, her gaze like a cold probe piercing Xiao Yuxuan:
"Brother Ji's blood-written letter...where did you get it? And what does this locust tree seed represent? Xiao Yuxuan, who exactly are you? Are you a lackey of the court disguised as 'stopping war,' or yet another ambitious man trying to seize the Mohist techniques to forge your weapon for conquering the world?" Her voice suddenly rose, filled with biting sarcasm and indignation. "Tell me! For whom does this 'stopping war' you speak of stop war? Is it for those artisans and refugees whose marrow has been drained by the cruel officials of Legalism? Or is it for the court power behind you that treats human life like dirt?! Is there truly any pure 'stopping war' on this scorched earth of Hexi?!"
The cave was deathly silent, save for the crackling of the campfire and the ethereal echo of water droplets falling in the distance. Jing Zhi's questioning was like a poisoned dagger, each word striking at the heart of the matter, tearing away the most vulnerable facade of the "stop the war" ideal in the face of cruel reality.
Xiao Yuxuan did not avoid her sharp, piercing gaze. He spoke slowly, his voice low and calm, yet carrying a penetrating power that echoed in the cave filled with technological remnants and the sorrow of exile:
"Ji Zhai's blood-written letter came from the depths of the Black Stone Fortress hell, a craftsman's accusation delivered with his life. This locust tree seed originated from the banks of the Wei River, a general's tragic wish protected with his life, sown all the way across the scorched earth and ruins, just to leave a sliver of shelter for the people."
He took a step forward, the firelight elongating his shadow and covering part of the abandoned mechanical ruins:
“I am not a lackey of the court, for the court sees me as a traitor, cruel officials frame me with slander, and the barbarians want to devour my flesh and blood, with swords hanging over my head to take my life. I am also not an ambitious man, for I have no tiger tally in my hand, no strong army behind me, only this body full of wounds, and this little bit of… a spark of thought sown in the wildfire.”
His gaze swept over the massive, rusted gears and rails, as if he could see the power they might have contained when they were in operation, before finally settling back into Jing Zhi's distrustful eyes:
"The Mohist art is exquisite and unparalleled. What I seek is not to forge weapons of conquest, nor to seize power for personal gain. What I desire is that this ingenious craftsmanship, which rivals the creation of heaven and earth, can be used as my senior brother Ji Zhai originally wished—to cast into waterwheels to irrigate fields, so that farmers may have less toil; to transform into looms to weave cloth into clothing, so that the cold may be protected from wind and frost; to carve into plows and hoes to deeply cultivate fertile soil, so that the hungry may be fed… rather than… becoming a weapon of war for the court, or a claw for the barbarians to plunder!"
He pointed to the blood-stained book and the plump seed on the ground, his voice filled with an almost sorrowful earnestness:
“Miss Jingzhi, you ask me for whom I seek ‘stopping the war’? The eight characters on this blood-written letter, ‘All artisans and craftsmen suffer under the Qin laws,’ are the answer! The people struggling to survive on this scorched earth where this seed is directed are the answer! The power of the court? The might of the barbarians? The cruel officials of the Legalist school? Have they ever truly cared about the suffering of these artisans and craftsmen? Have they ever cared about the sorrow of these people on this scorched earth?! The ‘stopping the war’ I seek is not for the court, not for the barbarians, but for the artisans weeping in this blood-written letter! For the people on whom this seed is directed! For all the innocent lives in this world ravaged by war, lust for power, and cruel laws, to fight for a way to survive!”
A deathly silence fell over the cave. Jing Zhi stared intently at Xiao Yuxuan, the icy composure on her face seemingly trembling violently. The handwriting on Ji Zhai's blood-written letter, the symbolism of the locust tree seed, and the compassion and power in Xiao Yuxuan's words that transcended national boundaries and addressed the suffering of the common people—like a surging undercurrent, they crashed against the high wall of distrust and fear that had been built in her heart. She remembered Xiao Yuxuan's furious roar at the Luoshui sluice gate as he tried to protect the irrigation canal, and his bloodied figure guarding Anyi city walls… All of this seemed to silently provide context for his words at this moment.
Just then, a suppressed cough and the faint sobs of a child echoed from the depths of the cave. Immediately afterwards, several figures, dressed in similarly tattered clothes and with sallow, emaciated faces, timidly peeked out from the deeper shadows of the stone forest, like startled rabbits. There was an old craftsman with white hair and cloudy eyes, a silent woman with whip marks on her face, and several thin, bony children with wide, terrified eyes. They were the remnants of the Mohist school and their families who had fled here with Jing Zhi after Ji Zhai's death. Every face bore the marks of suffering and a deep fear of the unfamiliar visitors.
A little girl, about seven or eight years old, with dry, yellow hair, clutched a wooden shuttle model—exceptionally intricate but clearly damaged—to her chest. She timidly approached Jing Zhi, tugged at her clothes, and sobbed softly, “Sister Zhi… the shuttle… the shuttle Father made… is broken again… Mother… Mother can’t weave cloth to exchange for grain…” The exquisite model in her arms drooped limply, its broken spring hanging down.
Jing Zhi's body trembled violently. She looked down at the broken shuttle model in the little girl's arms, then at Ji Zhai's blood-written letter on the ground, and then at her companions trembling in the shadows, their eyes filled with numbness and fear... Finally, her gaze fell back on Xiao Yuxuan, on his calm and deep eyes, which seemed to be able to encompass all suffering.
That high wall built of distrust, fear, and extreme technological fastidiousness was finally, at this moment, pierced by the bloody reality and the grand, tragic aspiration that transcends hatred, leaving a tiny but irreparable crack.
Slowly, with great difficulty, she released her grip on the file. The soft thud of metal hitting the ground was exceptionally clear in the silent cave.
"What...do you intend to do?" Jing Zhi's voice was still hoarse, but it lacked some of the sharp hostility, replaced by a deep weariness and cautious inquiry. Her gaze swept over the locust seed on the ground. "With this spark, to fight against this boundless night? To use this empty promise of 'stopping war' to fill the chasm of power?"
“This is not empty talk.” Xiao Yuxuan bent down and carefully picked up the locust seed, holding it in his palm. “It is a root. Downward, it is deeply planted in the scorched earth soaked with blood and tears; upward, it stretches out in the hearts of people who yearn for peace. The road extends under our feet. Thorns are everywhere, and the night is long, but once the spark is lit, it will eventually spread like wildfire.”
He raised his eyes, his gaze passing over Jing Zhi, landing on the figures cowering in the shadows deep within the cave, on the broken shuttle model in the little girl's arms. His voice, like a vow, echoed clearly in this final place of exile for the Mo family, above the cold embers of mechanical arts:
"This path is fraught with peril, a journey fraught with peril. I, Xiao, am willing to offer my crippled body as a guide and my faith as a lamp. Miss Jingzhi, fellow Mohists, would you be willing... to temporarily extinguish the embers in your hearts, and by the light of this tiny spark, to see... beyond this darkness, whether there truly is a glimmer of hope... for a world where the world is bathed in the shade of the locust tree?"
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
