Cotton Clips in Bloom
After seeing off the plague-like Special Envoy Qian, the atmosphere in the workshop eased slightly.
Shen Yan rubbed his temples and looked out the window at the still scattered snowflakes.
“Boss, Tiger… seems to have calmed down a lot more,” Su Wan said softly.
She noticed that after returning from the border, the boy became quieter, and there was something in his eyes that he hadn't seen before.
The snow had not yet melted, and the morning light was crisp and cold.
In the open space in the backyard, Tiger was wearing only a thin, close-fitting outfit.
Steam rose from his forehead as he practiced the close-quarters combat techniques Ling Zhan had taught him, over and over again.
His movements were ruthless and swift, carrying a murderous aura beyond his years.
Every tackle, grappling, and chokehold was executed with the aim of perfection.
Shen Yan stood under the eaves, wrapped in a thick fur coat, his brows furrowed.
He watched as his son fell heavily onto the cold, frozen ground time and time again, only to immediately get up again, his arms and neck now bearing several bruises.
Su Wan stood to the side, holding the hand warmer, her eyes filled with worry.
"Enough!"
Shen Yan finally couldn't help but speak, his voice filled with suppressed anxiety, "Tiger! Come and rest! Be careful not to get cold or hurt your bones!"
Tiger had just finished a dangerous ground grappling move when he heard this. He stopped, wiped the sweat and mud off his face, and ran to the porch. His eyes were surprisingly bright: "Dad! I'm not cold! The key to the Silk Entangling Hand technique that Mom taught me is 'unleashing upon contact with clothing, dislocating tendons and bones.' I haven't mastered it yet!"
He was panting as he looked at Ling Zhan, who was standing quietly to the side, his eyes burning with passion.
"Mother! Could you teach me again the stealth and concealment techniques of those scouts at the border, and your methods of commanding tigers and wolves in the mountains? Military strategy! I want to learn military strategy! Real battlefield troop deployment!"
Shen Yan felt a sharp pain in her chest.
He grabbed Hu Zi's cold wrist, feeling the boy's burning pulse and hard muscles, as well as several obvious abrasions.
Shen Yan's throat bobbed, wanting to say "You're still young," "The battlefield is dangerous," "You're needed at home," but in the end, it only turned into a deep sigh. Her fingers unconsciously rubbed the bruises on her son's wrist, her eyes filled with unyielding reluctance and worry.
Ling Zhan's gaze swept over the bruises on Hu Zi's arm, like a scanner scanning data.
She stepped forward, her cold fingertips precisely pressing on a slight misalignment in Hu Zi's shoulder blade caused by improper force.
A soft "click" sounded.
"Ouch!" Tiger cried out in pain, caught off guard.
"The angle of force applied here is off by three degrees; it will not harm the enemy, but will harm oneself first."
Ling Zhan's voice remained calm as he withdrew his hand.
"To move stealthily and remain hidden, one must be as still as a rock and as swift as a falling star. You are too impetuous."
She paused, looking into Hu Zi's burning, eager eyes. "Military strategy is not just theoretical. Tomorrow at dawn, come with me to the mass grave outside the city. First, learn to conceal your heartbeat and killing intent in a death trap. If you survive three days, then we can talk about other things."
Tiger winced in pain, but upon hearing this, he instantly forgot his pain, and his eyes blazed with almost manic joy.
"Yes, Mother! At dawn, at the mass grave! I will definitely survive!"
Looking at her son's eager expression, as if he couldn't wait to rush into the "death trap," and then at Ling Zhan's calm and expressionless face, as if he were just arranging a picnic, Shen Yan felt a chill run from her feet to her head, even more intense than the dead of winter.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something.
In the end, he could only close his eyes helplessly, wrap his fur cloak tighter, and turn to walk into the house.
Su Wan quickly followed, whispering, "Master, Tiger, he..."
Shen Yan waved his hand, his voice a little hoarse: "...Let him go."
He ultimately couldn't stop the mother and son.
She could drive away wolves and tigers from the mountaintop; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call her a demon reborn, for iron and blood were etched into her very bones.
One was a newborn calf who had followed his mother to the mountain peak a few times, only wanting to rush into a wider world.
He knew he could no longer control it.
Outside Yanmen Pass at this time.
The biting north wind swept across the desolate plains beyond the pass, emitting a sharp and piercing wail, like countless wronged souls crying out in the wilderness.
The wind, like a knife that slices through flesh and bone, cuts through the cracks in the dilapidated battlements, scraping against the exposed skin of the border guards, instantly stealing away the last trace of warmth. Inside the barracks, the weak flames in the hearth are torn apart by the draft, illuminating several ashen, numb faces. The quartermaster's fingers, long since bloodless, stiffly turn the pages of the ledger, his voice dry and hoarse like the grinding of gravel: "Cotton-padded clothes... old coats patched up, still short 1,700. Chilblain ointment... run out in three days."
In the corner, a huddled figure suddenly coughed violently—
The coughing was excruciating, culminating in a small spit of foul matter mixed with dark red, icy shards. No one spoke; only the coughing echoed in the deathly silence, swallowed by the even fiercer wind. A chill seeped into the bone, carrying the weight of despair, pressing heavily on everyone's hearts.
Thousands of miles away, the breath of early spring was shut out by the thick walls of Shen's Yunshu Weaving Workshop.
There is no gentle breeze or drizzle here, only a completely different kind of scorching noise.
Dozens of modern looms stood in rows like steel monsters, their massive flywheels spinning wildly under the pull of belts, emitting a deafening roar. The shuttles moved so fast they were reduced to blurry streaks of light, swiftly weaving through the dense, interwoven weave. The snow-white cotton threads were greedily devoured, then sprouted wide, thick, and fine cotton fabric at the other end, like an endless white waterfall cascading down, instantly filling the bamboo baskets in front of the looms. A thick, warm, cottony vapor filled the air, mingling with the smell of machine oil, creating a suffocating industrial haze.
Sweat soaked through the shirts of every weaver, clinging to their skin.
Their movements were precise and swift, like wind-up puppets, their eyes fixed on the rapidly moving machinery, not daring to slacken for a moment. A young apprentice was a step too slow, and the shuttle whizzed past his fingertips, leaving a bloody mark. He gasped in pain, but only dared to quickly wipe his hand on his trousers before immediately throwing himself back into the busy work.
Efficiency is life itself.
Amidst the roar, even the foreman's hoarse shouts sounded weak.
"Quickly! Five thousand horses the master wants! By the end of the month! Not a single one can be missing!"
Inside the accounting office at the heart of the weaving workshop, most of the noise was filtered out by the thick walls.
Ling Zhan stood behind a huge wooden table, looking down at the spread-out account books and several samples of cotton fabric of different textures.
She stood tall and straight, dressed in a crisp indigo cotton outfit with tightly bound cuffs. Her long hair was simply pulled back, revealing a smooth forehead and a pair of overly calm eyes. Her gaze swept over the jumping numbers in the ledgers and the stacks of orders and contracts without the slightest ripple, as if she were merely reviewing cold battlefield reports. The light streaming in from the window outlined the lines of her profile—resolute, angular, and imbued with an almost mechanical focus.
With a soft creak, the door was pushed open.
A warm breeze carrying a faint scent of soapberry wafted in first, followed by the appearance of Chen Yan's figure in the doorway, like a vibrant painting suddenly appearing in this cold, efficient space. Today, he wore a brand-new royal blue silk robe, with silver thread trimming the collar and cuffs, which made his face appear even more radiant, with red lips, white teeth, and sparkling eyes.
He leaned against the door frame, his posture languid, as if he had just returned from a spring outing, casually tossing a heavy brocade pouch into his hand.
The silver coins inside jingled.
"Tsk tsk tsk—"
Shen Yan drew out her words, her peach blossom eyes smiling as she swept over Ling Zhan's focused profile. "My dear wife, there's practically a mountain of gold outside, and you're stuck here in this cold room doing accounts? Those old foxes from Longchang Shipyard have their eyes glued to our new 'Yunjin Cotton,' their drool is practically dripping down their fronts! Name this price!"
He held up three fingers that had become increasingly fair and white, and waved them in front of Ling Zhan.
Ling Zhan finally looked up from the ledger and placed his gaze on him, saying, "What they want is not cloth, but a loom."
Shen Yan paused in his action of throwing the brocade pouch, his nonchalant expression softening slightly. He walked in, closed the door, and completely shut out the noise from outside.
"I can't hide it from you."
He strolled to the table, his fingertips tracing a thick, sturdy piece of cotton cloth. "The old manager of Longchang Company secretly slipped my little bean sprout a gold ingot yesterday, just to find out how the spring of our flying shuttle is made."
He paused, then lowered his voice: "And those hooligans in the west of the city, they've been loitering around our back alleys these past few days, their eyes are really cunning."
"As expected."
Ling Zhan's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly pierced through the air.
She picked up a sample piece of fabric and felt the tight, solid texture with her fingertips.
"This loom is ten times faster than a regular loom, saves more than half the effort, and produces wide and dense fabric. What it produces is not just cloth, but a breath of warmth in winter, and the strength to help people with frozen hands and feet stand up again."
After saying that, he put down the cloth and turned his gaze to the window.
Beyond the courtyard wall, it seemed as if one could see the far north, the border where the north wind was like a knife and soldiers were frozen to death.
As a former Space Marine, thinking of her soldiers has become second nature to her.
"It can save many people."
There was still little emotion in his voice; it sounded like he was stating an objective fact.
Shen Yan raised an eyebrow, waiting for her "but".
really.
"but."
Ling Zhan's gaze returned to Shen Yan's face. "It can also arm the enemy more quickly. It's no secret that the Huizhou merchants behind Longchang have secret dealings with the tribes of the northern grasslands. Those thugs? They're nothing but stupid knives being used as pawns. If these looms are distributed, in less than a year, the cavalry on the grasslands will be able to wear the same thicker, or even cheaper, cotton-padded clothes. Every bolt of cloth we sell today may one day be wrapped around an archer shooting towards Yanmen Pass."
Her fingertips tapped lightly on the ledger.
"One must have the world in one's heart, but also wield a sharp blade. How can a sharp blade be lightly handed over to others?"
The flippant look on Shen Yan's face completely disappeared.
He was silent for a moment, then his eyes sharpened.
"So what are you planning to do? You can't cover it up now, those people are green with envy."
Purchase restrictions.
Ling Zhan uttered three words, picked up a pen, and wrote rapidly on the blank notice board.
The handwriting is strong and forceful, penetrating the paper.
"First, all new looms will have their core components independently crafted and assembled by artisans in the inner workshops. The artisans and their families will be moved into the workshops and their movements will be strictly controlled. Second, cotton cloth sold outside the workshops will be subject to a 'price-based purchase restriction' policy—each household can purchase one zhang (approximately 3.3 meters) of cotton cloth per month with an official household permit, specifically for sewing winter clothing. Any additional cotton cloth will be sold at three times the market price."
She put down her pen and pushed the notice toward the depths of disgust.
"Child labor team, keep a close eye on the market. Record the names of anyone who resells cheap cloth or hoards it for profit."
Shen Yan picked up the notice, looked at the cold, hard terms on it, and a playful smile slowly curved his lips, but his eyes shone with an astonishing light.
"Tsk, making me play the villain again? For this deal that offends people, my wife, you'd better give me a bigger share of the hard-earned money."
Even so, his careful folding of the notice carried a hint of solemnity.
"Furthermore, with this kind of overtime work, the workers may not be able to keep up."
Ling Zhan had never thought about these things; he was paid on the spot. "You can handle these things."
Shen Yan: "The workers naturally want to earn more money, but this can't go on in the long run. It would be better to provide them with a meal that includes meat and vegetables. They can rest for one hour after every two hours of work before they can continue. Work-related injuries and common illnesses will be treated for free. Douya and Daya are now quite skilled at this, and the old Taoist priest is a bit too idle."
Ling Zhan: "Whatever you say."
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