Iron-Blooded Loom
The notice was posted on the bulletin board next to the vermilion gate of "Shen's Kaoshan Cotton Textile Workshop".
The ink was still wet, exuding a fresh scent in the cool air.
Soon, a crowd gathered in front of the bulletin board.
The literate people loudly proclaimed "purchase limit," "three times the market price," and so on...
The buzzing discussions exploded like water being poured into boiling oil.
"One zhang? What can one zhang do? It's not even enough to fill a tooth gap!"
A man wearing a worn-out padded jacket blushed and pointed at the notice, shouting, "In previous years, the cold was unbearable. This year, we finally managed to find some cheap, thick fabric, but now we're being choked again?"
A woman holding a child timidly interjected, "Boss... Boss, haven't you always been selling cheap cloth to save lives? Why... why is this happening?" The child in her arms had a blue face from the cold, and his little hands were tightly gripping his mother's thin clothes.
Why?
A middle-aged man, dressed somewhat smartly but with a shifty look in his eyes, sneered. His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for those around him to hear. "Isn't it all just to drive up the price! To create a shortage! What purchase restrictions? They're just fooling around! Just wait, in a couple of days, the price on the black market will skyrocket!"
Discontent and suspicion spread like a plague among the people.
Some people cursed angrily, some sighed, and some had shifty eyes, as if they were plotting something.
Some people say, "If you buy it in installments each month, it will be just enough for a family by winter."
The window of the private room on the second floor of the teahouse opposite the weaving workshop was slightly ajar.
A well-maintained man in his fifties, dressed in a dark purple silk robe with floral patterns, sat by the window, slowly skimming the tea foam.
It was Zhou Shi'an, the head manager of the Longchang Shipping Company.
A capable-looking follower stood behind him with his hands at his sides.
"Affordable pricing with purchase restrictions... Artisans relocating to inner workshops..."
Zhou Shi'an put down his teacup, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. His face was expressionless, but a glint of shrewdness flashed deep in his eyes.
"This Mr. Shen, despite his young age, is incredibly shrewd and meticulous."
He tilted his head slightly. "The thugs' side, are they done for again?"
The attendant whispered, "Yes. Last night, he led his men to try and sneak into the artisan's side courtyard, but they were caught red-handed by the night patrol. That scoundrel Shen Yan personally led his men to ambush him. He was ruthless; Scarface's arm was broken on the spot, and he was screaming like a banshee. Shen Yan stripped him naked and tied him to the hitching post at the market entrance, where he was left to freeze for half the night. His cronies carried him away at dawn. Now he's the laughingstock of the whole city, completely crippled."
A faint, cold smile appeared on Zhou Shi'an's lips.
"It's just making use of waste, a trial balloon. Shen Yan... humph, she's become a handy weapon in her hands."
He picked up his teacup, took another sip, and turned his gaze back to the commotion in front of the weaving workshop. "This woman isn't after money. She's after something much bigger. This loom is probably not something we can just take by force."
The winter sun, pale and bleak, slanted across the desolate northern road.
A simply decorated yet imposing carriage, escorted by two rows of solemn guards with long swords at their waists, rolled across the frozen road and came to a steady stop in front of the grand gate of Yunshu Textile Workshop. The curtain was lifted, and a middle-aged man dressed in the official robes of a sixth-rank civil official bowed and alighted. His face was lean, his long beard meticulously combed, and his eyes, though seemingly calm, carried a deep-seated scrutiny and unquestionable authority born of long accustomed to a position of power.
This person was none other than Hong Qiyuan, an assistant director of the Ministry of Works' Department of Imperial Sacrifices and Censors.
Hong Qiyuan stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze slowly sweeping over the towering walls of the weaving workshop and the busy transport vehicles, finally landing on Ling Zhan and Shen Yan who rushed out to greet him upon hearing the news. A perfectly timed, gentle smile, representing the court's approval, appeared on his lips.
"Master Shen, Madam Ling, there's no need for such formalities."
Hong Qiyuan's voice was not loud, but it clearly drowned out the noise of the weaving workshop, carrying a natural sense of authority.
"I have come here on the orders of the Ministry of Works to commend your efforts in improving looms and benefiting your hometown. This is a benevolent act that benefits the country and its people, and the court is very pleased to hear of it."
After a series of high-sounding words, Hong Qiyuan was led into the main hall of the weaving workshop.
Guests and hosts were seated separately, and fragrant tea was served.
Hong Qiyuan didn't exchange many pleasantries and went straight to the point.
"Master Ling's ingenuity in creating this marvelous machine has relieved the people from the suffering of hunger and cold, a contribution to the nation. However, the benefit of one region is ultimately not as good as the benefit of the whole world. The Ministry of Works intends to gather the best craftsmen in the country to establish a 'Weaving Research Institute' in the capital, to widely spread the ingenious method of this machine, so that all the people of our Great Yin Dynasty, whether in the north or south, may benefit from its great blessings. This is a great undertaking for all ages. What do you think, Madam Ling?"
He picked up his teacup.
Her gaze seemingly casually fell on Ling Zhan's face, awaiting the expected tears of gratitude and delighted acceptance.
The main hall fell silent for a moment.
Shen Yan stood to the side and behind Ling Zhan, his usual playful smile long gone.
His gaze was steady, but what remained was an almost cold vigilance.
His gaze, sharp as needles, fell upon Hong Qiyuan's seemingly gentle face, capturing every subtle change in the other's expression.
His fingers, hanging at his sides, curled up almost imperceptibly.
Ling Zhan sat in the main seat.
After listening to Hong Qiyuan's impassioned and righteous speech about "benefiting the world," she remained unmoved. She didn't even look at Hong Qiyuan; her gaze was calmly fixed on the steaming tea in front of her.
"Master Hong."
Ling Zhan's voice rang out, not loud, but exceptionally clear, with a resolute metallic quality: "This loom is the foundation upon which Kaoshan Cotton Workshop survives and helps others. The blueprints, the craftsmen, and the core mechanism will not be disclosed to outsiders."
Hong Qiyuan's hand, which was holding the teacup, suddenly paused.
The gentle smile on his face froze instantly, then peeled away inch by inch.
He slowly put down the teacup, the bottom of the cup lightly touching the table, making a crisp yet jarring "click" sound.
He raised his eyes, his gaze suddenly becoming sharp as a hawk's, piercing straight at Ling Zhan.
The peace that had just been there was completely gone.
All that remained was the cold, oppressive aura of the superior and a trace of offended anger, which pressed down heavily.
“Master Shen,” Hong Qiyuan turned to Shen Yan, “a heart that embraces the world is the greatest virtue. Your selfishness in keeping such valuable tools for yourself is not… short-sighted and a betrayal of the Emperor’s grace?”
He emphasized the words "Imperial Grace" with extreme force, conveying a chilling threat.
This time, Shen Yan suddenly became bolder and directly scoffed.
Ling Zhan leaned forward slightly, as if stating a simple fact, his voice remaining steady: "Those who have the world in their hearts must also wield a sharp blade. If the blade is lost, what protection can they offer? Lord Hong, the roots of Kaoshan Cotton Mill are here. As long as the looms are there, the roots are there. If the looms are separated from the roots..."
She paused for a moment, then said firmly, "I'm sorry, I cannot comply."
"Bang!"
Hong Qiyuan slammed his palm heavily on the rosewood coffee table beside him.
The cup of hot tea that had just been placed down suddenly jumped up, splashing out scalding tea that meandered and flowed across the smooth surface of the table, steaming hot.
"Fine! What a fine 'I'm sorry, I cannot comply'!"
Hong Qiyuan was so angry that he laughed instead.
He stood up abruptly, a gust of cold wind rising from the hem of his official robe. "Madam Ling, take care of yourself! Don't ruin your future for your own selfish reasons!"
He gave Ling Zhan one last glare, his eyes as sinister as a poisoned dagger, before turning away with a flick of his sleeve.
He strode out without looking back, the sound of his official boots hitting the ground sounding particularly heavy and angry in the silence.
The guards immediately followed.
After a series of cold, scraping sounds of armor rubbing together, only Ling Zhan, Chen Yan, and the gradually cooling tea stains on the table remained in the main hall.
Watching Hong Qiyuan storm off in anger, Shen Yan asked in a low voice, "Is this feud truly over?"
"Ignore him, military supplies are the most important."
Ling Zhan's gaze fell on the spilled tea. "The sword is already drawn; it's just a matter of when it will fall."
Winter has passed, but the wind outside Yanmen Pass still howls and sweeps across the land, obscuring all vision.
The soldiers on the wall, wrapped in tattered cotton-padded coats, huddled behind the crenellations, sheltered from the wind. The cold, a mixture of snow and rain, was even more unbearable.
"Boss... I... I can't hold on any longer..."
A young soldier's voice trembled, choked with sobs, but the thin, hardened old cotton wadding offered no protection against the relentless, penetrating chill of the icy rain. Beside him, the old soldier's face was covered in deep purple chilblains, some of which had ulcerated and oozed pus. His eyes were cloudy, and his lips moved, but he couldn't utter a coherent sound.
General Wang Zhen, the garrison commander, stood atop the fortress, wrapped in a fairly thick old fur coat, his face even more gloomy than the sky.
He looked down at the gate, where several soldiers were using iron picks and sticks to pry open a pile of frozen solid "things"—the bodies of soldiers who had frozen to death while on duty the previous night, their corpses frozen to the ground like ice sculptures.
Attrition! More attrition! Losses not from battle, but like a dull knife cutting flesh, slowly draining the blood from this border army!
Just as this gloomy atmosphere was about to crush the entire pass, a long caravan of mules and horses stubbornly emerged from the icy rain on the inland side of the pass. The escorts were not ordinary laborers, but dozens of burly men dressed in uniform, thick cotton-padded coats and with short knives at their waists.
"General Wang! The cotton-padded clothes for the army have arrived from Mr. Shen of Kaoshan Cotton Mill!"
The team leader's voice was hoarse, but it carried a resolute force.
The heavy wooden crates were quickly unloaded and pried open.
There was no fluffy cotton wool as I had expected.
What came into the view of Wang Zhen and the soldiers around him was a neatly stacked array of dark gray armor plates, covered with countless tiny copper nails, which looked exceptionally thick and heavy!
Wang Zhen frowned, strode forward, and grabbed a piece of clothing.
It feels heavy in your hand, much heavier than a regular cotton coat.
It has a firm and resilient feel, unlike soft cotton.
He rubbed his rough fingers hard across the surface, the fine copper nails digging into his fingertips.
He suddenly drew his sword from his waist and slashed fiercely at the strange "cotton coat"!
"Sizzle—!"
A sickeningly sharp tearing sound rang out. The blade did not easily pierce the cotton cloth as expected; instead, it painstakingly plowed a not-too-deep gash into the dense, dark gray fabric, revealing layers upon layers of tightly packed, snow-white cotton wadding! The cut cotton wadding was incredibly fine, clearly not ordinary filling.
"What is this?" Wang Zhen asked in a deep voice, his eyes filled with surprise and uncertainty.
The leader wiped the icy rain from his face and shouted, "Reporting to the General! This is a 'cotton armor' specially made by Master Ling! The outer layer is thick cotton cloth soaked in tung oil and repeatedly pounded until it is dense and hard to cut! The inner layer is densely stuffed with cold-proof cotton! Master Ling said that according to the ancient method in the 'Treatise on Military Preparedness,' 'eighty layers of cotton are stuffed per square inch'! Copper nails have been specially added to strengthen and toughen it, and it was made specifically for our border brothers to withstand this awful weather and the Tartar arrows!"
Wang Zhen's pupils suddenly contracted.
He whirled around and yelled at his personal guards, "Bring me water!"
A bucket of icy snow water was poured onto a cotton coat.
Water droplets quickly gathered and rolled off the dense fabric, failing to penetrate rapidly!
Wang Zhen grabbed another handful of snow.
Press firmly onto the surface of the cotton nail, and after a while remove it. You will see that there is only a little dampness on the contact surface, while the inside remains dry!
"Good! Good! Good!" Wang Zhen shouted three times.
The gloom on his face was replaced by ecstasy and a ruthless determination born of a narrow escape.
"Quickly! Distribute them! Prioritize the brothers on duty tonight! Hurry!"
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