Chapter Twenty-One: My Lord, This Must Not Be Done

Regarding Song Ying'an’s deliberate approach, Zhao Hengyi was willing to cooperate, but not out of a desire to curry favor with the powerful, and certainly not with any intention of entering military service. Since the hand crossbow had already been revealed to this shrewd Lord of Dangyang, Zhao Hengyi did not mind showing some of his other skills as well.

If Song Ying'an were to see him only as a highly skilled blacksmith, that would truly spell trouble. Moreover, throughout their journey, Zhao Hengyi had been quietly observing and discovered a crucial fact.

In this Great Yan Kingdom, nobility was still nobility. Even though their rights and influence had been greatly curtailed by the civil officials, certain things that had been ingrained in the land for thousands of years remained deeply rooted. Song Ying'an himself was the Lord of Dangyang, with his fiefdom right here, a villa, and a few plots of land. This presented an opportunity for Zhao Hengyi to perhaps resolve a major hidden danger.

Of course, if he wished to borrow the Lord of Dangyang's status as a cloak of protection, or even to some extent secure his patronage, he would first need to demonstrate sufficient value.

“My lord, the loom used here differs from those used elsewhere!”

It was only when Song Ying'an and his retinue arrived at Zhao Hengyi’s home that they realized his claims of a humble dwelling were no exaggeration. There was but a single thatched hut; even in impoverished Yushu Bay, such a home could be considered among the most destitute. Yet this only made the bustling temporary weaving workshop set up under the straw shelter stand out all the more.

Song Ying'an was no wastrel, but he had never encountered such a loom before; to him, it was merely odd to see so many women gathered to work. However, among his guards, one recognized what he was seeing.

“What’s different about it?” Song Ying'an asked, somewhat casually, at the whispered prompt of his guard.

“My lord, this strange loom produces as much as four or five of those elsewhere!” replied the guard, who had grown up in a poor farming family. His father had died early, and he had been raised by his mother, who wove cloth to support him. He knew looms well.

“So remarkable?” Song Ying'an was astonished. Even he, unfamiliar with weaving, understood what four or five times the output meant.

Song Ying'an turned to look at Zhao Hengyi, who was beaming at him, making his character seem all the more inscrutable.

Yushu Bay was poor; the daily hope of the villagers was simply to get enough to eat and not starve. Their clothes were nothing but layers of patches, even the village chief did not own a single garment without a patch. Song Ying'an and his retinue, attired in hunting dress and carrying themselves with the confidence of the gentry, had already intimidated the unsophisticated women in the weaving workshop. They had abandoned their work and hidden outside the straw shelter.

“Sir, this loom…”

“I made it as well. My wife weaves with great hardship, so I devised a way to lighten her burden.”

Zhao Hengyi remained cheerful and at ease, as though this innovative loom—which could cause a sensation in the wider world—was nothing more than a trifle he’d whipped up to spare his wife some toil.

“Sir, you are truly gifted. I underestimated you before!” marveled Song Ying'an. This was no mere blacksmith; this was a master of ingenious devices! Words such as brilliant, erudite, a recluse of the wilds, and more, tumbled through Song Ying'an’s mind. Even his manner of address changed from “Mister Zhao” to “Sir,” as his estimation of Zhao Hengyi soared.

“These are but minor arts, not worth mention. However, I do have something that embodies the principle of the world itself, which my lord may consider.”

Zhao Hengyi was still smiling, yet his eyes shone with an unusual brilliance.

“To have the fortune of meeting you is a blessing in my life. Thank you, sir, for not begrudging your instruction!” said Song Ying'an.

A hand crossbow, deadly even in the army, and a loom that increased output four or fivefold—if Zhao Hengyi called these mere trifles, then what sort of marvel would this thing that embodied the world’s principle be? Even Song Ying'an, who fancied himself knowledgeable and well-traveled, was seized by curiosity and longing.

This trip to Dangyang County had already yielded more than he could have dreamed. Heaven truly favored him!

But when Song Ying'an stood beside the newly built earthworm pit, he was baffled. This strange pit, built of stone and filled with soil mixed with decaying leaves—was this the thing that embodied the principles of the world?

Had this happened on any ordinary day, Song Ying'an would have thought he was being made a fool. Yet the hand crossbow and the loom had already established Zhao Hengyi’s inscrutable repute. For a moment, Song Ying'an did not know how to react.

Surely this peculiar pit held some profound secret, otherwise why would Zhao Hengyi introduce it with such solemnity?

Song Ying'an racked his brains, but could not discern the so-called principle of the world from this pit reeking of rot.

“My lord, this pit was built for raising earthworms,” Zhao Hengyi explained once he had led Song Ying'an away from the crowd, dropping all pretense.

He described to the Lord of Dangyang in detail his plan for a chicken farm. Once he finished, he said no more.

Raising chickens, raising them on a large scale—if what this Mr. Zhao claimed was true, and one could harvest a steady supply of eggs and chickens without using up grain, it would indeed be a fine way to get rich. Yet, from any angle, this chicken farm seemed less important than the loom or the hand crossbow.

“My lord, all things in nature have their use. The world does not lack means to change one’s circumstances, but rather eyes that can see them!” Zhao Hengyi, after conversing for a while, had grasped exactly how to speak with this Lord of Dangyang: make everything sound grand, couch everything in principle, and he could easily capture the attention of this nobleman who had won his title through military merit.

Had Song Ying'an been a simple brute interested only in fighting, Zhao Hengyi would have used a different approach entirely.

As expected, Song Ying'an’s expression grew thoughtful, clearly moved. In the end, he even bowed properly to Zhao Hengyi.

Zhao Hengyi quickly sidestepped. All this posturing and artful rhetoric, after all, was merely to win himself a patron and a measure of security. If he fooled Song Ying'an too thoroughly, it would be difficult to deal with him in the future.

“Sir, you are truly gifted, with eyes that see beyond the ordinary. It is a waste for you to remain in this remote mountain village!” Song Ying'an could no longer conceal his desire to recruit him. “I would be honored to invite you to serve as my advisor, so that I may benefit from your counsel at any time!”

“My lord, that must not be!”