Chapter 1050

Pan Yun looked around the room and told Tao Yanbai to light the fireplace: "Just covering with blankets is still too cold."

She took out two gold cakes and handed them to Zhao Shizhu: "Tomorrow, take Seeing Miao Zhen and the others to the market and buy what's needed—beds, tables, chairs, clothes, food, firewood, and charcoal—stock up on plenty."

Pan Yun turned to Hu Ning and handed him a bag of gold cakes: "These are for you to vet and recruit people. I'm giving you three days to bring back trustworthy individuals. Tomorrow, I have something to show you."

Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning bowed respectfully in response.

The two withdrew; Pan Yun waved to the three of Seeing Miao Zhen, and they too dispersed to sleep.

Pan Xiaohei crouched beside, watched for a moment, then turned and followed Miao He, muttering to himself: 【Too cold. Doesn't fit a cat's routine. I'm going to sleep too.】

Pan Yun made no move to stop him. She walked into the courtyard, glanced around, then leapt onto the wall's top, sitting cross-legged to meditate.

The temperature kept dropping. Pan Yun used her cultivation to block the cold air out, yet continuously circulated her technique to sense the spiritual energy of this world.

Not long after the first snowflake drifted down, light footsteps echoed along the street.

Pan Yun opened her eyes, looked down, and saw three petty thieves tiptoeing past beneath her. They paused at the gate, pressed their ears to listen, then fiddled with the lock.

Indeed, they actually managed to open it. The three carefully pushed open the gate and stepped into the courtyard, heading toward the house—when Pan Yun waved her hand, a force whooshed out, snatching all three and hurling them outward. Thud! They slammed into the wall, rolled to the ground, rolled their eyes back, and fainted instantly.

Pan Yun waved again; the gate slammed shut with a bang.

She closed her eyes benevolently and murmured: "Fusheng Wuliang Tianzun. Sinful, sinful…"

Then, still with eyes closed, she continued her cultivation, letting the drifting snowflakes settle upon those lying figures.

An hour later, heavy snow had buried Pan Yun on the wall like a snowman, and covered all the unconscious people on the street.

Including the eleven previously knocked out by Seeing Miao Zhen and the others, there were eleven in total.

The snow illuminated the land brightly, yet the sky above remained dark, not a single glimmer visible. Pan Yun pinched her fingers to estimate the time—dawn was not far off. She was about to shake the snow off her shoulders when a crunching sound came from the end of the street.

Pan Yun paused, turned her head, and saw a group of men, each gripping a large knife, crouching warily as they approached the house.

Beneath the snow, Pan Yun raised an eyebrow.

As they circled halfway and found a spot to climb over, one stepped on the person previously knocked out by Seeing Miao Zhen and the others.

The eight panicked, brushed away the snow, and, uncertain, began a heated discussion in Wala language: "Is this a drunkard? A vagrant? Or a thief?"

One leaned close, sniffed, and declared: "Not a drunkard. Not a vagrant either. This one was knocked out—he's barely breathing!"

"Could it be the people inside did this?"

"Impossible. Two old people, three young Han men—this fellow is bulky. They couldn't have knocked him out. Forget him. Climb in fast. They bought this house with so many fine silks after being looted by the military tents—they must still have plenty of valuables."

"We can't leave it till tomorrow. The King's tent and military tents are ruthless. If we don't act tonight, they'll come tomorrow to swindle their money."

So the eight no longer hesitated. They scaled the wall and jumped inside—but had barely taken a few steps when a powerful force struck from nowhere. Those who had already leapt into the courtyard were snatched up, flung into the air, and slammed against the opposite wall with a crash.

The rest screamed in terror, scrambling and crawling backward. When they looked up, they saw a white figure standing on the wall—like a snowman piled in their own yard.

They shrieked in horror, fell to the ground, rolled twice, then scrambled up and ran, shouting: "Snow demon! It's a snow demon—"

Pan Yun let out a soft hum, grabbed a handful of snow from her body, squeezed it, then tossed it casually. Five men who were nearly out of range crashed to the ground with thuds, twitched twice, then lay still.

Seeing all were unconscious, Pan Yun glanced at the eleven originally knocked out. After a moment's thought, she raised her hand, summoned a large mass of snow, and with a whoosh, piled it all atop them. The snow then moved like a living thing, swelling into a sturdy snow house, trapping all eleven tightly packed together.

Pan Yun rubbed her slightly numb calves, stood up on the wall, and gave a slight shake—thick snow fell away.

"Whether you live or die depends on your luck."

She saved them—but not fully. She had a little kindness, but not much.

Pan Yun turned and walked back inside.

Indeed, the remaining time passed quietly. Pan Yun slept soundly until dawn, only waking when the clamor outside began.

I wonder if any thieves came in the late night? If they did, they must have been terrified enough by the line of bodies on the street.

Not just thieves—even the entire street's residents were terrified.

When they woke in the morning and opened their doors, they saw many people lying on the street.

Originally meant to save one, but saved one and found another.

So following the direction of rescue, they dug up a total of nineteen people from the snow.

Zhao Shizhu returned from watching the spectacle, bowed to Pan Yun, and reported: "Three are dead—froze to death. The rest have been carried off. Two have woken up and immediately claimed they encountered a snow demon."

Pan Yun: "Are there demons here?"

Zhao Shizhu paused, then said: "Legends say there are, but we've lived here over twenty years and never seen one. Besides, Confucian teachings avoid speaking of ghosts and monsters. Whether it was a demon last night—our State Preceptor should know better than we do."

Pan Yun nodded, admitting frankly: "Last night's events were our doing. I was simply curious whether demons existed here."

Zhao Shizhu fell silent.

Hu Ning said: "After this, thieves won't dare approach our compound for a while."

Pan Yun's lips curled slightly. She murmured: "A while isn't enough. I want them to never dare again."

Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning saw no fault in Pan Yun's actions. Whether for public or private reasons, fewer outsiders visiting this place was best.

Whether legal or illegal.

The shops here opened late. After breakfast, Pan Yun took out the telegraph machine to show them.

She chose the best-viewed room on the top floor, then pulled out the telegraph machine and said: "This is a low-power telegraph machine, hand-cranked for power. When I leave, I'll install a generator for you and leave behind a higher-power telegraph machine."

The two stared blankly and asked: "What is this?"

"It's a device for transmitting messages. Simply follow the code pattern to tap out signals, and the message can be sent. Far away, another telegraph machine will receive this wavelength and translate it into text."

Scouts had all learned cipher language—that is, hiding secret codes within plain speech.

Information science and cryptography share common ground. Pan Yun explained clearly and simply. Though the two veterans still didn't know how to operate the telegraph machine, they understood: this device could transmit information instantly.

But conditions were many, and information loss remained possible.

Yet—it was instantaneous~~

No need to send messengers across thousands of miles, no more waiting two years, eight years, or longer; no more risking life to rush across vast distances…

Zhao Shizhu murmured: "Divine art, divine art—this is divine art~~" Hu Ning stared in disbelief: "Is this real or fake? We've been away twenty years—has Great Ming changed so much?"

Beside them, Seeing Miao Zhen said proudly: "It's only changed in the past two years. All thanks to my junior master."

"Two years?" Zhao Shizhu suddenly looked up at Pan Yun: "Is it because of the late emperor…"

Pan Yun said: "Our Great Ming's technology had already reached a certain stage; it only needed a slight nudge to advance further. Even if I hadn't pointed it out, these things would have emerged eventually."

But then the advantage would no longer belong to Great Ming.

In fact, Great Ming's handicraft industry, especially its civilian artisans, were only separated from steam-age technology by a thin membrane. Even now, some civilians were already using tools based on steam principles—yet without forming a theory or industrialization, they couldn't advance further.

Pan Yun's intervention merely dispelled the fog before their eyes and showed them which path to take.

And beside this path, she had simultaneously opened another.

Even now, she still hoped they could pursue both paths in parallel, applying Yuan Power and arrays to civilian life, directly following the model of her past 26th century.

But those who could cultivate Yuan Power were still an extremely small minority; she wasn't certain whether the new cultivation methods could be universally promoted, so she dared not abandon the technological path—indeed, she must emphasize it.

Of course, none of this needed to be told to Zhao Shizhu and the others.

They only needed to know that even after suffering a defeat, Great Ming had not declined—on the contrary, it had advanced further. In the near future, the balance of offense and defense would shift; if the Oirats dared to strike, Great Ming would seize the opportunity and directly annex this entire land, bringing it under direct rule.

Zhao Shizhu didn't oppose war—but direct rule over this land…?

He murmured: "This land is barren, with long, freezing winters, vast but sparsely populated—its governance costs are too high. Is direct rule truly necessary?"

Pan Yun said: "There is no land in this world unsuitable for cultivation; if it seems so, it's only because the soil hasn't been properly nourished—it needs repair."

For the people of Huaxia, even the Moon—deemed 'unsuitable for planting'—could be filled with vegetables and grow Wang Gang's great tree. How much more so the Earth?

To say 'unsuitable' is not to say 'impossible.'

This land merely has long winters—it isn't frozen forever.

Moreover, for the vast territories of the Oirats, agricultural resources aren't the most important; what matters most are the mineral deposits buried beneath the ground.

Underground coal and oil—especially oil—will become indispensable resources when Great Ming's technology advances to a certain stage.

The Central Plains abound in agricultural resources, yet lack oil.

Pan Yun gazed out the window, looking down upon the boundless wilderness beyond, her eyes sharp: "In the future, all this will be the wealth of future generations."

"Huh?" Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning exchanged glances, not understanding—but they pledged obedience.

Pan Yun turned her gaze away and smiled lightly: "Didn't you hear Aodeng say? He takes pride in becoming a subject of Great Ming. And our Son of Heaven loves his people as a father loves his children—every inch of land under heaven belongs to the King's subjects."

Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning looked at each other, then bowed and replied respectfully: "Yes!"

The sun rose; voices filled the streets. The two then took Seeing Miao Zhen and the others outside—to buy what they needed, to seek whom they sought.

The morning's news had spread; people now looked at Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning with changed eyes.

Those nineteen men clearly weren't vagrants. Remembering Zhao Shizhu's guests and his recent generosity, it wasn't hard to guess what those men were.

Thus, the townsfolk, while rejoicing for them, also felt Zhao Shizhu and Hu Ning had changed—they now regarded them with awe.

Not only ordinary residents, but soldiers too.

So for now, no one came to trouble Zhao Shizhu and his group.

Zhao Shizhu took Seeing Miao Zhen and the others to shop, subtly leaking bits of information along the way—deepening local trust while deterring any mistreatment.

Hu Ning went directly to find the children he had once taken in.

Those children lived hard lives; most were broken by injury, and even the few with full limbs bore the burden of supporting their families, occasionally even helping Zhao Shizhu's group—so their lives were equally meager.

Hu Ning's arrival filled them with festival-like joy; by evening, he returned with three families—eight people total.

There were youths and children.

Two of the families resembled Han people.

Hu Ning whispered: "They are descendants of Han people. Both their fathers were merchants who came here, lived for years, married, and had children."

"Then where are their fathers?"

Hu Ning looked embarrassed: "They left when the children were young, saying they were returning to Great Ming to trade—but never came back, no word ever arrived. No one knows if they're alive or dead. Their mothers raised them alone, enduring great hardship."

Hu Ning paused, then added: "Most of the children we adopted came from similar situations. A few others were abandoned by their mothers' families as infants, and we brought them back to raise."

That's why the children we raised are so loyal.

Pan Yun nodded and murmured: "They can be trusted—but the telegraph machine must not be revealed to them yet."

"Understood."

So only the two old soldiers could learn the telegraph machine—poor men, already advanced in age, forced to study.

But they didn't feel pitied; instead, the more they learned, the more energetic they became, utterly fascinated by the device.

No scout is foolish, and these men had been carefully selected in their youth—they were sharper than most, and even now, in their old age, they learned quickly.

At least Pan Yun and Seeing Miao Zhen felt they were stronger than the students at the Imperial Academy.

Quick to grasp, precise in translation, and remarkably fast with their hands—none of it betrayed their sixties or seventies.

Zhao Shizhu: "National Teacher, I, Zhao, am forty-four this year."

Hu Ning: "Exactly forty."

Pan Yun stared at their snow-white hair and deeply lined faces, mouth agape, speechless.

Zhao Shizhu rubbed his face and laughed: "Looks old, doesn't it? When I first came here, I was only twenty-one."

He pointed at Hu Ning and grinned: "He was the youngest—only seventeen."

Their entire lives had been wasted here.