Chương 100: Chapter 98

I sigh as I contemplate the void that has formed within my sphere of influence, and at this precise moment, while observing that void, I reach a conclusion I had been avoiding for several days, but to which I finally have to give voice inside my head. The problem of Qi depletion that Lianhua warned me about is, at least for me, even worse than she anticipated.

Because it isn't only that the Qi around me disappears quickly, it disappears, literally, in little more than the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn down, that is, half an hour. And I'm fairly precise about this because I've checked, so I sigh again as the conclusion finishes settling into my thoughts.

It's clear that I'm capable of absorbing Qi faster than Lianhua, which in another context would be cause for pride, but right now translates into a rather concrete problem, since my cultivation sessions face a dilemma in which both options are bad. Either I make the sessions short so as not to waste time, or I spend a good portion of every session waiting for the natural movement of the Qi particles outside, that slow and almost lazy flow that resembles a river's current, to bring them within my reach.

And just when I'm in the middle of self-pity, another group of Qi particles crosses the boundary of my sphere of influence, so I observe my surroundings for a moment, calculate the quantity that has accumulated, and decide there are now enough that it's worth making the effort.

I quickly focus my attention on the Yang Gate to activate it, while making sure not to release the five Qi particles I have grasped, which is the maximum I can maintain indefinitely without my concentration eventually breaking like a thread stretched too thin. Five, only five.

The figure still feels humiliating to me considering that without the Yang Gate activated I can sustain ten with the same naturalness as breathing, but when I add the concentration on the Gate the result is so drastic that it simply makes it unworkable. But I suspend those thoughts so as not to break my concentration and, once the Yang Gate has been activated, I direct all available attention to observing what happens next. And as every time I see it, I let myself be fascinated by the spectacle.

The Qi particles that have just entered my sphere of influence are drawn toward the Yang Gate as though it were a magnet for them, or perhaps a small black hole of Qi that absorbs everything around it. But what truly continues to fascinate me, what makes me keep watching as though it were the first time, is what happens when the particles approach me.

Because upon reaching my body, they simply pass through it as though I weren't there until reaching that exact point where I sense the presence of the Yang Gate and, once there, they merge with it in an instant so brief that I almost miss it if I let my attention slip even for a second. It's one of those small, silent spectacles that probably most cultivators no longer appreciate because they take it for granted, but that I still find fascinating.

But the fascination lasts only an instant, and as soon as the last particle of the small group has merged with the Yang Gate, everything returns to the previous stillness. I sigh again as I prepare myself, once more, to wait for more Qi particles to come within my reach. But after a few seconds I decide, with sufficient clarity, that doing this is an absolute waste of time which I could devote to far more useful things, like, for example, reading some book.

I release, almost with relief, the five Qi particles I had grasped, while I think, with a slightly childish humor, that they've earned themselves a pardon, and then I open my eyes to return to the normal sight of my bedroom. The morning light enters through the wooden lattices of the windows and everything is in its usual place except for one detail I notice at once, and that is that Lianhua isn't in the room.

For a moment I worry, but it takes me barely a second to realize that worrying is absurd, because since I'm supposed to still be cultivating for a good while longer, the most likely thing is that she's taken the opportunity to do some other task. I stretch my arm toward the cord hanging beside the bed and give it a soft tug. I don't have to wait long, since just a moment later the door opens softly and Lianhua enters with a worried look on her face.

"Zhāohuán Wen, has something happened?" she asks me, and in her tone I detect a small note of tension.

"No, nothing has happened", I hasten to reassure her as I sit up a bit.

"I've simply decided that continuing to cultivate while I wait eternally for the Qi to replenish itself is a waste of time, and I've thought it's better to change my approach." Lianhua enters fully into the room and approaches my bed, where she stays with her hands clasped in front of her body waiting for me to continue, as she always does when she knows I'm about to explain to her one of my ideas.

"What I've thought is that instead of having one long session in the morning, where most of the time is spent waiting, I could have two shorter sessions and add another one at night before going to bed", I continue.

"In the end, at those hours I'm always in my room, so I'd still avoid drawing anyone's attention." Lianhua listens with that polite attention she applies to all my ideas, and after an instant she nods slowly.

"It isn't a bad plan, Zhāohuán Wen", she tells me. And from her tone, that sort of serene acknowledgement she reserves for the few decisions of mine that she considers won't blow up, I know she is more in agreement than her reply suggests.

"Then that's what I'll do from today onward", I confirm to her.

"And since you're here, help me get dressed." Lianhua approaches the bed and begins our routine, a routine that at first made me nervous and now barely makes me think of anything other than what I have to do afterward. Paraplegia makes you adapt to many things, and accepting help with what you can't do for yourself is one of the first. While she dresses me with her usual silent efficiency, Lianhua takes the opportunity to inform me.

"This morning, while you were cultivating, an envoy from the Imperial Army arrived", she tells me as she adjusts the collar of my inner robe.

"He brought a letter and a small chest addressed to the Zhāohuán. I've already left everything on the desk in your study." I lightly furrow my brow upon hearing her, since a letter and a chest from the Imperial Army is not something I would have expected in any way.

"Did the envoy from the Imperial Army say anything else?" I ask her.

"No, Zhāohuán Wen", she replies as she puts on my socks.

"He simply delivered them and withdrew afterward without adding anything." I think about it for a moment as she finishes dressing me.

"Well", I tell Lianhua.

"Since I've finished early and breakfast won't be ready yet, the best thing I can do is go and see what on earth that letter and that chest are." Lianhua, without adding anything else, sits me in my chair and begins pushing it through the corridors of the Pavilion toward my study. Once we reach the study, the moment I enter I see a small, lavishly adorned chest and an envelope on the desk.

The chest is actually quite small and has filigree of gilded bronze, while the envelope, for its part, is sealed with a mark I recognize as that of the Imperial Army. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Lianhua pushes the chair to my place at the desk, and once I'm well positioned she withdraws to her usual spot, without the slightest intention of rushing me.

For a moment I hesitate as to which of the two to open first, since the most tempting thing is to go straight to the chest, but the sensible part of my head reminds me that letters usually contextualize the gifts, and that opening a gift without context is the perfect recipe for misinterpreting it, so I pick up the envelope first.

I open it carefully, peel off the seal, and pull out the letter inside, a sheet of paper folded in quarters and written in that meticulously careful imperial calligraphy that seems painted rather than written, and I begin to read. But as I advance line by line, my brow furrows.

The words are written with the usual courtesy of official documents, all euphemisms and long constructions, but beneath the courtesy there is a fairly concrete message that becomes clearer as I go and, when I finish reading, a curse escapes through my teeth without my meaning to. I leave the letter on the desk and look at Lianhua, who is still in her place with her usual neutral expression, although from the slight raising of one of her eyebrows I know my reaction has not escaped her.

"Lianhua", I say in perhaps too inquisitive a tone.

"Has your contact in the Yushitai mentioned anything to you about something happening at the Office of Military Affairs?" Lianhua remains still for a moment, clearly trying to recall, and after an instant she replies.

"I remember her mentioning that something had happened", she tells me.

"And that a Vice-Secretary had died at some point. But since the whole matter was handled internally by the Imperial Army itself, the Yushitai was unable to gather any further information about it." And then Lianhua does something she very rarely does and asks me directly.

"Why do you ask, Zhāohuán Wen?" she inquires in a tone that has an almost imperceptible note of curiosity.

"Does the letter make reference to what happened at the Office of Military Affairs?" I let out a sigh and give her a crooked smile, since between what the letter says and what Lianhua has just told me, it's clear that I may have indirectly caused the death of a person.

"More or less", I reply.

"The letter says that the contents of the small chest are the reward for having gifted ownership of the backpack to the Office of Military Affairs. But it also says that, since doing so without following the proper procedures and regulations, as I should have done, brought about a series of disturbances in the normal functioning of the Office, that reward has been reduced as a punishment." But to my surprise, Lianhua does not resist the opportunity and continues lecturing me.

"I already told you, Zhāohuán Wen, that there was a series of procedures that should have been followed", she tells me, and although her tone is still neutral, I know that neutrality well enough to distinguish the note of disapproval disguised as objective information.

"Lianhua", I interrupt her by raising a hand.

"As I told you back then, I never expected a reward that probably wouldn't have served me for anything, and I have no interest in medals. So that part of the letter, to me, is, literally, of no consequence." Lianhua slightly tilts her head with a kind of passive-aggressiveness that says, without saying it, that we will continue this conversation at some other moment that she's sure will inevitably arrive.

But for now she falls silent, and I take advantage of the moment to focus on the chest, since after the letter I'm doubly curious to see what magnificent-looking and utterly useless medal they've sent me to compensate for all the chaos. I bring the chest closer, slide back the small latch, and open it. And to my absolute surprise, what I see inside is no luxurious and absolutely useless medal. What the chest contains is a series of papers of official appearance, folded with care and arranged in an orderly stack.

I furrow my brow upon seeing the contents, take the first one, and examine it. It takes me a couple of seconds, the ones my brain needs to recognize the format and the seals, but when it does, my face changes from confusion to pure surprise in less than a blink. It's a Fēiqián, that is, a government promissory note, and moreover one for the value of one hundred Tael.

I raise my eyes toward Lianhua with the Fēiqián still between my fingers, and my surprise must be so obvious that her expression changes slightly, not too much, but enough that I know she wasn't entirely expecting it either.

"Why have they sent me money instead of a medal?" I ask her, without hiding my puzzlement. Lianhua sighs after hearing my question, and a sigh from Lianhua, in the catalogue of her expressions, is the equivalent of one of resignation.

"That is what I was trying to tell you, Zhāohuán Wen, when you received the request from the Office of Military Affairs", she replies.

"The person who provides new equipment to the Imperial Army is guaranteed exclusivity in the manufacture and sale of that equipment to the Army itself, so they become its sole supplier." Lianhua's explanation echoes inside my head with the cadence of a small bell struck in an empty hall. And for an instant, during the precise time it takes for the Fēiqián to suddenly seem much smaller between my fingers, I think of the fortune that my impatience that day has cost me.

A monopoly, a true and genuine monopoly with the Imperial Army as a client, and therefore a stable source of income for years. And I, like a fool, gave it away in a box along with the sketches. But the moment of self-pity lasts only briefly, because I quickly become aware of the practical consequences of having chosen the other option, and the picture isn't as idealized as my first impulse made me believe.

In order to exercise that monopoly, someone would have had to set up a company dedicated to the manufacture of backpacks from scratch. A company with its workshops, its leather and rope suppliers, its blacksmiths for the buckles, its accountants, its foremen and a thousand other things I'd rather not even think about. And since I am underage, that company would have had to be set up and supervised by my mother, who is the only person in a legal position to do so.

And there's the catch, that my mother is only interested in painting. Asking my mother to take charge of a business management project on military backpacks is technically possible, and I'm sure she would do it while smiling at me, but that smile would come at the cost of pulling her away from what she truly loves. And I, for my part, also have not the slightest interest in a task like that.

Between the lessons, the books, the cultivation, and the increasingly branching list of things Master Mu made sure I would keep learning, running a backpack manufactory, even supervising it from a distance, is not something that falls within my priorities however much money it might bring me. So, to sum up, the monopoly I've missed wasn't exactly an easy fortune, but a fortune that required quite a lot of work from two people, neither of whom would have wanted to do it. And that idea reassures me considerably.

With that idea now placed in its proper position inside my head, I set the Fēiqián aside, reach into the chest to take out the rest, and lay them out on the desk one by one, with the care of someone laying out the cards of a game of solitaire, and soon I have ten Fēiqián perfectly aligned in front of me. Ten Fēiqián, each for a sum of one hundred Tael.

The sum is practically automatic and the result, one thousand Tael, hangs inside my head for a couple of seconds while I limit myself to looking at the row of papers with an expression that probably combines surprise with a slight stupefaction. One thousand Tael, almost ten times more money than my entire life's savings yielded when I claimed them, and in the end I can't help a smile escaping me.

"Lianhua", I say as I look at her.

"Forget about having to set up a factory to make backpacks and sell them to the Imperial Army. This is much more comfortable and practical." Lianhua, now recovered from her small corrective slip, observes me with the patience she shows when she thinks I've said something not very sensible.

"In the short term it may seem more useful", she tells me with that pedagogical serenity I've learned to respect so much.

"But you've lost a stable source of income that could have brought you much more in the long term. A business of your own would be an asset that would grow over time, while one thousand Tael, however much it may be, is a finite quantity." I nod as I listen to her, because the argument is completely valid and I'm not so foolish as to fail to recognize it, but I also have my own, so I smile at her with a bit of mischief.

"Would that business bring me more income than dedicating myself to selling talismans when I am capable of creating and selling them without anyone suspecting?" I ask her. Lianhua remains still for an instant, the time she needs to process the question and recognize the trap, and then sighs for the second time in a few minutes, which is probably approaching her emotional quota for the month.

"No", she replies with her usual dry sincerity.

"The manufacture and sale of talismans is more profitable." I smile even more upon hearing her say it, but she, far from giving up, continues before I can make any gesture of victory.

"But one must also consider that the manufacture of backpacks would be passive income, while the talismans you would have to make yourself", she adds.

"That is, one requires your time, the other does not." She's right, damn it, she's completely right. But I'm not going to give her the satisfaction either.

"It's probable that you're right", I admit to her as I gather the Fēiqián and arrange them carefully in order.

"However, in this way both my mother and I have avoided the difficulty of creating a company from scratch. Besides, with these funds all the liquidity problems we had are resolved, which turns out to be quite useful at this moment." Here I make a small pause, more for effect than because I need it, and then I continue.

"Since with this we'll be able, finally, to have a new Qi-gathering formation installed for us", I add, looking at her directly. Lianhua nods slowly, and I see in her eyes that she finds that idea as fitting as I do, although she doesn't say it aloud. And then, right at this instant, the expression I've been trying to contain for a couple of minutes must show on my face, because Lianhua looks at me with a certain renewed caution.

"And in addition this money is going to have an additional advantage", I tell her, letting the smile settle without disguising it. For an instant I think Lianhua is going to sigh again upon hearing me, which would be a record for her in one morning, but she doesn't.

"What additional advantage, Zhāohuán Wen?" she asks me, and her tone is courteous, but beneath the courtesy I detect a slight resignation.

"I'm going to see my mother's face later, during breakfast, when I tell her I'm going to pay her back in full all the money I owe her", I tell her, drawing out my words a little to give them the intonation a film villain would have.