Chapter 116: Toothbrush

The next day, Pan Yun took the talismans she had drawn down the mountain, but the youngest Licentiate didn’t show up for a long time—perhaps he had begun to suspect her.

Fortunately, she didn’t absolutely need his sixty taels; once the incense was lit, she sat on the courtyard in front of the temple and meditated to cultivate.

This was Mount Sanqing, blessed by the mountain god, and her cultivation speed was indeed fast; moreover, whether because she was the temple keeper, she felt her progress here was no slower than atop the peak.

You must know, the summit of Sanqing Mountain is truly saturated with spiritual energy, surpassing all three peaks.

The spiritual energy at the mountain’s base couldn’t compare to the summit, yet her cultivation speed here was no slower than atop the peak—so if the spiritual energy here were even slightly denser, how much faster would she become?

This made Pan Yun eye a large rock behind the mountain god temple.

The rock stood about fifteen meters high, with a flat surface, but atop it was a three-meter-square platform, which she felt was perfect for her meditation.

Pan Yun now stood beside the temple, tilting her head to study the massive rock.

Actually, she could have flown onto it, but once atop, the place was sheer cliffs on all sides, with no barriers around—she felt a little afraid.

Pan Yun didn’t think she was afraid of heights; she simply valued her life more, yes, she was indeed cautious with her life.

While she was hesitating, she heard footsteps behind her again.

Pan Yun turned around.

Mo Jidi walked over with a faint smile; seeing Pan Yun staring at him silently, her gaze cold and indifferent, his confidence instantly vanished.

Mo Jidi nervously said, “Temple Keeper Pan, I’ve come to request a talisman.”

Pan Yun nodded, jumped down from the wall, led him into the temple, and handed him three talismans pressed beneath the incense table.

Mo Jidi took them and volunteered, “Temple Keeper Pan, I’ve officially changed my name to Mo Zhen.”

Pan Yun nodded. “Master Mo Zhen.”

Seeing her finally speak, Mo Jidi quietly exhaled, placed sixty taels in the merit box, then bowed and left.

He had indeed begun to suspect—Confucius said not to speak of the strange, the violent, or the supernatural; perhaps her prediction that he’d fail was just luck.

But he also feared that if such things truly existed, and she had truly foreseen it.

He didn’t want to gamble another three years, so in the end, he came.

Sixty taels were a considerable sum for him; clutching the three talismans as he left, Mo Jidi—no, Mo Zhen—hoped they would work.

Back home, Mo Zhen placed the talismans inside his pouch and hung them on his person.

He exhaled, having done all he could; now it was up to fate.

As soon as Mo Zhen left, Pan Yun emptied the merit box, took out the money, looked up at the deity statue, and said, “Master, this is all yours—I won’t take it. It’s not my savings.”

The mountain god: …

Pan Yun closed the door and climbed the mountain.

Because she kept going up and down, her lightness skill had improved; though she still couldn’t reach Wang Feiyin’s level of ascending and descending in fifteen minutes, she no longer needed to run for long.

Back at the summit, Pan Yun sought out Wang Cong. “Senior nephew, do you know carpentry? Make me a three-sided frame.”

Wang Cong looked confused. “A three-sided frame?”

Pan Yun pulled him to the back courtyard, stood at the cliff’s edge, and pointed downward. “Can you see the mountain god temple?”

Wang Cong looked, then nodded. “I can see half of it.”

“Half is enough. That massive rock behind the temple’s side—do you see the three-meter-square platform on top? Make me a frame, carry it up, nail it there, leaving only the side facing the temple open, so I can fly up easily.”

Wang Cong looked utterly baffled. “What are you making this for?”

Pan Yun said, “Don’t ask. Can you do it?”

“I can, but…”

“If you can, that’s enough,” Pan Yun said. “The frame must be over one meter two tall, the wooden slats tightly spaced—no gap wider than a foot.”

Wang Cong studied her, then said, “Little auntie, why are you standing so far from the cliff? From there, you can’t even see the temple. Come closer.”

Pan Yun stared at him expressionlessly. “I can see it.”

“That’s five steps away—how can you see from there?” Wang Cong said. “Come up here—is that the rock you mean?”

Pan Yun: “My feet are itching.”

Wang Cong immediately fell silent, stepped away from the cliff, and smiled at her. “Little auntie, are you afraid of heights?”

“No, you’re imagining things.”

Wang Cong nodded. “True—you have such excellent lightness skill, leaping up and down without issue. You probably aren’t afraid of heights.”

Pan Yun nodded firmly. “Exactly!”

Wang Cong’s eyes crinkled with mirth, tears nearly bursting from his eyes; Pan Xiao stepped beside him, silently joining in mocking Pan Yun.

When Wang Feiyin emerged from cultivation and saw his son hammering away at the wooden frame, he stared blankly, then turned to Pan Yun, who was stuffing boar bristles into a bamboo handle. “Did you make him build this frame?”

Pan Yun nodded.

“Cultivation is about returning to your true nature—it demands grace, freedom, unity with heaven and earth. Yet you’ve erected all these rigid frames around yourself. Do you think this helps your cultivation?”

Pan Yun: “I sit there to absorb spiritual energy. The frame doesn’t block spiritual energy—why wouldn’t it help?”

She added, “My mind is calm—that’s what matters. You don’t understand, so don’t interfere.”

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand? You’re afraid of heights and won’t admit it—that’s what’s terrifying!” Wang Feiyin said sternly. “Fear of heights isn’t terrifying, but denying it—that’s the real danger.”

Pan Yun: “I’ve flown thousands of meters high and ridden objects through the air!”

Wang Feiyin snorted. “Was it completely enclosed on all sides, wasn’t it?”

Pan Yun fell silent.

Wang Cong asked, “Father, should we still make the frame?”

Wang Feiyin waved his hand dismissively. “Make it, make it.”

He glared at Pan Yun in exasperation. “You’re afraid of heights—why insist on cultivating on that rock?”

“The view is clear, the spiritual energy is dense, and I get the temple’s incense offerings.”

Wang Feiyin: “But you’re afraid of heights.”

Pan Yun: “Once the frame is installed, I won’t be afraid anymore.”

Wang Feiyin opened his mouth, then found no reply.

Wang Cong finished the frame that same day and said, “Little auntie, I’ll install it for you tomorrow.”

Pan Yun: “The rock is granite—hard as stone. Will it be easy to fix?”

Wang Cong smiled. “No problem. My years of martial training weren’t wasted.” Pan Yun relaxed; she took a toothbrush from a nearby box and handed it to him. “This is the best toothbrush I’ve made—I’m giving it to you.”

Wang Cong stared at the neatly trimmed boar bristles and swallowed hard. “Little auntie, you really brush your teeth with this?”

“Of course. It’s far better than willow twigs. I researched extensively to find how to soften the bristles. Try it—it’s excellent. I’ll use mine tomorrow too.”

Wang Cong had never received a gift from her before; he couldn’t refuse, so he took it.

Pan Yun wandered the summit with the box, then approached Wang Feiyin. “Big brother, this is my first boar-bristle toothbrush—I’m giving it to you. First one, must give it to you.”

Wang Feiyin understood far better than his son; he ran his fingers over the bristles and nodded approvingly. “Excellent, much better than willow twigs. Little sister, you really thought of me.”

Pan Yun went to the alchemy chamber and gave Tao Ji one. “Third brother, this is the best toothbrush I’ve made after gaining experience—try it. Isn’t it incredibly soft? Gentle on teeth?”

Tao Ji touched it, then nodded. “Yes, far better than hard willow twigs. Dense, fine bristles—cleaning must be excellent.”

Pan Yun received another thanks, smiled, and returned to their courtyard to knock on Xuanmiao’s door.

She picked out a toothbrush and said, “Fourth sister, this is the most beautiful toothbrush I’ve made—try it.”

Xuanmiao paused, then took it and nodded. “Thank you.”

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Pan Yun beamed. “No need to thank me—we can brush our teeth together tomorrow.”

Miao Zhen, Miao He, and Tao Yan all had theirs.

But they didn’t need her to give them—they’d made them together with her.

They’d cut bamboo together, shaped the handles, poked holes, experimented endlessly, and finally tied the boar bristles inside with string to make the toothbrushes.

She’d received too much bristle that day; after washing, drying, and soaking in medicinal powder, she’d made over twenty toothbrushes—and still had a huge bag left.

Pan Yun was growing impatient. She told Miao Zhen and Miao He, “Tomorrow I’ll take the bristles down the mountain and make some for Cha Hua and the others.”

Miao Zhen: “Cha Hua and the others are helping their families pound hemp—they probably have no time to play or help.”

Pan Yun: “I’m not making them for me—I’m giving them the materials so they can make their own. After keeping enough for their families, they can sell the rest at the market.”

Miao He: “Who’d buy them? They don’t even pay for willow twigs—they’re free to pick. Why pay for toothbrushes?”

She added, “If Big Brother and Master didn’t require it, I wouldn’t brush my teeth either.”

Pan Yun was astonished. “Not brushing your teeth makes your breath stink.”

Miao He: “I can’t smell it.”

Pan Yun sighed. “Now I understand why Big Brother and Third Brother insisted on it—it’s because of you.”

Though Wang Cong didn’t fully trust the thing, he used it the next day—and came to find Pan Yun. “Little auntie, give me the rest of the bristles—I’ll handle them.”

Pan Yun: “How?”

“I’ll have villagers make them—one cash per toothbrush.”

They’d supply all materials; villagers only needed to provide labor.

Pan Yun: “You’re starting a business?”

Wang Cong nodded. “I’ll hand them to the merchant caravans to sell.”

Wang Cong’s version wouldn’t be the crude bamboo handles found everywhere in the mountains.

He had the bamboo split, sanded, dyed, dried, and fixed in color before giving the materials to the villagers.

Pan Yun, Miao Zhen, and Miao He taught the villagers how to secure the bristles; it took half an hour to teach them, another half hour to practice, and by afternoon—less than two hours—they’d devised three new knotting and threading methods, each faster than their original.

Pan Yun and the others stared in shock, then quickly accepted it.

Pan Yun: “Indeed, each profession has its expertise—this is what they’re skilled at.”

Miao Zhen: “Next time you want to do crafts, just come down the mountain and find your aunts and sisters-in-law.”

Miao He sighed, “We spent three full days just figuring out how to secure it with boar bristles.”

The amount of boar bristle Pan Yun and the others thought was overwhelming—nearly impossible to finish—was used up in just a day and a half by the aunts and sisters-in-law they’d invited.

The fastest worker earned thirty-five cash coins—almost as much as she’d make working outside.

So the aunts and sisters-in-law began automatically gathering materials for them.

As Pan Yun descended the mountain, her belly full, she was startled by someone waiting before the Mountain God Temple: “Have so many good people come to offer incense so early?”

“We didn’t come to worship the deity—we came to bring you boar bristles. Look, these are all from yesterday’s harvest. See if they’ll do?”

Pan Yun saw the bag filled to the brim with boar bristles and was speechless for a long moment: “Where did you get so much boar bristle?”

“We cut it from the village pigs, and I also cut bristles from the pigs in my natal village—I still have a bag at home.”

After grabbing a handful and examining it closely, Pan Yun said: “They’ll work, but they need washing, then soaking in medicinal powder to soften them… I’ll handle this.”

That was exactly what they’d been waiting for—they immediately shoved the bags into her hands, and one aunt ran off toward home: “Wait—I’ve got another bag at home!”

After the aunt returned with that second bag and handed it to Pan Yun, they entered the temple and bowed before the Mountain God.

Since they’d come anyway, they might as well pray—just a quick wish: may Wang Cong keep coming to them daily for boar bristle toothbrushes, so they’d have steady income.

Pan Yun carried the boar bristles back up the mountain, soaked them, washed them, soaked them again, washed them again, then finally immersed them in medicinal powder.

Pan Yun turned to Wang Cong: “How much do you plan to sell each toothbrush for?”

“Ten cash coins each.”

Pan Yun frowned. “That’s too expensive.”

“Little Master, processing these bristles is a hassle, and my bamboo handles are all dyed—of course they’re pricey. I’m even planning to select better bristles and commission ceramic handles to see if I can press the bristles into them—then we could sell them for even more.”

“Ceramic? Won’t it shatter at the first drop?”

“Precisely why it needs frequent replacement. And who buys a ceramic toothbrush would be careless enough to drop it?” he said. “If not for the high cost and uncertainty about market acceptance, I’d make them out of jade, gold, and silver.”

What could Pan Yun say?

She could only raise her thumb in admiration.

Compared to him, she—the person from the future—was far inferior; she only knew how to sell technical products, relying entirely on her own skills.

After a pause, Pan Yun said: “If the toothbrush business truly takes off, I want to teach them how to process the boar bristles.”

They were cultivators—couldn’t afford to divert attention to such tasks.

Wang Cong grew excited: “Little Master, I was just about to suggest the same thing! If the toothbrushes find a market, we should give them the processing method—let them make them themselves. Better yet, give them the medicinal powder formula too.”

“Then when they make the toothbrushes, caravans can buy them at prices based on quality and resell them—easy, profitable, and everyone—villagers and us—earns money.”

The lucky number is any ending in 7—screenshot as proof.

(End of Chapter)