Chapter 180 Bringing the Whole Family

Chapter 180: Dragging the Family Along

"Lord Song, rest assured. If I can't fire that cement thing out, I'll give up the title of the number one sword forger of Xiangshan!"

The man Ge Quan had found thumped his chest and assured Song Tingzhou, and ten days later, another failed batch of cement was added to the list.

When Song Tingzhou arrived at the kiln yard outside the city, several craftsmen were arguing fiercely.

"Uncle Xu, it's definitely a problem with the kiln you built! It needs to be modified."

"My kiln is problematic? What 'number one sword forger of Xiangshan' nonsense—you were still playing with mud when your Uncle Xu was firing kilns!"

"Old Xu, you're really full of it. What's the difference between the stuff you fire and mud?"

"If you're so good, why haven't you made the cement?"

The team at the kilns was gradually growing, and the progress of the fired product had improved significantly from the start. Song Tingzhou was already quite gratified.

Seeing the craftsmen arguing in a mess, he helplessly interjected, "Everyone, please stop arguing. This task is not easy, and you've all worked hard. Let's take it step by step; there's no need to rush."

The sword forger Ge Quan had brought felt quite ashamed in front of Song Tingzhou. After all, he did have a reputation in the martial world, and now that he had boasted so grandly but failed, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

"Lord Song, rest assured, I will fire that stuff out for you no matter what!"

But the next day, the number one sword forger of Xiangshan had vanished without a trace...

Xu the kiln master, brought by Lin Yi, sighed regretfully. "I shouldn't have provoked that kid. Who knew he'd have such thin skin and just run off like that."

Song Tingzhou: "..." He hadn't expected the man who had sworn so confidently the day before to slip away without a word, but the scene felt oddly familiar.

Sure enough, half a month later, the runaway number one sword forger of Xiangshan returned with three old men, even older than Master Xu, brought by carriage and horse.

"I've brought my master, my senior uncle, and my junior uncle. I don't believe we can't fire it out with this many people!"

Just like those hot-headed martial artists in TV dramas who start brawling in teahouses and taverns over a word; stubborn as mules.

That was what Meng Wan was thinking to himself at the time, but in truth, even by now he was starting to wonder if they could actually pull it off.

Another month passed. Meng Wan was taken by Song Tingzhou outside the city. Staring in disbelief at the city wall being recast with cement, his voice trembled slightly. "It really... worked?"

Song Tingzhou took his hand, his normally impassive face now equally alight with excitement. "It's real. We finally succeeded."

—Spring of the twenty-eighth year of Qisheng, the first generation of cement in the state of Yu was finally developed.

For Lingnan, impoverished and burdened by treacherous roads, cement was like the cornerstone of logistics and transportation, promoting trade between Lingnan and other regions.

And for now, even the small county of Heshan alone reaped boundless benefits.

—

"Brother Feng, you really want to take the masters away?"

"Old Xu, you're leaving too?"

Meng Wan rushed over as soon as he heard that these great masters, having accomplished their task, intended to leave Heshan. Without the chance for cement this time, where would he find such a group of gods again!

After all, Master Xu had been introduced by Lin Yi, and he treated Meng Wan like his own nephew. Affectionately, he said to Meng Wan, "You've already found me a residence, so where would I go? I'm not leaving. Heshan is a good place to retire—much more peaceful than Yangzhou."

The old man had seen everything in the capital Shengjing; he'd weathered great storms. Heshan was remote, the county town quiet. He was packing his luggage to return to Heshan county town to stay with his family for a few days.

Meng Wan half-relaxed. "Brother Feng, why don't you stay too?"

Fengzhong, the number one sword forger of Xiangshan, waved his hand casually. "We children of the martial world roam freely; we'll meet again if fate allows."

Meng Wan gritted his teeth. "Fate, my ass! This lot loves to wander; where would he find them next time?"

"Alas, all of you who managed to fire cement have performed a great deed worthy of eternal fame, comparable to dredging rivers and digging canals. Your legacy will be remembered for all time!" Meng Wan out of nowhere started singing their praises.

Song Tingzhou shot him a subtle glance, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Fengzhong said on the surface, "Bah, I forge swords—no, I fire lime—just for the common people. Don't talk about setting up steles or anything." But in truth, this tall man, even taller than Song Tingzhou, shyly covered his mouth, which had given away his excitement.

Meng Wan put on a sincere face. "I can't say for other places, but on the roads of Heshan, steles will definitely be erected for all of you!"

"You're really something. Fine, if you insist on erecting one, go ahead. My master, senior uncle, and the others are old and don't want to be bothered by worldly affairs. Put up a stele for me!" Fengzhong declared righteously. Afraid his hard-of-hearing master would hear, he jumped onto the shaft of the horse cart and was about to crack the whip and leave.

Meng Wan thought: As if I believe that nonsense.

"Brother Feng, do you know what the cement we fired is used for?"

Fengzhong thought to himself: Seen off is seen off, but this young man won't stop talking—has he taken a fancy to my handsome face?

A hint of wariness crept into Fengzhong's eyes as he glanced from Meng Wan to Song Tingzhou. "Isn't it just that Lord Song wants to pave roads for the people?"

"Exactly, pave roads! But what is paving roads for?"

Fengzhong gradually grew impatient. How the hell would he know why?

Meng Wan noticed and quickly explained the next part in simple terms. "Paving roads is to keep farmers from being confined to their villages, to open up inter-village paths, so they can bring out mountain goods for trade. It allows the roads of Heshan and even all of Lingnan to be smooth, enabling commerce with the outside world, expanding the economy..."

"Oh." Fengzhong scratched his ear.

Meng Wan: "...Forget it. Let me just say it directly."

"Do you know about the Guanyu Bureau in the capital?"

Fengzhong's eyes sharpened. "You want me to make glass for you, and after the roads are built, sell it elsewhere for money?" Glass is precious and fragile—no wonder they needed to build roads. So this man's earlier noble talk about helping the people was just a lie.

Meng Wan wasn't bothered by his change in attitude. Smiling, he said, "I want you to help me make glass, but not to sell as precious vessels. I want you to find a way to mass-produce it and use glass as containers."

The western prefecture of Xiwu is abundant in fruit, with temperatures and low slopes ideal for fruit trees. The fact that local sugarcane output exceeded that of Yangzhou is the best example.

Citrus and lychee are rarely tasted in the north. Other preservation methods result in heavy losses, and the small quantities are reserved for the imperial clan only. If they were made into more storable cans and expanded outward, the common people would have another trade route.

Meng Wan talked until his mouth was dry and finally managed to convince Fengzhong and his group. The Guanyu Bureau that produced glass was in the hands of the imperial family; they couldn't mass-produce it openly. But since he wanted to keep someone like Fengzhong around, he casually threw a challenge at him.

"Glass can be made. But if you use glass as a container, how can you ensure its lid seals the jar tightly enough to keep the food from spoiling?"

—

After the cement was fired, Meng Wan paid out of his own pocket—not only fulfilling his promise to give two hundred taels of silver each to the bricklayers and potters of Heshan County, but also building several small courtyards outside the city for Fengzhong and his crew to live in for free.

The bandits Song Tingzhou had captured during the New Year also found a new use—road paving.

This group had imagined they would be executed, beheaded—but they never imagined they would be mixing cement day and night.

The legendary Black Rakshasa of Evil Tiger Ridge, whose name made the people of Qinzhou tremble, after working day and night, clutched his shovel and screamed in despair, "Kill me! Ah, kill me!"

The guard overseeing the convicts slapped him on the head. "What are you yelling about? If you don't finish paving two miles today, nobody gets dinner!"

Although the labor service issue was resolved, the raw materials and labor costs were a daily drain on funds. Where did the money come from? The Tong family gave it away for free.

They had no choice but to give it away. Besides, even if they'd asked, Song Tingzhou wouldn't have paid anyway.

Who said this was the Tong family's money? It was clearly ill-gotten gains he had taken from the bandits' lair. Using it for the people's benefit was only fitting, wasn't it?

The Tong family's town estate was basically stripped clean. The sugar produced in their workshop couldn't sell for a good price; even selling it cheap couldn't recover their costs. In the end, they had to sell over a hundred mu of land to fill the hole. The entire family had no choice but to return to the countryside, living off their remaining farmland.

After the Tong family's decline, the other country gentry were extraordinarily well-behaved. No one dared to approach Meng Wan and act all high-and-mighty because of their age, harassing him.

The sugar workshop, run by Bi Yun, ran more and more smoothly. This spring, most villagers kept their own seedlings to plant sugarcane, and many others, having seen others make money from sugarcane last year, came to the workshop to buy seedlings—all handled by Bi Yun.

Meng Wan was incredibly idle this year, even more than Chang Jinhua, who was busy running the shop. In his free time, he would take A Yan for walks on the street or play at the inn.

"Noodles all gone. Want noodles," A Yan said, pulling out an empty cloth bag from somewhere and showing it to Meng Wan.

Meng Wan reclined on the couch, in front of which stood a very long easel with silk spread as canvas. On the silk was painted the sugar workshop outside the city.

A simple, rustic workshop, with teams of oxcarts hauling sugarcane into it. Workers either pressed the cane into juice or stirred long poles to cook the syrup. The figures were diverse, each with their own posture, detailed and vivid, as if one could be drawn into the painting and taste the sweet syrup from the ladle.

Huang Ye chased after A Yan and ran in, stopping four or five steps away from the easel, afraid that the dust from his movement might smudge the painting.

Even though he was illiterate and lacked experience, he knew his master's painting was a treasure.

Meng Wan had long stopped painting. He rubbed his sore wrist and walked over to A Yan. "Didn't you just have noodles yesterday? Why do you want them again today? Haven't you had enough?"

"I want to eat! Noodles are so yummy," A Yan said, burying his head into Meng Wan's arms and rubbing against him.

Meng Wan raised his hands slightly; they were stained with ink and paint, so he couldn't hold A Yan.

"Then go ask Qiuse to buy some rice. I'll make it for you when I get back," Meng Wan said. The "noodles" A Yan referred to weren't ordinary noodles, but rice noodles Meng Wan had improvised in his spare time. But somehow the steps were off, and they weren't very chewy, and Meng Wan didn't like them himself, but A Yan loved them.

After saying that, Meng Wan remembered that he had been busy painting these past few days and hadn't taken A Yan out to play. So he changed his mind: "Never mind. I'll take you to play on the street and then I'll make you rice noodles when we get home, okay?"

"Okay!" A Yan always acted obedient in front of Meng Wan.

Meng Wan washed his hands and face, changed his clothes, and took A Yan out to the street. Some people on the street who recognized him would politely greet him, and Meng Wan, without any pretension, would respond when spoken to.

"Dad, carry me!" After walking a short while, A Yan didn't want to walk anymore.

Meng Wan crouched down and said seriously, "You're almost two years old now. You need to start exercising. That way, when you grow up, you can be like Uncle Ge—flying through the sky and darting into the earth. You can't always rely on adults to carry you." Especially not on your dad.

A Yan looked at him blankly, clearly not understanding what "exercising" meant. He only knew that his dad wouldn't carry him, so he pouted as if to cry.

Meng Wan stood up, took his hand, and pretended not to see.

A Yan glanced at him, then glanced again, and swallowed his tears.

Meng Wan led him for a while, and when he felt A Yan was getting tired, he carried him for a bit. They continued until they reached Third Master Zhu's rice shop, managed by a shopkeeper Meng Wan had hired.

"Shopkeeper, send a hundred catties of polished rice to Lord Song's house."

The rice shopkeeper warmly replied, "Oh, it's Meng Fulang in person! This humble servant will have it sent right away. Are you in need of any other grains?"

Meng Wan thought for a moment. Although the height of summer had passed, the weather in He County was still scorching hot. Buying some mung beans to relieve the heat would be good. "Then add fifteen catties of mung beans."

After leaving the rice shop, the sun was setting in the west, much cooler than noon. With Huang Ye at home to prepare dinner, Meng Wan took A Yan to wander the streets a bit more.

"Sister!" A Yan suddenly called out, looking over Meng Wan's shoulder.

Meng Wan turned and saw that it was indeed Zhenniang, carrying her daughter and holding a small basket of longans and a few packets of fruit.

A Yan also loved longans, and after eating them, he would play with the pits. But Qing Xing had warned not to give him too many, as they could easily cause internal heat. So Meng Wan rarely bought them.

"Zhenniang, are you heading home?" Since he had seen her, Meng Wan greeted her first.

Zhenniang said politely, "Ah, it's Meng Fulang. We have a guest at home, so I came to buy some fruit from the street."

Meng Wan hoisted A Yan, who was starting to slide down, up a bit higher. "In that case, I won't keep you."

Zhenniang nodded and left with her daughter. The little girl obediently followed her mother, but kept looking back at A Yan, clearly wanting to play with him.

"Guest?"

Meng Wan bought half a basket of green-skinned mandarins and a few bunches of grapes to take home. He left the mandarins outside for everyone to eat, and told Xue Sheng to chill the grapes in the well so they could be washed and eaten after dinner.

They had just arrived home when Song Tingzhou returned from his office. Seeing a letter in his hand, Meng Wan asked, "Is it news from the capital?"

Song Tingzhou nodded, his expression rarely tense. "It's a letter from Zhao Yuan. I wonder how he fared in this year's spring examination."

If he had passed, he should have written to He County long ago. If he had failed, Zhao Yuan probably wouldn't have hidden it.

Meng Wan pointed at the letter. "Open it and see, won't you?"

Worried that A Yan would pester him, Song Tingzhou pulled Meng Wan into the study to read it. He tore open the letter. Just a few lines in, his expression relaxed, and his voice rose slightly higher than usual. "Zhao Yuan passed! Second in the first category!"

That meant he was a Bangyan?

Meng Wan was slightly surprised. "So it turned out to be a blessing in disguise."

Given Changping's educational resources, Wu Zhaoyuan's literary talent had once been slightly inferior to Song Tingzhou's. Going to a southern academy to study diligently had brought an unexpected reward.

Now, having taken a teacher, married a husband, and passed as a first-class jinshi—wasn't his future boundless?