noffsinger Chapter 203 Digital Snow Starting from the Northern Route
Chapter 203 Digital Snow Starting from the Northern Route
Before dawn, it was already dark in the north.
It wasn't the darkness of night that pressed back.
It was the northernmost corner of the sky, as if someone had wiped it with dirty hands; it was ashen and sinking. Half of the books and papers drying in the backyard of the monastery had just been taken down when the night watchman noticed first. He stood at the gate, holding a bamboo pole, his mouth agape for a long time before finally managing to utter, "Sir, the northern sky is not right."
When Chen Fan came out, the wind had changed.
Last night the wind was dry, blowing against my face like dust. Now the wind is cold, carrying fine dust. It hits the pillars, making no sound of raindrops, only a soft rustling.
Wukong squatted on the wall, looking north, shading his eyes with his hand.
"It's not snow."
Six Ears had already climbed to the treetop, squinted at it for a while, then reached out and scooped up a speck of black in his palm.
The black spot hadn't dissolved; it looked like burnt paper ash, but the edges were whitish.
The white dragon horse also came out, raised its hand to catch a few grains, rubbed them with its fingertips, but instead of dispersing them, they stuck to the skin, feeling cool and sticky.
Yang Jian arrived even faster.
Before he even entered the courtyard, the Celestial Hound darted in, circling twice with its nose close to the ground, its tail tucked low. Yang Jian glanced up at the northern sky, his brow furrowing slightly.
"The northern line has reported it," he said. "Three cracks have opened. Black snow is falling from inside, and it's already past two station entrances."
No one in the courtyard responded.
The wind blew closer and closer. A few breaths later, the first "snowflake" that actually fell into the courtyard drifted down, as light as a feather. It hit the stone steps and didn't melt. It touched the rim of the wooden basin, leaving a round black dot. The next one landed right on the back of the servant's hand.
The servant glanced down and didn't say anything at first.
The next moment, he cried out in a hoarse voice, "I have words on my hand!"
Everyone gathered around.
The black snowflake had melted, like ink seeping into the skin. Next to the old wound on the servant's hand, a pale gray number slowly emerged, crooked and uneven, as if it were pushing out from under the skin.
Ding Qijiu.
Chen Fan stared at the three letters and numbers, his eyes suddenly turning cold.
It's not a new number.
It's an old number.
The most troublesome thing during the investigation of false accounts in the south a few months ago was that some names had been erased from the registers, but their old serial numbers were still there. Some were on the ankles, some on the back of the neck, and some were hidden in the crook of the arm. They were not visible on ordinary days, but would surface when exposed to heat, water, or old ink. Those serial numbers had been suppressed, but now that the black snow on the northern front had brought all the old marks to the surface.
"Give me water," Chen Fan said.
Someone quickly brought over a basin. The servant pressed his hand into the water, and a grayish hue immediately appeared on the surface. When he lifted his hand again, the number had faded, but not completely disappeared, like a layer of shadow burned into the skin.
The white dragon horse looked grim and looked up at the sky.
"This isn't snow, it's old ink."
"It's residual ink," Yang Jian continued. "It's similar to the pool over at the abandoned factory. Only it's more mixed and turbid."
Wukong jumped down from the wall, picked up a piece of black snow that had fallen on the windowsill, brought it close to his nose and sniffed it, his nose wrinkling slightly.
"There was ashes, incense, and blood inside."
He spoke fairly.
Several people in the courtyard all looked up at the same time.
Liu Er rubbed the black spot between his fingertips, his ears twitching slightly as if listening to something. After a moment, he whispered, "There's chaos in the north. Some people are calling out their old names, others are calling for their children. There's also movement in the livestock pen; words are floating on the backs of the cattle."
Chen Fan turned around and walked towards the front hall.
"Bring out all the old books from the south side that were sealed in the warehouse last night." He instructed as he walked. "Leave two groups of people at the library to compare the old serial numbers. Also, send people to the streets to check who has the characters on their clothes, note the location, and the order. Don't rush to erase them; make sure you remember them clearly first."
The people from the Si Mo Pavilion immediately dispersed.
Just then, someone rushed in from the front street, his shoes covered in mud. He didn't even have time to step properly over the threshold before he knelt down on the ground with a thud.
"Sir, something's happened at the market entrance in the north of the city!"
"explain."
"Black snow fell from the sky and landed on the sheep, leaving a mark in their wool. The pen owner saw that it matched the batch number on the old conscription register and immediately locked the pen gate. The neighbors objected and started arguing. Several veterans, their faces also contorted, were scrubbing themselves vigorously with well water."
Chen Fan paused for a moment.
"Will the whole city rise up, or will it start in the north?"
"The north started first, and the southward drift is slower. We've passed the rice market, but haven't reached the river street yet."
Yang Jian had already reached the door, raised his hand and made a hand seal, sending a thin beam of light shooting straight into the northern sky. A moment later, the light seemed to hit something, scattering into three strands at an angle.
"None of the three entrances have been sealed off," he said. "One is outside the old star station, one is on Coldstone Slope, and one is further north, like behind the abandoned camp."
"The old star station." Wukong grinned. "We were right."
Chen Fan didn't rush to accept it. He spread out the rough map he had folded the night before on the table and traced it little by little along the northern route with his finger. The old star station was the old transshipment point for the printing line, there was a pasture next to the cold stone slope, and behind the abandoned camp was the place where the people who had retreated from the northern route gathered. The three places were connected, which perfectly blocked the three routes of people, food and paper.
This is not just scary.
This is a hand that has the northern front strangled.
People were coming and going in the front hall, their footsteps a jumbled mess. Some carried old books, some carried oil lamps, and some carried copper basins as they ran into the courtyard, preparing to test the snow. Outside the window, the black dust gradually thickened, settling into the cracks between the blue bricks like a layer of smudged ashes.
The white dragon horse suddenly asked, "If it really is the old name making a comeback, who will be the first to panic?"
"He's not an official," Chen Fan said. "He's someone who's done supplementary signings."
Everyone understood immediately.
Those who signed in retroactively were people who had their records altered, their numbers cleaned up, and were removed from the old lists. Now that the snow has fallen, their old numbers are back on, and these are the first to panic. Others will also become suspicious. Were you truly cleaned up? Were you part of that previous list? Where are your children? Your livestock? Your ration coupons?
If someone takes advantage of the chaos to dredge up old grievances, the entire northern route will become entangled on its own.
Yang Jian didn't delay any longer. He raised his hand and pulled out a slender black pen from his sleeve. With a flick of his wrist, a pale golden screen immediately appeared above the front hall. It wasn't for the people in the courtyard to see; it was the backing paper for the border patrol letter.
The celestial dog lay by the door, not barking, but nudging the black snow on the threshold with its nose before retreating.
Yang Jian picked up his brush and began to write, his voice low and each character steady.
"Urgent Border Patrol Order. Black snow has appeared on the northern line, staining people and livestock. Old identification numbers have resurfaced. Starting today, all patrols will proceed north in three waves. The first wave will deliver people, prioritizing those who can identify their registers, numbers, and seals. The second wave will deliver grain, including coarse grains, salt bricks, and clean water. The third wave will deliver lamps and stakes, setting up checkpoints day and night, one lamp every ten li and one stake every thirty li. All old registers not yet sealed must be sealed immediately. Anyone found with writing on the black snow is to be punished privately, detained privately, recorded first, then verified. Those who disobey will be investigated by the border patrol."
He paused, then added another sentence.
"At each station on the northern line, first protect the scripture hall, then the wellhead, and then the enclosure."
Chen Fan glanced at him.
This statement is very accurate.
The biggest fear right now isn't the snow, but the people fighting over water, food, and livestock. The registry office is where the registers are checked, the wellhead is where the snow is washed, and the pens are full of living creatures. Once the sheep, cattle, pigs, and horses all start honking, chaos will break out faster than people.
After the light screen took shape, Yang Jian flicked his finger, and the letter split into more than a dozen thin rays that pierced through the roof and flew in all directions.
The courtyard fell silent for a moment.
Only the soft sound of snowflakes hitting the window paper remained.
Just then, two more couriers from the northern route entered. One carried a bag on his shoulder, and the other held a broken lamp in his arms. Their lips were pale, as if they hadn't stopped traveling at all. The one in front, as soon as he stood up, put his bundle on the ground.
Three things rolled out of the bag.
A half-wet grain token.
An old wooden tag with a number engraved on it.
There was also a piece of sheep's ear, the cut end of which had turned black, and a string of small trumpets was clearly branded on the back of the ear.
The waiters in the front hall felt their scalps tingle, and some of them subconsciously took a half step back.
The courier, panting heavily, said, "It's from Hanshipo. The sheep started to stir last night and started to graze this morning. The herdsmen are afraid of word spreading and say they want to slaughter them all. The stationmaster couldn't stop them and told us to send the evidence first."
The other one placed the broken lamp he was carrying on the table.
"The old star station was even more bizarre." His voice trembled. "There was no snow there at night. After midnight, the lights outside the station went out one by one. With each light that went out, a number appeared on the door panel. The guards would wipe it with a cloth, and the numbers would become clearer and clearer. By daybreak, the entire row of station doors had become a wall of stacks."
Wukong raised his hand and patted the lamp, causing a ring of dust to fall from the edge of the lampshade.
"Where's the wick?"
"I'm a bit shorter," the courier said.
Liu Er leaned closer to listen and whispered, "There's crying inside. It's not from now, it sounds like the noise left when people were imprisoned at the old station."
The white dragon horse looked at Chen Fan: "Which way first?"
Chen Fan did not answer immediately.
He reached out and picked up the grain token. The edges of the token were badly worn, and the old ink in the middle had bled out, faintly revealing another layer of characters. He then looked at the wooden tag; the carving style was similar to the old ones found in the abandoned printing factory, but the serial number had been changed.
Someone on the northern route reconnected the old books, old printings, and old serial numbers.
It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision; it was something I had been preparing for a long time.
Chen Fan put the grain token back on the table.
"Divide into three routes."
"I'm going to the old star station with Yang Jian," he said. "That's the entrance, and also the hand. At least the door doesn't grow on its own; someone has to paint it."
"When Wukong goes to Cold Stone Slope, first stop the sheep slaughtering. Whoever makes the first cut should be struck first, so they don't destroy the certificate."
Wukong picked up the staff and chuckled, "I know this one well."
"Six Ears, go to the back of the abandoned camp. You have sharp ears, so first find out how many groups of people are near the crevice and listen to how they change shifts. Don't confront them head-on, identify them first."
Liu Er nodded and retreated to the window.
"The White Dragon Horse will be in charge of the scripture hall," Chen Fan continued. "He'll be leading people to check the old registers and keep a close eye on the replacement signature lists. Everyone who registered this morning needs a matching sheet. Anyone who dares to detain someone during the chaos will have their name written on the wall first."
The white dragon horse agreed and turned to call out the number of people.
Yang Jian raised his hand to remove the light screen, and with a flick of his sleeve, a stack of blank talismans fell out.
"Keep it with you. If black snow gets on your clothes, stick it to your cuffs first. It will keep you warm for a while."
Chen Fan took the card and tucked it into his wrist.
Just then, a wail suddenly came from outside the courtyard, not far away, at the street corner. Someone was running and shouting, "My son has never left the house, how could he have a number on him! Don't drag him away!"
The crowd paused.
Chen Fan walked quickly to the door and glanced outside.
A crowd had already formed around the street corner. A woman sat in the mud, holding a child who looked no more than seven or eight years old. The child's sleeve was torn open, revealing a string of thin, gray marks on the inside of his arm, as if someone had been pricking him with a needle. Two patrolmen beside her were also flustered, holding ropes in their hands, but hesitated to move forward for a long time.
The white dragon horse charged forward first, parting the crowd, and shouted, "Get back! Don't touch anyone!"
Chen Fan stood inside the door and tapped lightly on the door frame with his finger.
The snow from the northern route hadn't even really reached this side yet, but the bugle had already gotten into the child's body.
This is more troublesome than writing characters for a flock of sheep.
This shows that the old number not only recognizes individuals, but also family lineages and the line on the old register that wasn't completely erased.
Yang Jian turned his head to look at him: "Shall we go?"
"Let's go," Chen Fan said.
He stepped out the door, and another snowflake fell, gently landing on his sleeve. The talisman shrunk to one corner with a "sizzle," and a scorched edge curled up.
Chen Fan glanced down, then raised his hand and rolled up his sleeve by half an inch.
"Open the north gate," he said without turning his head. "And move thirty more lamps to hang at the intersection."
Chapter 732 The Border Patrol Team is Formed
As soon as the north gate opened, a cold wind rushed in.
Thirty lamps were hung in rows at the crossroads, the oil freshly added, the flames kept steady, illuminating the snowflakes until they turned gray. The black snow falling into the lamplight, its edges like burnt paper, stuck to the wooden door and slowly seeped inside.
The two burly men guarding the gate used bamboo swatters to brush away the black residue from the cracks in the door.
Chen Fan stood inside the door, not going out first.
He looked after the child first.
The children who had been given the first lesson last night were all brought over, gathered around the brazier, their feet wrapped in thick cloth, each holding a rough bowl. The bowls didn't contain medicine, but hot rice porridge. Si Mo had someone add salt to it, and the children's noses turned red from drinking it, but the thin, pale gray line on their necks was still there, like a needle buried under their skin.
Yang Jian half-squatted, his fingertips hovering in front of a child's forehead, but he didn't actually touch him.
The celestial eye opened a sliver, and the light was very thin.
After looking at it for a moment, he stood up and shook his head.
"It's not a sign of illness."
"I know." Chen Fan rolled up his sleeves a little higher. "The numbers follow the old records, and only when they touch the door will they catch up with the child."
Wukong stood his staff by the door and stepped on the black snow.
When the snow broke, there were a few grains of fine white sand inside, like extremely finely ground bone meal.
He grinned.
"These guys are getting too big for their britches."
Liu Er climbed down from the wall, his shoes still covered in frost.
"About a hundred people gathered outside the North Road intersection. They weren't causing trouble; they all brought old books. Some said characters were forming on the eaves in the middle of the night, others said colons appeared on the well ropes themselves. A group of fishermen also came, saying that black ash was floating on the sea and sticking to their sails."
The white dragon horse, which had been leaning against the doorpost, immediately stood up straight upon hearing this.
"Are they also found at sea?"
"Hmm." Liu Er nodded. "They said that when the early tide recedes, a dozen or so pages of wet paper get stuck in the crevices of the rocks. The words don't dissipate from the water, and when you heat them with fire, the names float to the surface."
The courtyard fell silent for a moment.
The wind blew through the doorway, causing the lamp flames to shift by an inch.
Zhu Bajie scratched the back of his head, cursed, and then asked, "So what do we do now? The northern route looks promising, but there are new ships emerging at sea, and the old factory in the south isn't completely dead. We can't just rush to put out fires wherever they start."
Chen Fan didn't reply and turned to go inside.
The table inside had been cleared out long ago, with a rough map of the old star station in the middle, and several stacks of papers from the three southern villages, the northern intersection, the old printing factory, and the sea reef on the side. Si Mo sat at the very end, holding the account book, his abacus beads moving rapidly. Hearing someone enter the room, he first pushed the newly copied injury and loss report inside.
Chen Fan picked up a charcoal stick and marked the North Gate, then the port, and then the old factory on the map.
Three points connected together, like a hook.
"We used to just plug the leaks," he said. "We'd plug wherever there was a leak. But that won't work now. Numbers can move, registers can change, and dust can borrow wind and water. If we keep chasing like that, our legs will break first."
Wukong dragged the bench over and plopped down on it.
Speak like a human.
"Form teams." Chen Fan broke the charcoal stick in two. "It's not about gathering a group of people to go out on patrol; it's about establishing a set procedure. Who will watch over which area, who will cover which area, when to change routes, and when to collect the data—everything should be clearly written down."
Zhu Ganglie frowned.
"This sounds like the Heavenly Court's system of checking in and getting a plaque."
"No." Chen Fan glanced at him. "That's what I hate the most."
As he spoke, he pulled over a stack of blank booklets from the corner of the table and opened to the first page.
"We don't set up officials, we don't distinguish ranks, and we don't care who oppresses whom. We only care about the tasks. What kind of task each person has is recorded in the task book. When they go out, which route they take, how many lamps they bring, who meets with whom, and who returns to hand in the task book are all listed in the task book."
Yang Jian took the blank book and flipped through two pages.
The paper was rough, and the edges were a bit frayed. But he read it very carefully.
"The task list schedules the events," he said. "People follow the task list, they don't just run around following instructions."
"Yes." Chen Fan nodded. "Today you're on the northern route, tomorrow Haikou needs more people, so you'll go there. It's not a promotion, it's not a demotion, it's just a change of job. Whoever is familiar with which area will take the lead. Whoever has the clear accounts will be the backup. Don't end up with a bunch of people standing at the gate shouting orders."
Upon hearing this, Wukong chuckled.
"I love hearing this."
He held the golden cudgel horizontally and tapped the edge of the table with the shaft.
"I'll go ahead too. Whichever line is blocked, I'll break it open first. Whatever kind of shoddy goods or numbers dare to build walls on the road, I'll smash them all with one blow."
Chen Fan looked at him but didn't stop him.
"Fine. You don't need to look at the back. You just do one thing: break the line."
"Broken thread?"
"Hmm." Chen Fan drew a thick horizontal line on the outside of the north intersection with charcoal. "Where there are piles of old shops, black snow covering the road, or paper formations blocking people, you tear a hole first. Once the hole is open, the next person can get in."
Wukong raised his hand, hoisted the staff back onto his shoulder, and was satisfied.
"That's quite accurate."
The white dragon horse walked to the table and pointed to the area near Haikou.
"The sea is mine. Fishing boats know the tides, and so do I. I can go from shore to island, replenish lamp oil, deliver paper, transfer medicine, and carry people. If the land route is cut off, I'll sail across."
Chen Fan nodded and wrote two characters on the edge of Haikou: "Transportation Supplement".
"You don't compete with the forwards," he said. "You're in charge of the lifeline. If the light goes out, the paper runs out, the kerosene runs out, no matter how good the attack is, it will all go out."
The white dragon horse twitched the corner of its mouth.
"Don't worry. I won't get involved in this excitement."
Zhu Ganglie had been itching to get his hands on the weapon for a long time.
"And what about me?"
Chen Fan moved the charcoal stick and it landed on the outer edge of the camp.
"You lead the men to dig the underground canal."
"What canal?"
"Build ash ditches, drainage ditches, and fire trenches. Also, turn over the old soil around the campsite. Black snow will drift in the wind and sink in water. Draw out the trench lines so that when snow falls at night, it will fall into the trenches first and not into the tents. There will also be a place to dry wet blankets from the sea."
Zhu Ganglie smacked his lips twice, finding the sound increasingly pleasing.
"I'm good at this job. Digging ditches, piling up earth, driving piles—I can start today."
"That's not all," Chen Fan added. "From now on, you'll be in charge of overseeing the temporary camps as well. You'll be the first to scout out where people will be, whether they can stay, whether a fire can be lit, and where to dig an escape route."
Pigsy slapped his thigh.
"become."
Several pairs of eyes in the room fell on Si Mo again.
Si Mo was writing down words when he heard no one speak. He looked up and pushed the abacus to the side.
Why are you all staring at me?
Chen Fan left the last blank space to him.
"Your final account."
Si Mo raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds like a lucrative job."
"Fat my foot!" Pigsy laughed first. "You're the one who's most tired."
Chen Fan smiled as well.
"When the people go out, take a few lamps, a few packets of salt, and a few rolls of white paper. When they come back, you must record everything: what's missing, what's extra, which village replenished its grain supply, which ferry crossing borrowed a boat. Also, you must review who copied the records, who collected them, and who sealed the warehouse. If the accounts get messed up even once, the entire line will have to be redone."
Si Mo tucked the pen behind his ear and didn't refuse.
"Then let's make the rules crystal clear from the start. What you take out, you return. Verbal counts don't count; they have to be written down. Anyone who dares to say they can't remember will be chained to the warehouse door and counted again all night."
Liu Er, who was leaning against the window, interjected when he heard this.
"What about me? I can't just run errands for you guys."
"You're naturally good at this." Yang Jian looked at him. "You're in charge of the outside eyes and ears. It's not about standing at the door and listening to gossip, but about recognizing accents, spotting shift changes, and tracking the flow of fake documents. Whenever there's a breach in the front or a supply run in from the back, you'll be the first to find the eyes and ears for the whole team."
Liu Er narrowed his eyes and smiled.
"This job will do."
Chen Fan wrote down each of their words in a notebook.
The first page contains the general principles, which are only a few lines long.
There are no ranks, only tasks.
It does not occupy empty positions, but only records the current duty.
The schedule was set the night before, but additional lines were added at the last minute, and the changes were made upon return.
The register is still in existence; once the register is cleared, it will be dispersed.
After he finished writing, he pushed the booklet to the middle of the table.
"Take a look at them all. If there's nothing else, then this is settled for today."
Pigsy leaned closer, looked for a while, and suddenly asked, "What's the name of this team?"
Wukong waved his hand.
"Need you even ask? They patrol everywhere, demolish everything, that's what they call a boundary patrol team."
This name is neither refined nor elegant.
None of the people inside objected.
Yang Jian closed the booklet and pressed it down in his palm.
"This is it."
Suddenly a commotion arose outside the door.
It wasn't crying or protesting; it was a group of people simultaneously backing away. Then, a child shrieked, "It's growing on the wall again!"
Everyone stood up at the same time.
Chen Fan was the first to step across the threshold.
On the old gray wall inside the north gate, a series of thin characters appeared out of nowhere. At first, they were faint, but when the light shone on them, the ink immediately deepened. The top line of characters was crooked and slanted, as if someone had just smeared them with a wet finger.
Wukong already had the staff in his hand.
Yang Jian opened the mission book without looking up.
"On the first day, the line at the North Gate was breached."
The white dragon horse turned and headed towards the backyard, shouting as it went, "Load the oil, prepare the water, and those from the sea, follow me in two fast boats!"
Zhu Ganglie rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a shovel from the base of the wall.
"Dig a ditch across the front door first!"
Si Mo shoved the account book into his robes, stood by the door, and announced, "Seven men from the North Gate, twelve lamps, two bags of salt, three rolls of white paper, and four braziers!"
Liu Er had already climbed over the wall, glanced outside, and turned back to say, "Someone's scattering old papers on the outer street, and there are three clumps of ash at the west entrance, but they haven't formed a pile yet!"
Chen Fan didn't say anything more.
He snatched the newly erected task book from Yang Jian's hand, slammed it down on the wooden table by the door, and pressed down a corner of the flipped-up page.
The lamplight illuminated the book's pages; the fresh ink was still wet.
Wukong swung his staff first, smashing the darkest string of characters on the wall with the first blow. Black shards splattered and fell into the ditch that Zhu Bajie had just dug, hissing and rising in a puff of white smoke.
Chapter 733 The Old God of Farming
The black ash outside the North Gate has not yet been suppressed.
Wisps of white smoke rose from the ditch. Zhu Bajie had shoveled half the street, his shoes covered in wet mud, making a splattering sound with every step. He wiped his sweat with his sleeve, about to curse, when the sound of a donkey bell rang out from the street corner.
It wasn't a caravan.
The bells faded, and the footsteps became steady. A tattered cart led the way, followed by three people. The cart carried no boxes or weapons, only a few burlap sacks, a bundle of straw sandals, and two baskets of dried fruit. On top of them were several wooden rulers, their edges worn smooth and shiny.
Liu Er squatted on the wall and squinted at it for a while.
"It's not those dirty bastards from the northern front."
Wukong placed his staff on the ground and took two steps forward.
The cart stopped at the gate. The driver was a thin, old man with cracked hands and grass seeds stuck to his sleeves. He jumped off the cart, first touching the shaft as if afraid of startling the animals, before bowing towards the yard.
"We heard that writing has been done here at night, and the ground has been damaged. Let's bring some usable items."
Chen Fan glanced at the items in the car without asking where they came from.
"What can be used?"
The old man untied the sack, revealing handfuls of slender seeds inside.
"Cold-resistant wheat. Bury it shallowly, and it will sprout in three days. Plant it first in areas where ash has settled. It eats a variety of things and can help restore the soil's moisture."
The dark-faced middle-aged man next to him took down the wooden ruler and stood it upright on the ground.
"I can tell which frost will appear first. I can tell with pretty much certainty which ditch will turn white first and which patch of land will become damp. If you hang lamps at night, it will be hot under the lamps and cold on the sides. If you don't remember this, the seedlings will rot by tomorrow morning."
The last woman didn't say anything, but squatted down and laid out the straw sandals one by one. The soles were tightly bound, and the toes were wrapped with thin hemp rope.
"The path is wet on night patrols." She patted the soles of her shoes. "These are more stable than hemp boots."
The courtyard was quiet.
The white dragon horse stood under the eaves, still rummaging through the salt bags, when it looked up and glanced at the group of people. Not at their faces, but at their hands. The old man's fingernails were stuffed with black mud. The middle-aged man had a small bamboo tube tucked behind his waist, filled with straw. The woman's wrists were thick, and the area between her thumb and forefinger was calloused. All were hands that had been used for manual labor.
Chen Fan nodded.
"Move in first."
Zhu Bajie immediately put down his shovel and went to carry the sacks. The first sack was light, but he hesitated when he carried the second one, turning his head and saying, "This thing is heavy."
The old man said, "It contains wood ash. Not for weight, but for moisture protection."
"You know what you're doing." Pigsy grinned, picked it up, and walked away.
Si Mo strode out from the inner room, a newly prepared patrol mission book tucked between his arms, a pen still behind his ear. He saw the three people at the door and paused instinctively, as if searching for some old information. The pause was only momentary; he quickly looked away and opened the book.
"Give me your name. What are you doing now?"
The old man replied, "Zhuang Da."
"What are you doing?"
"Breeding".
Si Mo started writing and wrote very quickly.
"Zhuang Da, breeding. In charge of logistics at the North Gate. Responsible for trial planting on the gray land."
The middle-aged man took half a step forward.
"Feng Erhe. Watching the frost, watching the wind."
Si Mo wrote: "Feng Erhe, measured frost and observed wind. He compiled the outer boundary line. He recorded the wind direction at night and reported the yardage in the morning."
The woman straightened the last pair of straw sandals before standing up.
"Liu San Niang. She weaves straw sandals, dries fruit, and also makes ginger soup."
Si Mo didn't even pause with his pen.
"Liu San Niang, shoe and straw supplyman, also a night cook. She is in charge of logistics at the North Gate."
The three exchanged a glance, their expressions relaxing somewhat.
No one asked them what they had done before. No one dug up old stories.
After Si Mo finished writing, he blew on the pages and called inside, "Bring another hemp rope. The logistics department at the north gate will put up a separate sign."
The servants who had been moving paper rolls in the courtyard all came over to help. Some carried sacks, some collected straw sandals, and others emptied dried fruit into winnowing baskets to remove sand. The dried fruit was hard from the sun, dark in color, and not very appealing, but it smelled undeniably sweet. Those who had been busy all night grabbed a couple of pieces and stuffed them into their mouths, their cheeks bulging and their eyes shining.
Wukong casually scooped up a handful, chewed a couple of times, and raised an eyebrow.
"That works."
Liu San Niang glanced at him, said nothing, and then took out another cloth bag from the bottom of the basket.
"Don't eat this packet carelessly. It contains ginger slices and salted plums. Sniff one in the middle of the night to keep yourself awake."
The white dragon horse took it, weighed it in its hand, and then handed it to the boy guarding the door.
The boy, who had been sniffling from the cold, was now clutching the cloth bag as if he had received some treasure.
Chen Fan squatted down, grabbed a handful of seeds, and rubbed them in his palm. The seeds were coated with a thin layer of ash, but when he rubbed them, the inside was hard. He looked up at Zhuang Da.
"Can we plant seeds in that ditch outside the North Gate tonight?"
Zhuang Da had already squatted down to examine the soil. He grabbed a handful of mud, smelled it, and then rubbed away the black residue mixed in with it.
"It's possible to plant it. We need to remove the darkest layer first. Don't make the trench too deep. If it's too deep, the seedlings won't be able to breathe. Also, plant a few thin branches next to it. If that kind of ash falls again at night, it will show on the branches first, and the seedlings can still be saved."
"Take Zhu Bajie with you."
"OK."
Zhu Bajie responded and followed him outside, shovel in hand. Reaching the door, he turned back, grabbed two pieces of dried fruit, stuffed them into his mouth, and mumbled, "If I dig off course, call me."
Zhuang Da didn't laugh, he just nodded: "I'll paddle the ditch."
On the other side, Feng Erhe had already chosen a high spot and was setting up the wooden rulers one by one. His movements were slow, but his hands were steady. He first placed small stones under each ruler, then tied a hemp rope to the corner of the wall, even checking the angle twice. Liu Er, squatting on the wall, grew annoyed and blurted out, "It's just a ruler, why all the fuss?"
Feng Erhe looked up at him.
"Whichever way the wind blows, the ruler will be off-center. If it's off by half an inch, we'll have to light two more fires tonight. If we miss that one fire, the cold air on the soles of the child's feet will come up tomorrow."
Liu Er clicked his tongue and then fell silent.
He wasn't afraid of fighting, but he hated this kind of petty calculation. But as these words fell into the courtyard, several night watchmen subconsciously stretched their feet towards the brazier.
Si Mo nailed the newly hung wooden sign to the door frame. The black ink was still wet, and it read "North Gate Logistics." He took a half step back to look at it, and then added a page to the back of the task book. The page header did not mention the previous affiliation or origin; it was simply divided into four columns.
Breeding.
Test for frost.
Observing the wind.
supply.
After he finished writing, he handed the booklet to Chen Fan.
"Let's write it like this for tonight. If anyone else comes tomorrow morning, we'll collect them using this method."
Chen Fan took the booklet and flipped through a couple of pages. There weren't many names on the pages, but the ink was solid. Each person was assigned a task: who went to the ditch, who kept watch by the lamp, who cooked the soup, who kept the measuring tape—it was all clear at a glance.
He closed the booklet and slammed it on the table.
"I'll remember it this way from now on."
Si Mo nodded: "Understood."
Just then, someone outside shouted, "The gray line has appeared again over at the east entrance!"
Wukong turned around, grabbed his staff, and started walking. He stopped at the door and glanced towards Zhuang Da's direction.
Beside the newly dug ditch outside the North Gate, Zhuang Da was bending over, sowing seeds. His movements were quick and precise, his wrists flicking to distribute the seeds evenly. Zhu Ganglie, carrying a shovel, followed behind, surprisingly keeping his voice down and not shouting anymore. Liu Sanniang squatted by the doorway, weaving rope, a row of straw sandals beside her feet. Feng Erhe stood beside a ruler, gazing at the sky, his eyes narrowed to slits.
They were all unremarkable people.
Standing inside the courtyard, they blocked the gaps one by one.
Wukong slung his staff over his shoulder, turned to Chen Fan, and said, "Your booklet really knows how to recruit people."
Chen Fan hummed in agreement and stepped down the stairs.
"We're not collecting heads."
He reached out and took the pair of straw sandals that Liu San Niang had just woven, tested the soles to see if they were tight, and casually tossed them to the night watchman by the door.
"We're collecting work."
The boy hurriedly caught the shoes and bent down to put them on his feet. Before he could even tie the shoelaces, a cold wind blew up from outside, causing the newly hung wooden sign by the door to sway slightly.
Feng Erhe raised his hand and pressed down on the wooden ruler, looked north for a moment, and spoke in a low voice.
"A hard frost will form after midnight tonight. Don't pour water on the east side; instead, sprinkle ash. Add four more lamps and arrange them at an angle, not in a straight line."
Si Mo has already taken notes.
Chen Fan turned around and ordered, "Do as he says."
The people in the courtyard dispersed upon hearing this.
The footsteps were numerous, yet orderly. Some carried lamps, some carried ashes, and some ran outside with hemp ropes on their shoulders. Liu Sanniang got up to light a fire in the stove, first brushing the bits of grass off the hem of her skirt. Zhuang Da had already finished spreading the first furrow and was bending down to gently gather the soil back up, as if afraid of startling something.
Black ash was still drifting outside the door.
The row of newly planted twigs was already swaying gently in the wind.
Chapter 734 Old Star Station
Before dawn, a layer of hard white had already formed outside the north gate.
It's not snow.
It looked like someone had ground shredded paper into powder and was scattering handfuls of it down in the wind. The powder landed on the lampshade, didn't dissolve, and when you rubbed it with your hand, it still felt a little rough. The night watchman dared not touch his eyes, only covering them with his sleeve, whispered a few words, and then made way.
When Chen Fan went out, the gray ditch under the door had already formed a thin crust.
Zhuang Da squatted down beside it and poked it with a stick. The shell cracked open with a "crack," revealing not soil underneath, but a layer of shiny lines. They were very thin, like silver tendons buried underground, running straight north.
"It wasn't there last night," Zhuang Da said. "It rose to the surface on its own after the frost pressed down on it."
Yang Jian bent down and glanced at it, but didn't reach out. He simply tapped it lightly with the scabbard. The line trembled slightly, and a few steps ahead, the ground flickered, as if someone in the shadows had given him a signal.
"It's not newly carved," he said. "It has a very old base."
Chen Fan looked up to the north.
The black ash was still drifting. The distant horizon was white, not like dawn, but like a large sheet of paper laid flat there, pressing down the shadows of the mountains to the north.
"Select the men," he said. "Not many. Wukong, Yang Jian, Liu Er, and Zhu Bajie, and tell the White Dragon Horse to come along. The rest of you guard the gate."
Liu Sanniang came out of the kitchen, carrying a small cloth bag in her arms: "Chew on this on the way, and don't let it get wet. I also sewed a few pieces of salt cloth to tie around your mouth and nose."
The white dragon horse took it, sniffed it, and wrinkled its nose: "It smells like medicinal ash."
"It's only effective if it smells good." Liu Sanniang shoved the cloth into his hand. "If you find it pungent, don't breathe."
Two laughs rang out in the courtyard, and the tension eased a bit.
Wukong had already hoisted the staff onto his shoulder, pushed off with his feet, and darted halfway down the street before turning back to stop: "Hurry up. Something's moving over there."
He spoke ramblingly, but Chen Fan understood. The old numbers on the northern route weren't inanimate objects. Last night they could crawl into the child's body, and this morning they could move to another place.
The group headed north along the silver line.
Beyond the inhabited street corner, the road becomes empty. No tire tracks remain, only shallow engravings. Horizontal, vertical, and slanted lines, layered upon each other, like someone having written illegible characters on the flat ground. They don't feel rough underfoot, yet the soles of my shoes always feel numb.
Six Ears ran in the lead, occasionally squatting down to listen in.
"It's empty underneath," he said. "It's not a pit, it's a sound. Like wind swirling inside a big jar."
Zhu Bajie tapped the ground with his shovel, and the echo rolled a distance away. He clicked his tongue: "How big must this place have been back then?"
"It's not a palace," Yang Jian said. "It's more like a transit point."
Chen Fan turned his head to look at him.
As Yang Jian walked, he said, "I've dismantled several of the star paths in Heaven. They're mostly the same. They're not for people to live in, but for delivering things. If the delivery is urgent and in large quantities, the ground has to bear the load first. Look at these engraved lines; they're all for guiding the flow."
"What should we give?" the white dragon horse asked.
"Page, ink, number, or person," Yang Jian said. "Give whichever is convenient."
After these words were spoken, none of the others uttered a sound.
Half a mile further on, the wind changed.
At first, the wind was blowing directly in his face. But here, it felt like the wind was drilling up from his feet. There was no sound in his ears, only the movement of his clothes. When Chen Fan looked down, he saw the black grime on his cuffs slowly sliding out, as if being gently sucked in by something, following the engraved lines northward.
Wukong raised his staff and blocked the way: "Don't step in the middle again."
Suddenly, the ground in front collapsed in a circle.
It wasn't a pit, but rather like a large patch of land sinking half a foot, revealing neat rows of stone slabs underneath. These slabs, one after another, formed a massive circular platform. There were no gate towers, no pillars, only broken eaves around the platform, like several half-bones, propping themselves up towards the sky. In the very center of the platform stood a leaning tower, its body darkened, its outer walls riddled with fine grooves. The lights had long since died down in these grooves, leaving only faint traces of ink, like cracked riverbeds.
"This is the old star station?" White Dragon Horse asked in a low voice.
No one answered him.
Upon closer inspection, it became even stranger than it appeared. The entire circular platform was densely covered with conveyor lines, converging from all directions to the center, then withdrawing from the center and disappearing far into the white expanse to the north. It wasn't fog. Nor was it a wall. It was simply a layer of white, invisible and as thin as paper, standing between heaven and earth. The conveyor lines, upon reaching that point, pierced straight through, leaving no trace.
Zhu Bajie stared for a long time, his Adam's apple bobbing: "To me, it looks like someone has turned a book page upside down."
Chen Fan felt the same way.
It was so white and flat, so lifeless. The mountain wind blew past, but the edges didn't budge an inch. Yet the lines on the ground all seemed to be moving in that direction, as if the entire northern land was feeding it.
Liu Er suddenly raised his hand: "Someone has been here."
He squatted down beside a stone slab, picked up a speck of ash with his fingertip, and smelled it: "New shoe prints. Two sets. One after the other last night. And a bucket, ink leaked from the bottom."
Wukong looked in the direction he pointed, and sure enough, there were several shallow marks pressed against the base of the tower. Around the marks, there was a ring of dried black skin, like ink that had formed a crust.
Chen Fan walked over, then paused.
Beside the base of the pagoda stands a half-broken stele. Originally, there were words on it, but now they have been worn away, and only a few broken pieces are still legible.
"North...turn...remaining strength...no approaching..."
Yang Jian's expression darkened after reading it. He looked up at the white layer, then down at the engraved lines at his feet, as if he were piecing together many old things.
"I see."
"Speak," Chen Fan said.
Yang Jian pressed the scabbard against a main line and spoke slowly: "This isn't just about taking the eastern and western parts of the northern route. It's about drawing upon the remaining energy at the boundary between the mountains and seas and the mortal world."
The white dragon horse didn't understand: "What does 'utilizing spare capacity' mean?"
"You can think of it as the force you throw out from the edge of a millstone," Yang Jian said. "The two realms are connected, but they can't be perfectly sealed. Every day, with the opening and closing, the rising and falling of tides, the shifting of mountains and rivers, and the migration of people and animals, there's always some residual force that dissipates. Normally, these things dissipate on their own. But here, it's being stolen."
Pigsy cursed, "Why would I steal this thing?"
Yang Jian raised his chin and pointed to the white layer on the north side: "Offer it. Or rather, offer it to the ink left over from page zero."
Even Wukong frowned this time.
Chen Fan's heart sank slightly.
Previously, they only knew that remnants of ink had fled north on page zero, that the old station numbers were gathering northward, and that someone was changing shifts on the northern line. Now, this old star station before them had brought all the scattered threads together. It wasn't a temporary construction, nor was it someone's idea from last night. It had been here for a long time, so long that the locals knew its way around, so long that if a child outside the north gate developed a fever, the station number could trace its lineage back to its origins.
"Can we stop?" Chen Fan asked.
"Yes," Yang Jian said. "First, destroy the tower, then seal the line."
Is it difficult?
Yang Jian glanced at the tower but did not answer immediately.
Wukong chuckled first: "Ask him, it's no use, just smash it first."
No sooner had he finished speaking than he leaped onto the center of the circular platform, his golden cudgel swinging towards the tower's waist. The first blow sent a jolt through the entire platform, causing the engraved lines to light up simultaneously, like countless silver fish leaping from the ground. Before the second blow landed, a faint shadow suddenly appeared in the white layer to the north.
Like the character.
It doesn't look like a character either.
They were blank sheets of paper, slowly bulging out from the white, sticking to the unseen surface, and crowding towards them.
Six Ears' expression changed: "It's awake!"
Yang Jian shouted, "Old Pig, cut off the outer circle! White Dragon Horse, lead the people to the side! Chen Fan, don't stand in the main line!"
Chen Fan took a step back, and as soon as his shoe left the thickest engraved line, a black aura shot up from the ground with a "hiss" and rushed into the base of the tower from where he had just stood. The fine grooves on the tower then lit up one by one, as if ink was flowing inside.
Goku struck with his third staff, and Uta finally cracked.
The crack wasn't large, only in the middle, and a palm-sized piece of black shell fell off first. The shell landed, didn't break, but instead bounced like a living thing, heading straight for the main thread. Chen Fan reacted quickly, grabbing the salt cloth from his pocket and covering it. He stomped his heel, and the thing burrowed under the cloth a couple of times, hissing and smoking, then stopped moving.
Pigsy has already started digging with a shovel.
When the thick lines on the outer ring broke, the entire pedestal tilted slightly. Fine lines appeared on the white surface on the north side, like paper being lightly scratched by a fingernail. The bulging blank pages within the white surface stopped, stuck to that end, motionless.
Yang Jian leaped onto the platform, his third eye slightly opened, and stared into the crack in the tower.
He glanced at him, then reached out and grabbed Chen Fan's shoulder, pulling him back half a step.
Inside the crack, a blackened bronze wheel was slowly turning.
The wheel had no teeth, only tightly pressed edges. With each inch of rotation, a faint gray light was drawn up from the ground and sent into the white space to the north.
At the center of the bronze wheel was a small patch of ink that was not yet completely dry.
Chen Fan stared at the blob of ink, his voice low: "Found the heart?"
Yang Jian nodded.
Wukong flipped his wrist, and the tip of his staff was already pressed against the crack. He grinned and asked:
"If I knock, can you catch it?"
A north wind swept in from the white layer, making the fine grooves of the tower rattle and creak, like someone blowing a row of empty pen tubes right next to your ear. Chen Fan wiped the dust from the corner of his eye, staring at the moment the bronze wheel reached its center, and simply spoke:
"knock."
Chapter 735 Ten Lines Sealed Simultaneously
"knock."
As soon as he finished speaking, Wukong lowered the golden cudgel in his hand.
The stick didn't hit the tower; it struck the center of the bronze wheel first.
Like the eye of a drum.
With a dull "clang," the sound was strange. It wasn't the cracking of stone, nor the clang of bronze; it sounded more like someone had buried a large, empty jar underground and struck it through the soil.
The bronze wheel suddenly stopped.
The layer of gray light in the surrounding grooves all receded inwards.
The next instant, the entire old star station shook.
A wisp of white steam, carrying the smell of paper ash, rose from below the crack. Immediately afterward, a series of clicking sounds came from inside the tower base, like wooden bolts that hadn't been moved in years springing open one by one. Chen Fan slipped, but instead of retreating, he moved closer, staring intently at the blob of ink.
The ink was originally stuck to the center of the wheel.
It trembled from the shock, and patterns appeared on its surface.
"Again," Yang Jian said in a low voice.
Without wasting any words, Wukong struck down with his second staff.
This time, the bronze wheel couldn't hold up.
The wheel split open from the middle, breaking into eight pieces that flipped outwards. The blob of ink was forced out, hanging in mid-air, as thin as a drop of thick liquid that hadn't fallen. A gust of wind blew through the tower, but instead of dispersing, it unfolded.
Once unfolded, it reveals words.
It's not words written on paper.
It's an old style of calligraphy emerging from the gray, with each horizontal and vertical stroke darkened, as if someone dipped their finger in ink, wrote in the mist, and then wiped it off.
Liu Er cursed first: "Still hiding the accounts, huh?"
Chen Fan did not respond.
He has seen it clearly.
At the very top are three old characters: North Sealing Seal.
The following is neither a spell nor a formation diagram.
It is a name.
They were arranged one by one, very rigidly.
Ports, islands, markets between two borders, academies, mountain passes, canals, scripture halls, border patrols, tidal ports, and Huaguo Mountain.
Ten lines.
Each one has an empty space after it.
At the very bottom was an even smaller inscription: "The ink is faded, as if worn smooth by the years." Yang Jian raised his hand, touched his brow, and his third eye opened halfway before he could see the inscription.
"If all ten lines are signed, the northern seam can be closed. If one line is missing, the old number can be returned to its original position."
The wind rushed out of the cracked tower, making the few lines of gray characters sway from side to side.
The north wind outside the courtyard seemed to understand, and with a whoosh, it swept through the crumbling walls.
Chen Fan stood still, but his back slowly tensed up.
That makes sense.
The recent flurry of numbers on the northern line isn't random. The old star stations are still collecting serial numbers. Whoever has the biggest gap in their old register gets to add their number first. Right now, they've hit a wall, but they've only managed to stop the wheel, not completely seal the gap. As long as one line out of ten is missing a signature, the old number can circle back along that empty space.
It's like a leak.
Nine places were blocked, leaving only one small hole, but that was enough to slowly drain the entire pool of water.
Wukong grew impatient: "It's easy to write. It doesn't mention a word about who signs it or what they use to sign it."
"It's been mentioned." Yang Jian raised his hand and pointed to the corner of the character.
As everyone looked in that direction, they saw that each line had a tiny gray mark hanging from its end, like a thread being pulled in different directions. Not towards the sky, but towards various places.
Chen Fan reached out to touch it.
The moment his fingertips touched the gray line for "Border Patrol," the mission book in his sleeve suddenly warmed up. The next moment, the pages opened by themselves, stopping at the newly established page for "Border Patrol Team." A faint imprint appeared on the edge of the paper, exactly the same as the gray line in the tower.
"They're recognizing existing loose threads," Chen Fan said.
Si Mo reacted the fastest: "So, it doesn't necessarily have to be the original team. As long as the network is still running, there's a leader, there are ledgers, and people are willing to sign off, that's enough?"
"Eighty percent." Chen Fan nodded.
Liu San Niang squatted down, picked up a cracked piece of copper, and drew ten lines on the ground.
"We just established the boundary patrol system, so we can take over."
She drew another line.
"No need to ask about Flower Fruit Mountain, the Great Sage himself is the thread."
Wukong raised his chin: "That's easy to say."
Zhuang Da scratched his head: "The mountain pass isn't difficult. We've been watching over both the east and west passes lately, and we have the ash ditches, lamp posts, and night watchmen all in place."
"It only counts as half a deal." Chen Fan glanced at him. "To sign the agreement at the mountain pass, it's not enough to just watch the intersection. The names of the people crossing the pass, the names of the goods, and the night passes must all be registered in the new register. The old register must be burned; at the very least, the old accounts must be settled."
Zhuang Da remained silent and continued to squat down, looking at the ground.
That's where the difficulty lies.
Ten lines, not just running over to press a handprint.
You really need to hold the line tight.
Liu Er squatted down on the edge of the tower, his voice trailing off: "The port and Huichao Port are two separate routes. The sea route also includes islands. All three are by water. Even if one is missing, we can still use the empty warehouse route to the north."
"The Confucian academy is troublesome too." Si Mo frowned. "The academy is manageable; scholars recognize new books, so we can always hold out. The Confucian academy is different. They recognize old editions, manuscripts, and the printing lineage. Asking them to change the labels is like asking them to recognize old books; the Confucian academy has already been exposed."
Zhu Ganglie slammed his shovel into the ground: "Then let's fight it out."
"If you call back, the text will still be the same old text," Chen Fan said. "The library is most afraid of chaos. If you smash the cabinets, they'll run away with the old books. Every time one runs away, the old station will have one more thin leg."
Zhu Ganglie held his breath and didn't push back anymore.
There was a moment of silence.
The few lines of gray text inside the cracked tower still hang there, as if waiting for someone to make a decision.
Chen Fan raised his hand and rolled up his sleeve a little more, revealing the shallow burn mark on his wrist from the edge of the paper. He stared at the ten lines on the ground, going through them one by one in his mind.
At the port, you need to find someone who can hold the ship in its place.
On the island, someone needs to go to the outer reef and intercept the old lighthouse.
The two-stage market requires changing the signs at the market entrance and exchanging goods overnight.
The academy needs to compile a register.
The mountain pass is a strategic point.
The canal needs a sluice gate.
The library needs to print it.
Border patrol team.
Hong Kong is looking to bring back trendy brands.
Huaguo Mountain needs to sign off on everything.
This is not something that one group of people can finish.
It can move completely.
"The north seam isn't a door," he said slowly. "It's ten ropes twisted together. We only saw the north door before, so we kept putting out the fire at the door. Now that we've found the rope ends, we can't just keep guarding it with a basin of water."
Yang Jian looked at him: "Splitting lines?"
"We'll split up." Chen Fan nodded. "We'll split up tonight."
After he finished speaking, he squatted down and took a copper sheet to redraw the pattern on the ground.
"I'll lead the patrol. Si Mo will follow. Change the mission book to a signature book. Everyone who takes a call should first receive a blank page, then a gray token. If they can't sign it back, don't waste time, send a message immediately."
"Flower Fruit Mountain, Wukong is in charge of suppressing the bus. Go back and collect all the old signs from the mountain, and change the signs at the mountain gate to new ones. Anyone who dares to keep an old sign, tie them up first, and we'll interrogate them later."
Wukong shouldered his staff and said, "Alright."
"Yang Jian, you go to the port and the return port. There are many eyes at sea, and old ships will recognize you. Once the True Lord's Seal is revealed, they won't dare to pretend to be blind. When you get there, first cut off the old crossing tokens, then seal the list of those who cross at night."
Yang Jian responded.
"Six Ears, you'll travel between the two world markets and the islands."
Six Ears raised an eyebrow: "Me, running off with two people?"
"You have sharp ears and quick legs," Chen Fan said, looking at him. "There's a lot of truth and falsehood mixed in at the market, but you can tell the difference. We need you even more to go to the island; when the old lights come on, no one will notice before you."
Liu Er chuckled, accepting the offer.
"Liu San Niang, go to the academy."
Liu San Niang was taken aback: "Me?"
"You're the best at negotiating with people," Chen Fan said. "Those teachers at the academy are stubborn, but they're reasonable. If you show them the numbering system for the children on the northern route and bring the new registers, they'll have to think twice before signing them."
Liu San Niang pursed her lips and nodded.
"Zhuang Da is in charge of guarding the pass. All existing light positions, ash ditches, and night signs should be compiled into one register. Starting tonight, those crossing the pass should first report their number, then proceed."
"Okay," Zhuang Da replied readily.
"Old Pig, go to the irrigation ditch."
Pigsy was taken aback: "Me?"
"You know the ditches and flowing water best," Chen Fan said. "You can follow the gray lines on the northern route. Go and check out all the branch canals, culverts, and old wells. Block what you can, and put up signs for what you can't block. You can handle this waterway line."
Pigsy smacked his lips, picked up the shovel, and said, "I'll take on this job."
"Where is the scripture hall?" Si Mo asked.
Chen Fan paused.
This line is the hardest.
The old books, the old printings, the old copyists—they're all there. If things aren't handled properly, the whole city will descend into chaos.
"I will go to the temple myself," he said.
"You also need to lead the border patrols." Yang Jian frowned.
"First, establish the framework for the border patrol." Chen Fan slapped the booklet into Si Mo's hand. "Once the roster is issued, the North Gate can start operating on its own. The Scripture Hall can't be delayed. If they don't speak up first, even if the first nine articles are all signed, it will still be blocked in the end."
Suddenly, a cloud of dust fell from the cracked tower with a thud.
The small characters that read "Missing a line, the old number can be returned to the warehouse" were fluttered by the wind, as if they were about to fall apart.
Chen Fan looked up and lowered his voice slightly.
"Before dawn, seize every possible lead. Report back at noon tomorrow. Whether it succeeds or not, someone must bring back the signature."
He paused for a moment, then added another sentence.
"If anyone sees anyone from the old star station, don't bother chasing them. Seize the brochures, the prints, the lists. If someone runs away, you can catch them again, but if the brochures go into fire, they're truly gone forever."
Everyone responded in unison.
The stagnant air in the courtyard, which had been still all night, finally stirred.
Si Mo, clutching the booklet, rushed out, shouting for someone to prepare a lantern. Zhuang Da dragged the copper sheet to the door to set up a sign. Zhu Ganglie picked up a shovel and casually kicked a piece of cracked stone from the side of the tower into the pit. Liu Er had already scaled the wall; with a light touch of his toes, he vanished. Yang Jian raised his sleeve, retracted his Heavenly Eye, and turned to walk straight out of the North Alley.
Liu San Niang walked to the door and looked back at Chen Fan.
"Those old fogies at the monastery are stubborn and inflexible," she said. "When you go there, remember to bring a lighter."
Chen Fan smiled, didn't explain much, and simply stuffed the autograph book with the gray marks that had just surfaced into his pocket.
The wind is still blowing.
The cracked bronze wheel lay on the ground, all eight petals turned upside down, like a smashed old flower.
The ink blob in the very center had shrunk to a single black dot.
Chen Fan bent down, swiped it with his fingertip, and pressed it into the very beginning of the book.
Chapter 736 Grain Arrives First in the North
The temple is located at the end of the north alley.
The storefront was small, the roof ridge low, and two old lamps hung under the eaves. The lampshades were covered with fine cracks, and when the flame flickered, the old wooden plaques on the wall trembled as well.
When Chen Fan entered, there were already seven or eight people sitting inside.
They were all leaders from several passes along the northern route.
There were people in charge of the dikes, people in charge of the sloping fields, and two people specifically in charge of the winter storage cellars. On the table was a sealing book, the first page already stamped with three seals, the following pages were blank, and the edges of the paper were frayed from being turned over.
Liu San Niang arrived a step earlier than him and was leaning against the door frame drinking hot water.
When she saw him come in, she gestured with her chin towards the innermost part.
"The tough nuts are all over there."
Sitting at the very back was a dark-faced old man with hands as thick as tree roots, his thumbs covered in cracks. He didn't get up, but simply pushed the booklet forward half an inch.
"I won't stop you from blocking the northern route."
"I accept it if you arrest old numbers and block blank pages."
"But we can't run out of winter food."
After he finished speaking, the others in the room nodded in agreement.
Someone chimed in, "It's only just the beginning of frost. In another ten days or so, the mountain pass will be sealed off, carts won't be able to get in, and porters will have to take a detour. Wheat bran, salt bricks, bean seeds—which of these doesn't rely on the northern route?"
"We're not afraid of you getting things done."
"We're afraid that once we've accomplished the task, the granaries will be empty."
Chen Fan didn't rush to speak.
He first placed the autographed booklet in his arms on the table, and gently pressed his fingertip on the surface. The black dot was still embedded at the very beginning, like an ink smudge that hadn't been wiped clean.
Yang Jian and Wukong went outside to patrol the pipeline.
He didn't bring many people with him tonight; Si Mo was one, and Zhu Ganglie was another.
The dark-faced old man frowned immediately when he saw the fat man behind him.
"What's he doing here?"
Pigsy was reaching for the fried beans on the table when he heard this, he pulled his hand back and sneered, "Who do you think you are? Old Pig doesn't till the fields anymore, he's now protecting the grain."
Someone inside couldn't help but chuckle.
The atmosphere eased slightly, but quickly returned to normal.
The dark-faced old man didn't smile.
"Easy for you to say." He slammed his hand on the corner of the table with a dull thud. "The northern route has ten granaries, four slopes, and three frozen streams. Last year, the snow caused a six-day drought on the south side. Now you want to seal off all ten routes and move the patrol teams outwards. Where are you going to get the people? Where are the vehicles going?"
"If I sign, and then go back to my cellar and run out of food, the villagers will demolish my house first."
Si Mo stood to Chen Fan's side and behind him the whole time.
Hearing this, he finally put down the wooden box on his back.
The box was small, its brass clasp worn dark. He opened it, and inside were not talismans or seals, but a stack of account books. Each one was bound with coarse cloth, and a tiny tag was pinned to the corner, with writing written in extremely small characters.
Si Mo took out three books and stacked them on the table.
"Let's check the warehouse first."
He opened the first book.
"The North Gate General Warehouse holds 742 shi of unpolished rice, 190 shi of soybeans, 12 racks of dried vegetables, 76 bags of salt, and 94 carts of charcoal, divided into three piles."
He then flipped to the second book.
"The three cellars on the west slope were filled the day before yesterday. The newly dug cellars were sealed with mud last night, so the temperature is stable. Based on your number of mouths, it's enough to last for twenty-seven days."
The dark-faced old man frowned: "Anyone can write an account."
Si Mo looked up at him.
"Then let's look at the road."
The third book, when opened, contained not words, but illustrations. Every ditch, every slope, every bend where a cart could turn was marked in fine ink. It indicated which sections were suitable for wheelbarrows, which for mules, and even which windy spots were prone to freezing.
Si Mo pointed to the three red lines on the map.
"The blocked accounts are the ones that can be drilled with old wires."
"It's not a grain route."
"The main road must be closed, but the hidden road must be opened first. Starting tomorrow morning, the northern route will be changed to three shifts for transport. The first shift will take the shallow path on the south slope to deliver salt and charcoal. The second shift will take beans and bran along the old stove ditch. The third shift will take the warm canal at night to deliver fine grains."
The people at the table were all stunned for a moment.
"By the warm canal?"
"Where does the heating canal come from to the north?"
Pigsy grinned, finally getting his turn to appear.
He rolled up his sleeves, revealing two thick arms, and slammed his palms on the table, making the beans jump.
"No, just dig one."
The old man's dark face fell.
"You think this is like digging up a vegetable garden?"
"That's permafrost!"
Zhu Bajie didn't argue. He turned to Chen Fan and said, "Give me a piece of land."
Chen Fan raised his hand and pointed outside the courtyard.
"The section from the backyard to the street corner."
Without a word, Zhu Ganglie turned and left. Si Mo picked up the account book and followed. Liu San Niang pushed open the door, and the people inside exchanged glances before getting up and leaving the scripture hall.
The wind was strong outside, and a thin layer of white frost had formed on the eaves.
The open space in the backyard, which had been piled with firewood, had just been cleared, revealing a patch of blackened frozen soil. Fine dust still clung to the soil, making a crunching sound when you stepped on it.
Zhu Ganglie walked to the middle, squatted down, and touched a handful of soil.
He withdrew his hand and snorted through his nose.
"Being frozen doesn't mean you're dead."
He stood up and stomped his heel.
This kick wasn't fancy.
The ground trembled heavily, as if struck by a dull thud. The hard outer shell at the very front cracked first, the cracks hissing and shooting forward, stretching more than two zhang in the blink of an eye.
The leaders all retreated.
Before they could understand what was happening, Zhu Bajie grabbed a shovel from the side of the yard and pried open the crack. Large chunks of frozen soil were turned up, and a puff of white steam, smelling damp, rose from beneath.
"Let's see."
He brandished the rake and plunged its nine teeth into the ground.
This time, the sound was even more muffled.
It looks like something is arching underground.
A ditch stretched from the courtyard straight to the street corner, the soil churning to both sides, and broken ice tumbling and rolling. The ditch was only about half a person deep, yet it was dug very steadily, with no collapse on either side. Even stranger, there was actually heat rising from below, not violently, but steadily, just enough to suppress the layer of hard frost on the surface.
Si Mo had already squatted down by the ditch.
He stuck a thin piece of wood into the soil, pulled it out, and the tip was wet.
"It's working," he said.
"It's connected to the old stove vein."
The few people inside who had been keeping a straight face all crowded around.
The dark-faced old man squatted down, pressed his hand against the bottom of the ditch, and then grabbed a handful of soil and rubbed it together. The soil wasn't hot, but it was no longer hard. With a road like this, at night, a straw mat could be laid down, and two layers of furnace ash pressed on top, enough for a wheelbarrow to travel on.
He didn't speak.
The man next to Guan Dongxi took a breath first.
"Can you really deliver it?"
Si Mo turned to the last page of the ledger.
That page was the most densely written.
"Tonight we'll lay the first section. Two hundred paces. We'll use old burlap sacks to pad the wheels. Twenty porters will come out from the north gate, fourteen from the west slope, and the border patrol will borrow six to bring up the rear. The first cart of charcoal should arrive at Beicang before dawn tomorrow."
"Salt bags don't go this way." He pointed to the diagram again. "Salt goes along the high embankment to avoid getting damp. Beans and bran go along the bottom of the ditch. Refined grains go last, wrapped in double layers of oiled paper."
He spoke one sentence after another, without uttering a single empty word.
It's all recorded which family contributes how many people, which granary needs replenishing first, which vehicle's wheels are worn out and need replacing, and even which well the mule stops at to drink water along the way.
Chen Fan stood to the side without saying a word.
He suddenly remembered that everyone had been keeping an eye on the blocked lines, the old numbers, and the gray pages these past few days. What truly kept a group of people calm wasn't sticks or fire, but these accounts.
With the war at this stage, whoever delivers the supplies has the right to order others to guard the gate.
The story of Zhu Bajie (Pigsy) is not over yet.
He thought the ditch was too narrow, so he pushed his way forward a bit more until he crossed the street corner and reached the empty wheelbarrow in the north alley. He kicked the wheel.
"Pack."
Liu San Niang was the most efficient; she turned around and brought out two bags of charcoal from the scripture hall. Zhuang Da had arrived sometime earlier, and he silently picked up a bag and put it on the cart.
The car sank.
The dark-faced old man stepped forward and personally took the handlebars.
"I'll push it."
No one stopped him.
Someone had already scattered furnace ash along the ditch. Si Mo had two burlap sacks laid flat and placed at the front. The dark-faced old man tried to push the cart forward; the wheels jammed at first, then it rolled down the ditch.
Unhappy.
Very stable.
The wheels rolled over the damp soil, leaving only two shallow tracks. The frozen ground at the street corner hadn't even cracked.
The courtyard was quiet for a few moments.
The next moment, the one who spoke first was the one in charge of the slope. He rolled up his sleeves, turned around and asked, "Could I take over another section on my side? I still have thirty bags of bean curd sheets on my slope."
Si Mo didn't even look up: "Yes. Send someone, and we'll pick them up tonight."
Another leader reached out his hand directly to Chen Fan.
"Give me the book."
Chen Fan handed over the signed booklet.
The man pressed himself against the wall, dipped his brush in ink in the wind, and slapped it on. He did the second and third without delay either. Only the dark-faced old man remained at the street corner, pushing the cart back and forth twice, as if listening to see if the wheels would get stuck.
When he returned, his forehead was covered in sweat.
He didn't look at Chen Fan, but looked at Si Mo first.
"Give me a copy of the ledger."
Si Mo nodded: "Here you go."
The dark-faced old man then took the booklet.
He had large hands and his grip on the pen was not very steady, but he paused before making the final mark.
"If the northern front really runs out of food," he said, "I'll move another thirty shi (a unit of dry measure) from my granary to your border patrol team."
After he finished speaking, the seal fell, leaving a little mud on the edges.
The wind blew in from outside the alley.
Pigsy squatted by the ditch, using a rake to flatten a clump of frozen soil, muttering, "Don't hurt the wheels, or this old pig will have worked for nothing."
Liu San Niang leaned against the door, shaking her head with a smile.
Si Mo pressed the newly added seals dry one by one, put the book into the box, and looked up to say, "Open the North Gate warehouse first."
Chen Fan hummed in agreement.
The wheelbarrow at the street corner was already full for the second load. The dark-faced old man didn't let anyone else touch it. He bent down, grabbed the handlebars, and pushed it northward step by step along the newly opened heating ditch.