Thirty minutes later, after removing buttons, seams, and anything else that was different, they were finally done. Wuji stood up, brushed his hands off, and walked toward the hut.
A moment later, he returned carrying three cooking stones. He arranged them in a triangle formation near the back wall of the hut.
"Yin Yin, go gather some firewood nearby. I'll get more water," he said, turning toward the hut without waiting.
"Okay, brother," Meiyin replied, quickly moving toward the trees.
Wuji grabbed two large pots from the hut and headed to the village well, which was tucked behind a cluster of houses. A small wooden shelter stood beside the well.
An old man sat under its shade on a short stool, his eyes half-closed and his arms folded.
"Ninth Elder," Wuji said respectfully.
The old man cracked open one eye, glanced at Wuji, gave a silent nod, and then closed his eyes again, resuming his statue-like stillness.
"Is he meditating? Do martial artists do that, too? Or maybe he's just old and conserving energy," Wuji thought as he lowered the bucket into the well.
The water sloshed and echoed. He quickly filled both pots and made his way back to the hut, his legs steady and his breath calm.
"You've already gathered the firewood," Wuji said, setting one of the pots down. He placed the other pot on top of the stone setup. He took two flints out of his pouch and struck them together until they ignited the dry twigs.
"Brother, are you cooking meat again?" Meiyin asked, peeking over his shoulder.
"No, not yet. First, I need to heat this water," Wuji replied, watching the fire slowly build under the pot. "Once that's done, then I'll think about meat."
After about five minutes, he looked at Meiyin and said, "Go get the largest basin from inside."
She nodded and disappeared into the hut, returning moments later with the wide clay basin.
Wuji placed the basin on the ground, poured in the steaming water, and began dropping in the shredded cloth rags, one handful at a time.
As they soaked, he added a scoop of wood ash and slowly stirred the mixture with a thick wooden stick.
"They need to soak overnight," he muttered, watching the water turn murky. "To break down the old fibers."
He carried the basin to the back of the hut and tucked it away so that no one would stumble into it.
Meiyin followed, watching curiously. "That's it? Won't they just turn into paper now?" she asked, puzzled. "Isn't that too easy?"
Wuji smiled faintly. "This is only the beginning. Making paper isn't magic, Yin Yin. It's a process. Long, dirty, and annoying."
He sat down on the stone ledge near the hut and motioned for her to do the same.
"First, we soak the old cloth. The heat and ash break down and soften the fibers," he said, stirring the basin one last time with the wooden stick. "After soaking, we'll mash it all into a pulp. Like porridge."
Meiyin scrunched her nose. "Porridge?"
"Exactly," Wuji nodded. "A watery mess. Then, we spread the pulp thinly over a flat screen and let it dry. That's how we get the pages, layer by layer, sheet by sheet."
"And it really becomes paper?" she asked.
"If done right, yes," Wuji replied.
Meiyin looked down at the basin. "It doesn't look like much."
"It never looks like much," Wuji said, standing with his eyes fixed on the murky basin. "But by the time this muck dries, it will be able contain knowledge. Techniques. Power. If I sell even a few copies of the manual..."
Meiyin's face lit up. "Then we'll be rich, and we can move to the city like Father wanted."
"Yes," Wuji replied softly, though a sliver of worry crossed his mind. "Just like Father wanted. But..." He paused, turning inward. "If my hypothesis is right, the elites have hidden the paper-making techniques to control knowledge, especially martial techniques. They don't want people spreading martial arts that can threaten their interests and power."
He met Meiyin's hopeful gaze and forced a reassuring smile. "I can't confront them, at least not yet. For now, I'll be discreet. I would just sell a few copies and try not to be too greedy."
He brushed the thought aside and moved over to the fire pit. "Meiyin, bring me the meat from the inside."
Minutes later, she returned with thin slices. He dropped them into the bubbling pot over the embers and sat down. The aroma filled the hut.
"This stew will last me two days," he murmured thoughtfully. "I might need to start hunting again before it runs out..." He tilted his head as if listening to a distant warning he couldn't yet decipher.
• • • •
Meanwhile, at the center of the town stood a three-story wooden building that served as the town leader's residence. In his private chamber at the top of the building, antiques from past generations adorned the shelves, including ancient vases, carved bowls, and faded scrolls.
Three men stood in a tense triangle at the center. The town leader stood stern and composed in his embroidered robes bearing the town's emblem.
Han Wucheng, the head of the Eastern Escort Agency, was a confident, well-dressed old man whose shrewd face showed his excitement without trying to hide it.
Lei Ganghu, the leader of the Stoneleaf Escort Agency, was brooding and conservative. His jaw tightened with rivalry.
"Did you confirm what that old man told us?" the town chief asked. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. Of the three men present, he was the strongest.
He was rumored to be at the peak of the first-rate martial artist realm, though no one was foolish enough to confirm it.
"I sent some men to track a few from Mudfall Village. We were careful not to alert that old chief or his dogs," Lei Ganghu said.
He paused, then continued with a smirk. "Four villagers from Mud Village were spotted roaming the town yesterday. One of them was probably the boy who came to the herb shop; he sold information in exchange for herbs.
The other three were snatched up by a gang that owed him money. We took them off their hands this morning, and after a little persuasion, they admitted that immortal cultivators are coming to their village."
"That old chief really does have connections," Han Wucheng said
The town leader narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Lei Ganghu continued, "That explains why some city officials hesitate to act against him. They don't know how strong he is, and none of them want to find out."
"But that won't matter soon," said Lei Ganghu, his tone smooth. "Once we confirm spirit roots in our lineages, that old man will be irrelevant."
He didn't show it, but inside, Han Wucheng was gloating. "You talk about possibilities. My grandson already shows signs of awakening a spirit root, even without a teacher, and when the immortals come, he'll shine the brightest."
His thoughts were cut short by Lei Ganghu, who sneered, "Still, that old herb seller conned us out of ten thousand gold coins. He made a killing."
Han Wucheng eyes flicked to the side. "Actually, it's worth the price. We'll make it back. Once we sell the information to the city nobles, we'll triple or maybe even quadruple our money."
The town chief didn't respond. "You two think you're fast," he thought coldly. "I've already sent messengers to three cities. I'm not about to sit on a gold mine like this."
None of them knew that the old herbalist had beaten them all to it. He was already in neighboring towns, sharing secrets and spinning tales in pursuit of gold, having tasted the allure of true profit.