prynovel Chapter 11: Hidden Scales and Hidden Wings Collection
Chapter 11: Hidden Scales and Hidden Wings Collection
As dawn broke, only a faint, pale white line touched the horizon, like the edge of unwashed rice paper. Blackstone Town was still shrouded in a damp, milky-white morning mist; rooftops, street stones, and bare treetops were all covered with a fine layer of water droplets. Lin Yan had changed into a worn-out indigo coarse cloth garment, left behind by the original owner of the body. It was starched until stiff and felt rough against his skin. He had rolled up his trousers to his calves, revealing a section of his muscular calves, and wore a pair of worn-out straw sandals with thick soles. He carried an old bamboo basket about half his height, lined with some dry straw. At first glance, he really looked like a townsman heading into the mountains early to find some medicinal herbs or mountain goods. Only the slight bulge at his waist, cleverly concealed by his coarse cloth coat, hid the long, gleaming sword that had drunk demon blood.
On the streets in the early morning, pedestrians were as sparse as scattered sesame seeds. A few peddlers carrying empty loads hurried along, their necks hunched, sleeves tucked in, their breath trailing short tails in the cold mist before dissipating. At the breakfast stall at the town entrance, the tarpaulin awning had just been set up, and the steamers were just placed on the stove. White steam mingled with the morning mist, obscuring the shopkeeper's sleepy face. Lin Yan walked with his head down, his steps unhurried, seemingly focused on the slippery cobblestones beneath his feet, but his ears were already perked up, like an alert cat—a few fragmented whispers, carried by the morning breeze, intermittently reached his ears.
"...Last night...the town hall...was in a huge uproar..."
"Shh! Keep your voice down! My cousin works in the manor, and before dawn he secretly sent word that a very important item had been lost. Master Chen was furious and smashed two porcelain vases from the previous dynasty!"
"Tsk tsk, who has the guts to provoke us? Doesn't the manor have quite a few cultivator masters?"
"Who knows... Captain Zhao was summoned before dawn and hasn't come out yet..."
Lin Yan's expression remained unchanged, his pace steady, but his mind was crystal clear. Chen Fuhai, having lost that crucial contract, must be in a state of utter panic. Before long, beneath this seemingly calm morning mist, a raging storm was about to erupt.
He first took a detour to the shantytown in the west of the city. From afar, he could see a large group of people gathered in front of Wang Po's outstanding blue-brick and wooden house. The refugees huddled together like frightened sheep, their shoulders hunched, their faces showing the same fear and numbness, their eyes staring blankly at the ground, not daring to make eye contact with anyone.
Today, Granny Wang wore a dark red, sleek, floral-patterned silk jacket, standing out starkly against the drab crowd. With her hands on her rounded hips, she stood on the stone steps before the door, her shrill voice like a dull knife scraping an iron pot: "Are you all just standing here playing dead?! Who was on night duty last night? Hmm? Letting a petty thief sneak into the mansion and startle the master! If we find out who's the traitor, whoever's been stealing, I'll skin you all alive and throw you into the back mountains to feed the wolves!"
Several men responsible for guarding the refugee camp stood on the steps, wearing ill-fitting prison uniforms. Their foreheads and temples were covered in glistening sweat, which streamed down their cheeks, but they dared not raise their hands to wipe it away. They could only stammer, "Wang Po, please calm down... we will definitely investigate carefully... investigate carefully..."
Lin Yan's gaze swept quickly across the crowd, soon finding Zhou and her son. Zhou was holding Xiao Bao tightly in her arms, almost pressing the child into her thin chest. Her face was deathly pale, her lips were bluish-pursed, her eyes darted around, and she tried her best to keep her head down, wishing she could shrink into the ground. Xiao Bao was wearing an oversized coarse cloth jacket, his little hands clutching the hem of his mother's clothes tightly, his knuckles white. The child looked up, his bright black eyes filled with fear and confusion that did not belong to his age. Lin Yan did not dare to go forward, but only stood at a distance for a moment. Seeing that the mother and son were unharmed for the time being, he turned around, quickened his pace, and hurried towards Uncle Zhang's blacksmith shop in the south of the town.
***
The wooden signboard of "Zhang's Blacksmith Shop" has been hanging there for countless years, blackened by the ever-present smoke and grime, its edges curled and the lettering somewhat blurred. Even before you get close, the rhythmic "clang-clang-clang" of hammering metal pierces through the morning mist, steady and powerful, each strike seemingly striking the heart with a certain indomitable tenacity.
Lin Yan lifted the heavy, patched blue cloth curtain, and a wave of scorching heat mixed with a strong smell of rust and charcoal hit him, making it hard to breathe.
The shop was dimly lit, save for a roaring fire in the furnace, which bathed half of it in a bright orange-red glow. Uncle Zhang, shirtless, his bronze back gleaming in the firelight, sweat trickling down his muscular physique, gnarled like old tree roots. He was wielding a heavy iron hammer, forging a nascent hoe. The hammer struck the red-hot iron, sparks flying, a sizzling sound as it fell onto the damp earth, instantly extinguishing the sparks and leaving small black dots. The flickering flames illuminated his face, etched with the lines of time, a deep scar on his forehead gleaming faintly in the firelight, and the deep wrinkles around his eyes, yet radiating a vibrant energy beyond his years.
Hearing the rustling of the door curtain, Uncle Zhang didn't even look up. He just asked in a muffled voice, "Who is it? So early..." Before he could finish speaking, he had already caught a glimpse of the person in the dim light of the stove fire. His hand holding the hammer paused slightly in the air, then fell heavily again, making an even deeper "clang!"
He put down the hammer, placed the half-finished iron back into the furnace to warm it, then straightened up, picked up the coarse gray-black towel draped over the bellows handle, and hastily wiped the sweat from his face and chest. The sweat-soaked towel emitted a smell mixed with the metallic tang of sweat.
"Lin... Corporal?" Uncle Zhang's voice was a little dry, like gravel grinding. "Coming so early, is it because the Demon Suppression Division has another urgent mission?"
"There's an important matter that I need to discuss with Uncle Zhang privately." Lin Yan lowered his voice, his gaze sweeping meaningfully over the corner of the shop—two young apprentices were engrossed in sharpening a pile of newly forged sickles on a large millstone, their gleaming blades flashing coldly in the dim light.
Zhang Bo's cloudy yet still sharp eyes narrowed slightly, then he waved to the two apprentices, his voice returning to its usual gruff tone: "Gouzi, Tiedan, put down what you're doing for now. Go to the backyard and sharpen all those sickles you forged yesterday, until they're gleaming! The people from Lizhuang will be here at noon to collect them. If you delay the business, you'll be in trouble for dinner!"
"Yes, Master!" The two apprentices quickly responded, picked up the pile of sickles, and hurried through the back door of the shop to the backyard. The wooden door slammed shut, blocking out most of the noise.
The shop was suddenly filled only with the wheezing of the bellows and the soft crackling of the stove. Uncle Zhang walked to the shop door, peeked out, then turned back and slowly closed the two heavy wooden doors, bolting them shut with thick bolts. The hinges creaked heavily, shutting out the damp, cold morning mist and the faint sounds of the bustling market.
The fire in the stove became the only source of light, casting their shadows, which stretched and shortened, onto the blackened walls and the corners piled with clutter, flickering and somewhat ghostly.
Uncle Zhang walked back to the furnace, poked at the embers in the fire with his tongs, added two new pieces of charcoal, and sparks flew up high with a "whoosh." With his back to Lin Yan, his voice deepened: "Speak, what is it that's worth you coming to see this old blacksmith so early and so carefully?"
Lin Yan didn't beat around the bush and went straight to the point: "Uncle Zhang, the town mayor's mansion was burglarized last night. Have you heard anything about it?"
Zhang Botian's hand, which was adding charcoal, suddenly froze in mid-air. The dark lump of charcoal fell straight into the depths of the furnace with a "thud," splashing up a dazzling shower of sparks. A few hot ashes drifted onto his bronze arm, burning a few small red spots, but he seemed oblivious.
He slowly straightened up, turned around, and faced Lin Yan. The firelight danced behind him, casting his face in half-light and half-shadow. His eyes, usually cloudy from years of exposure to smoke and fire, were now sharp as a blade about to be tempered, fixed intently on Lin Yan.
"Stolen?" His voice was extremely low, with a barely perceptible tremor. "Lost...what?"
"A contract." Lin Yan met his gaze, speaking clearly and slowly, word by word, "A 'offering contract' signed in the names of Chen Fuhai, the mayor of Blackstone Town, and Zhao Mang, a captain of the Demon Suppression Division, with the wolf pack of Canglang Mountain. It clearly states that three living people must be offered up every month in exchange for the wolves not attacking the town. There are also three ledgers recording the names of all those sacrificed over the past three years, as well as details of their resale of the imperial 'demon-suppressing grain' and embezzlement of funds. Chen Fuhai and Zhao Mang have both signed and affixed their seals."
Uncle Zhang's breathing stopped for a moment. Then it became heavy and rapid, like a broken bellows. His fists, hanging at his sides, clenched tightly, his knuckles making a soft "crack" sound. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, like twisted earthworms, winding their way up his muscular forearms. Beneath his bronze skin, the blood seemed to surge and roar.
He abruptly turned his back, his broad back facing Lin Yan, heaving violently. The firelight magnified and distorted his shadow on the wall, making him look like a giant suppressing a raging inferno.
After a long silence, a hoarse question, seemingly squeezed from the deepest part of the chest, broke the suffocating silence:
"Is it...you?"
"It's me," Lin Yan readily admitted, taking a small step forward to close the distance with the old man. "I have a companion with me."
The shop fell silent again, with only the tireless fire burning, emitting a soft "whoosh" sound that mingled with the monotonous "whoosh" of the bellows. Uncle Zhang still had his back to him, but the trembling in his shoulders gradually subsided, though his back remained taut like a fully drawn bow.
Lin Yan didn't urge him. He knew what kind of turmoil Zhang Bo was going through at this moment. That name that had been missing for three years, that pain buried deep in his heart that he dared not touch, was being torn apart by this sudden truth, leaving it raw and bloody.
"Do you know...you're playing with your life?" Uncle Zhang's voice rang out again, even hoarser than before, as if ground by rough sand, each word dripping with blood and saliva. "Who is Chen Fuhai? Who is Zhao Mang? How many lives have they taken? You've touched their lifeline, they...they'll pounce on you like mad dogs, they won't stop until they tear you to pieces!"
"I know." Lin Yan's voice wasn't loud, but it was unusually steady and firm. "That's precisely why I can't back down. Uncle Zhang, this contract is the only ironclad proof that nails them down. You...you've endured for three years, waited for three years, don't you want to know what Little Stone went through back then? Don't you want to...seek justice for him?"
The three words "Little Stone" were like three red-hot irons, burning Zhang Bo's heart. He turned around abruptly, his bloodshot eyes staring intently at Lin Yan, his eyes instantly filling with turbid tears that surged down his face along the deep wrinkles.
"Justice? Hahaha..." He let out a heart-wrenching laugh, filled with tears. "How could I not want it? I can't close my eyes at night! Every time I close them, I see Little Stone standing at the door, wearing the new blue cloth jacket his mother sewed for him, turning back to smile at me, saying, 'Dad, I'm going to the mountains to dig up some herbs to sell and buy some good medicine for Mom.' The jacket had a small hole in the cuff, and his mother said she would mend it for him, but he said no need, it's okay for a boy to have a few tears..."
Tears blurred his vision, and he wiped them haphazardly, his voice choked with sobs, almost incoherent: "I personally escorted him to the town entrance, watching his bouncy figure skip and hop into the mountains... so spirited, such a vibrant person! But three days! Just three days! That old hag Wang Po came to my house with a bag of silver, saying... saying my son 'went into the mountains to gather herbs, accidentally encountered a wolf, and is gone'... Gone? A living, breathing person, how could he just be gone?!"
His fist slammed heavily onto the cold anvil beside him once again, making a muffled "bang" that sent the fine dust on the anvil flying.
"I don't believe it! I absolutely refuse to believe it! I secretly followed those bastards from the Demon Suppression Bureau into the mountains! I saw it with my own eyes... I saw them drag people out of the refugee camp, tie their hands and feet, and drag them into the mountains like livestock, throwing them into that dark cave... All that came out of there were howls of wolves and screams of dying people!" Uncle Zhang's voice trembled violently, his immense grief and indignation almost tearing his thin, strong body apart. "But I... but I can't find Xiao Shitou's body... I keep thinking, is there a mistake? Is it possible that my son is lucky enough to have escaped? Is he hiding in some mountain hollow, waiting for me to find him... For three years, I've saved up some money from blacksmithing, and I've asked people to inquire north and south, to see if there's a young man named Zhang Shitou..."
He suddenly raised his head, and in his bloodshot eyes, the last glimmer of self-deceiving hope flickered like a candle in the wind.
Lin Yan looked at him, his heart heavy as lead. He slowly reached into his robe and took out the copy of the contract, transcribed on ordinary paper, which was slightly wrinkled from being folded many times. He held it with both hands and handed it to Uncle Zhang.
"Uncle Zhang," his voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable authority, "take a look at this."
Uncle Zhang's gaze fell on the densely packed ink characters. At first, he was somewhat bewildered, until his eyes, as if drawn by an invisible thread, suddenly fixed on a certain spot.
[The 7th day of the 5th month of the 346th year of the Great Yin Dynasty's peaceful reign. Sacrificial offering: Zhang Shitou, age 16, son of Zhang Tiechui, the blacksmith of North Street. Physical characteristics: robust, no hidden illnesses. Purpose: Blood offering.]
Time, place, name, age, identity... every word was like a poisoned nail, driven deep into Uncle Zhang's eyes and heart.
He reached out his large, calloused, scalded, and cracked hands, trembling almost uncontrollably, and took the paper, light yet incredibly heavy. His rough fingertips carefully and extremely slowly traced the three characters "Zhang Shitou." Again and again. As if trying to feel the last, cold breath of his son remaining in this world through that touch.
Large tears rolled down, landing on the yellowed paper and quickly spreading into dark, despairing wet patches.
He watched for a long time, so long that a corner of the charcoal in the stove burned down, making a slight "crashing" sound.
Finally, he pressed the paper tightly, so tightly, against his heart, as if trying to embed it into his very bones. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, all the grief, confusion, and weakness in his tear-washed eyes had vanished. In their place was a burning, heart-stopping resolve and rage.
"Speak," Uncle Zhang's voice was still hoarse, but no longer trembling. Every word sounded like it was struck from an anvil, carrying the cold hardness and clang of metal. "What do you want me, Old Zhang, to do? To forge knives, to cast swords, or to use my old life to pay the price? If you even frown, I, Zhang Tiechui, am not a man who stands up to piss!"
"I need your help with three things." Lin Yan held up three fingers, his tone steady. "First, prepare a few items: Yang-attribute mineral powder, the more the better; high-quality cinnabar; and fresh black dog blood collected at the hour of Xu (7-9 PM). These are necessary for setting up the formation."
"Yang ore?" Zhang Bo's eyes flashed with a sharp light. "There's a lot of hematite ore piled up behind the shop, its color as red as fire. Once crushed and ground into powder, it's full of yang energy! I just had a merchant bring me some cinnabar a while ago; the quality is decent. Black dog blood is even easier to get. Butcher Li in the east of town keeps a big black dog; I'll personally go get it at 7 PM to guarantee its freshness!"
"Secondly," Lin Yan continued, "make some reliable contacts for me. Not many, twenty will suffice, but they must be resolute, willing to risk their lives, and have a blood feud or deep grudge against Chen Fuhai and Zhao Mang."
"I'll take care of this!" Uncle Zhang slapped his chest, making a dull thud. "Butcher Li from the east of town, his daughter Chunni, was tricked away last year by Granny Wang under the guise of a 'maid,' and she's never come back. Old Li's eyes bleed whenever he talks about it! Widow Liu from the north street, her husband is my old blacksmith buddy. The winter before last, Zhao Mang conscripted him to build a wall, and he never left Canglang Mountain! And there are several of my old apprentices who have been learning from me for over ten years; their families have all suffered at the hands of the Demon Suppression Bureau and the town magistrate's office, and they've been holding back their anger for a long time! If I go and speak to them, I guarantee everyone will respond!"
"Third," Lin Yan said, "find out the details of the guards at the town magistrate's mansion and the Demon Suppression Division recently. The changing of the guard times, the number of people in each area, who are the trusted elites, and who are the marginal soldiers who might waver—the more detailed the better."
Uncle Zhang grinned, revealing a set of teeth slightly yellowed from smoking, his smile carrying the confidence of an old hunter: "You've come to the right person. I've been forging weapons for the Demon Suppression Division for over a decade. I know exactly which squad uses which weapon, which squad leader is a heavy drinker, and which has family troubles! There are a few young soldiers whose families have also 'disappeared,' but they dare not speak out. I'll go sound them out; maybe I can get them to come!"
Lin Yan took out a small cloth bag from his pocket, placed it on the table covered in iron filings, and untied it. Inside were five taels of silver and several strings of copper coins. "Take these for now. You'll need money to contact the brothers and buy supplies. If you need more, just let me know."
This time, Uncle Zhang didn't refuse. He reached out and gathered the cloth bundle into his arms, then patted Lin Yan's still-developing but already very strong shoulder heavily: "Lin Yan... no, Brother Lin! You may be young, but your bones are stronger than many old guys! My life, Zhang Tiechui's life, is now in your hands. But you remember this—" His expression suddenly turned serious, "Whether we succeed or fail, you must live! For my son, Little Stone, for Butcher Li's Chunni, for Widow Liu's husband, for all the innocent souls who were fed to wolves alive by those beasts... you must live, and watch them get their comeuppance!"
"Don't worry." Lin Yan met his gaze and nodded solemnly. "I have my own plans and will arrange a way out. If things don't go well, you must take the brothers who are willing to leave and leave Blackstone Town as soon as possible, and go to Qingzhou Prefecture, or try to see the officials of the Provincial Surveillance Commissioner's Office directly and submit evidence."
The two whispered their conversation about the code words, meeting place, and contingency plans in case they got separated, until the morning light filtering through the window gradually brightened. Only then did Lin Yan take his leave of the blacksmith shop. He didn't go straight to the cellar in the east of town, but instead went to Li the butcher's shop to buy some durable dried meat and salt blocks. He then went to the general store and bought several reams of sturdy oil paper, a few bundles of strong hemp rope, and a small packet of sulfur powder—all things he might need while traveling in the deep mountains.