Chapter 116: The Finest Time of Spring

Wind rustled outside the window, birdcalls drifting into the room.

Chu Tianshu lay flat on his back, clad only in long pants, his upper body wrapped in medicated gauze; he rolled onto his right side, squinting at the window.

The daylight was bright—likely nearing noon.

After returning at midnight, he bandaged himself, calmed his spirit, and fell fast asleep, dreaming as usual of fighting those chaotic beasts.

Oddly, in last night’s dream, there was a bald, large bird.

It looked like a vulture—broad wings, long legs, its height rivaling Chu Tianshu’s.

Though it couldn’t fly, its wings and talons carried tremendous force.

Chu Tianshu sat up on the bed, staring at the Phoenix Wing Gilded Fork lying on the floor.

“Hey, that bird in my dream—it’s your evil qi manifesting.”

Chu Tianshu sat cross-legged beside the weapon, his left hand forming a sword finger, palm up, resting before his dantian; his right hand also formed a sword seal, tracing four vertical and five horizontal lines in the void.

“The dream bird screeched like nails on stone—let me recite a spell for you.”

Where his fingers passed, faint semi-transparent lines lingered in the air, barely visible but not fading.

Since cultivating his weapon soul, the *Shaoyang Blood Cart* had enhanced the quality of Chu Tianshu’s own mental force through Yin-Yang guidance.

Previously, when his mental force left his body, without the Three-Seven Divine Sword’s enhancement, it could only produce an invisible, formless impact.

Now, when his mental force left his body, it could temporarily form these visible lines.

Nine lines, interwoven vertically and horizontally, slowly sank down, pressing upon the Phoenix Wing Gilded Fork.

The nine-foot-long evil weapon trembled like a dead serpent suddenly seared by a hot iron, head and tail quivering.

Chu Tianshu ignored it, continuing to trace with his fingers.

Eight full sets of intersecting patterns eventually settled, covering the entire length of the sinister weapon, each line burning off wisps of blue smoke.

That smoke was the neutralized residue of mental force and evil qi—harmless, useless, rising and dispersing.

The evil qi faded; the weapon soul within grew weaker.

After roughly a quarter-hour, the Phoenix Wing’s blade emitted a faint hum, then dimmed completely.

【Phoenix Wing Gilded Fork: A golden-armored general, once dominant in battle, yet tragically slain by a monstrous foe, his hatred and grievance fused into a cursed soul.】

【Trait: Mount Tai vs. Feather—controls its own weight, overflowing evil qi, chaotic currents lock the soul.】

“So it really does control its own weight!”

Chu Tianshu felt a pang of envy.

Too bad—after using the evil spirit material to deduce a technique, its original properties inevitably shifted.

The technique derived from this might not even grant the ability to manipulate object weight.

Still, Chu Tianshu had decided.

He would definitely use this evil spirit material as the primary trait in his alchemical fusion.

He rose, dressed, washed his face and mouth with water from a pitcher, then shouldered the Phoenix Wing Gilded Fork and stepped outside.

He’d planned to find Cheng Xianzi, but the courtyard was empty; without hesitation, he headed for the kitchen.

Cheng Xianzi was indeed in the courtyard beside the kitchen, gently tapping wine jars.

The sound suggested each jar was full—no one knew what he was discerning by sound alone.

“You’re up?”

Cheng Xianzi smiled. “Good timing—lunch will be ready soon.”

Chu Tianshu leaned the Phoenix Wing Gilded Fork against the wall and patted its shaft.

“I’ve extinguished the weapon soul inside, but the material is incredibly resilient—melt it down and forge a blade.”

He said, “Your current blade’s material is mediocre and riddled with damage—it’s time to retire it. Let this give your Listening Wind Weapon Soul a new home.”

Cheng Xianzi lifted his scabbard and tapped the shaft.

“You and Lao Zheng really think alike.”

Chu Tianshu: “Hm?”

“He stayed up all night. When he returned this morning, he brought six rings.”

Cheng Xianzi said, “Duan Zhong’s rings—he said the weapon soul was scattered, but the material was excellent. He distributed them among everyone to fuse into weapons as keepsakes. Since you were still asleep, he didn’t deliver yours.”

Chu Tianshu laughed: “Six rings? How much weight is that? Mine weighs four hundred jin!”

“I’ll forge you a blade and still have plenty left over—what remains is my gift to you and Lady Wensheng.”

Lady Wensheng leaned half her body through the courtyard gate, her features charming, voice melodious.

“Then thank you, Master Chu, for your good wishes—come taste the new dishes I’ve learned.”

They didn’t eat in the kitchen; everyone helped carry dishes to the side hall.

The side hall held a long table and many hu beds—this arrangement was Chu Tianshu’s suggestion.

Previously, though high tables, stone stools, and hu chairs existed, people still preferred kneeling or cross-legged sitting on cushions to eat.

After Chu Tianshu rearranged the side hall, everyone tried it a few times and found it better.

Now, everyone was thoroughly accustomed to dining at the large table.

Chu Tianshu glanced around and saw nearly everyone from the Wen family tavern present.

The table steamed with heat, fragrant aromas filling the air.

Besides the usual dishes from the Wen tavern, this meal included several specialties from Zheng’s household chef.

Lady Wensheng had learned their secrets.

Stir-fried ferns with green beans, steamed lamb in a clay dish, and venison stewed in a ceramic pot.

The venison slices were wide and long, but not thick.

A large slice wrapped around chopsticks, dipped lightly in sauce—first a salty, savory taste, then growing richer with each chew.

All lean meat, yet not dry.

Chu Tianshu nodded inwardly and ate heartily.

“Master Chu, last time you said you wanted this bread after a fight—I didn’t know when you’d fight, so I made some every day. Today I pressed them too thin, but they turned out uniquely crisp—try them.”

Lady Wensheng pointed to a stack of bread on the table.

Huangqiao baked bread was normally no larger than a chess piece—crispy outside, slightly soft inside.

These were pressed too thin, baked until entirely crisp throughout.

Chu Tianshu took a bite and suddenly recalled: back home in his childhood, such bread was often sold in transparent plastic bags, stacked high, sealed with golden wire.

“Very tasty.”

He praised repeatedly, thinking inwardly: how few days have passed, and she’s already invented this new variation.

Bread-making techniques are mostly similar.

Though Chu Tianshu had only explained Huangqiao bread to Lady Wensheng, if this continued, she might independently develop many new bread types.

Too bad—he knew absolutely nothing about how to make cake.

Otherwise, he’d suddenly wonder if Lady Wensheng could create cake in this era.

“This morning I heard the duel outside the city is over—Yi Wang lost, and many of his co-conspirators died.”

Lady Wensheng knew many things, but only spoke of what others in the tavern already knew.

“You heard before—the men who caused trouble in our tavern were possibly tied to Yi Wang.”

“Now that Yi Wang has fallen, our tavern can reopen.”

Lady Wensheng clapped her hands. “I’ll find people these two days to repair the tavern.”

“The March Festival will be lively for many days—we can catch its tail end by reopening.”

The tavern staff cheered.

Though they had food and shelter here, they were still guests under someone else’s roof, earning nothing, their hearts unsettled.

With the tavern reopening, they could earn again—everyone began discussing it eagerly.

Dao Baishu held his small wine cup, smiling, but his eyes kept shifting between Chu Tianshu and Cheng Xianzi.

He assumed Chu Tianshu was an Inner Guard; Cheng Xianzi’s new leg wound from last night was obvious.

But most crucially… Dao Baishu had also been among the crowd beneath Cuiyan Slope at midnight.

As a storyteller, he loved gathering material; though terrified of Hai Dong, the crowd gave him courage, so he slipped to the back.

The man who killed Duan Zhong moved too fast—no one saw his face.

But the distance up and down the slope was far closer than the voice that had floated over Yi Wang’s mansion.

Dao Baishu had heard that voice at midnight; now, the more he thought, the more familiar it sounded.

Chu Tianshu noticed his gaze and glanced at him curiously.

Dao Baishu quickly ducked his head, raising his wine cup.

Chu Tianshu lifted his own cup, clinking it mid-air with Dao Baishu’s, then drank it down.

“Friends, I’m preparing to leave in a few days. We’ve shared this time together—let me raise this cup to bid you farewell.”

Chu Tianshu stood, poured himself another cup, and gestured to all.

Everyone was slightly startled, but quickly rose—no one was overly surprised.

In the tavern business, guests come and go—it’s normal.

Chu Tianshu raised his cup: “First, may your tavern thrive, earn a fortune daily, and each of you grow rich.”

Lady Wensheng led the others in reply: “Then we wish Master Chu smooth sailing and your medical fame to spread far and wide.”

Cheng Xianzi had merely raised his cup in response, but upon hearing those four words, he couldn’t help smiling.

Medicine…

“Brother Chu, may your name resound across the four seas!”

He believed Chu Tianshu would one day become famous throughout the eight directions—but whether it would be for medicine, he couldn’t say.

Everyone raised their cups together.

The steam in the hall gradually dispersed.

By the end of lunch, Chu Tianshu had already left the side hall.

Dao Baishu was still sipping his small cup of wine, eyes darting toward Chu Tianshu’s seat.

Mo Daniang had begun clearing the dishes; seeing him like this, she tapped him on the shoulder: “Old Dao, what are you thinking about?”

Someone nearby chuckled: “He’s probably weaving another story in his head.”

“Hmph, if you’ve got the nerve, don’t listen when I tell it.”

Dao Baishu put on a haughty air, yet his curiosity burned like a hundred claws scratching inside him; after a moment’s thought, he decided to share it with someone and leaned close to Mo Daniang.

“Mo Daniang, I know you’re level-headed—some secrets can be told to you first.”

Mo Daniang grew alert: “What?”

Dao Baishu spoke with restraint: “Do you believe the Head of the Imperial Guard, Haidonglai, is actually a good man?”

Mo Daniang frowned: “Why say that? Aren’t you afraid of the Imperial Guard?”

“Hearsay is false; what you see with your own eyes is truth.”

Dao Baishu spoke seriously: “From what I’ve seen and heard, I’ve learned many reputations are mere slander.”

Mo Daniang asked in surprise: “Who did you see?”

Dao Baishu grew solemn, his voice lowered to a whisper, as if revealing a great secret.

“Do you know? Dr. Chu… is actually Haidonglai!”

Mo Daniang’s expression at that moment was utterly strange.

Dao Baishu smiled: “Don’t you dare spread this around. When I tell this story properly later, I’ll change all the names and details.”

“You’re the only one who’ll hear the truth.”

Mo Daniang began to wonder if her expulsion from the Imperial Guard might have been because some of the rumors she’d passed along came from this old man.

Chu Tianshu didn’t know that even after dropping his disguise, he’d still been playing the role of Haidonglai for a while.

He was in the locust tree courtyard, accepting the map from Haidonglai.

“Did you draw this just now?”

“Yes.”

Haidonglai said, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see those demonic soldiers within three days?”

“Ordinary maps are for carts and horses. With our strength, we don’t need to follow those roads.”

“When I traveled from Chang’an to Nanzhao before, it took about seven hours—not just because I moved fast, but because I took different paths.”

Chu Tianshu studied the map closely.

Clearly drawn by someone trained in cartography: key mountains and rivers were clearly marked.

Many routes ran directly along riverbanks.

“With my current body, I can’t return to Chang’an that quickly. Besides, Guan Changling died here, and Zheng Hui and I still have much to handle, and we must contact Wei Gao.”

Haidonglai took out a piece of paper and a jade pendant.

“Here’s the route map. These two are tokens. When you reach Chang’an, ask for my residence.”

“Show the jade pendant to the gatekeeper; show the inked seal on the paper to the steward.”

Chu Tianshu nodded: “Seven hours? Then I won’t leave today—I’ll set out tomorrow.”

Haidonglai asked: “Do you have anything else to do here?”

“One small matter.”

Chu Tianshu looked at the large locust tree and smiled: “Forget about it. If you have time, practice the Palm Thunder technique more.”

“Your original strength-building method works, but it’s too brutal. If you master Palm Thunder, your internal organs will strengthen, your qi and blood will renew, toxins will be filtered, and your lifespan extended—your condition will improve greatly.”

Haidonglai said nothing more, opened his umbrella, and left.

The deaths of Duan Zhong and Guan Changling meant he had many matters to discuss with the envoy delegation and Zheng Hui.

Zheng Hui was even busier; after returning in the morning, he rested only briefly before returning to the palace.

Yixun had made up his mind to purge the loyalists of the Righteous King’s faction.

He also intended to negotiate deeply with the envoy delegation and ally with Great Tang to attack Tubo.

Fortunately, though injured, Zheng Hui still had the foundation of his Blood-Refining Art and could still bear the burden.

But when he finally returned to his mansion late at night, he felt utterly wrapped in thick exhaustion.

He drank a cup of tea in his study; though tired, he couldn’t sleep, so he wandered out with his steward.

Without realizing it, he reached his mother’s former residence.

“That’s…”

Zheng Hui looked up, paused in surprise, then stepped hesitantly into the courtyard.

On the thick branches of the locust tree, several small windmills were stuck with paste.

Legend said Jiang Taigong invented the windmill, called the Eight Trigrams Wind Wheel.

But this four-leaf windmill, made of bamboo strips, bamboo rods, and paper, was typically a child’s toy.

It was often stuck behind a peddler’s collar to attract children.

Zheng Hui stared closely: all the windmills were greenish-blue.

At their centers, the pins holding the paper seemed to be silver needles—but these needles had been completely bent and deformed.

At first glance, the twisted wire resembled silver characters, branded at the windmill’s center.

Lin Bing Dou Zhe Jie Zhen Lie Qian Xing.

Nine windmills. Nine characters.

“What is this for?”

Zheng Hui couldn’t help smiling: “Are these windmills pretending to be leaves?”

The steward said: “These windmills were all made by Dr. Chu himself.”

“He said, ‘Flowing water does not rot; a turning hinge does not breed worms.’ This place has pure yin energy, and the locust tree’s vitality is enduring—but it cannot sprout new branches because the former has gone and the latter has not yet followed—the middle flow is broken.”

“These windmills can restore the missing years, and make this tree sprout anew.”

The essence of the Nine Characters is “flow.”

Using silver needles and windmills to show the flow of wind, these windmills, though not yet talismans, seem to carry a subtle magical effect.

Zheng Hui moved closer slowly, his gaze fixed on one branch.

He walked all the way to the tree’s base, certain he hadn’t mistaken it.

A tiny new green shoot had indeed appeared at the knot on the branch.

The windmills had only been stuck there for a single afternoon.

Zheng Hui gazed at the green shoot, breathed the night air gently, and laughed.

“By the way, it’s March—still spring! And Nanzhao is spring all year round!”

He already seemed to see the seasonal flow of the locust tree.

Tonight, windmills fill the branches; tomorrow, lush leaves and blooming flowers.

(End of Chapter)