Chapter 28: Brief Joys, Fleeting Happiness

When Ye Chang returned to Wuze Slope, his project had already begun.

Though he was not present in person, he had assigned all the tasks the day before. Each team leader took their people to work, while the inspection group led their own to check for any dangers. Ye Dan oversaw the elderly and the weak, organizing logistics and supplies. Thus, when Ye Chang arrived, he saw fires rising throughout the valley and the bustle of many voices.

Setting fire to the mountain was the quickest way to clear land at this time. With proper organization and safety precautions, several roads deep within the valley had been burned clear by midday. Then, following Ye Chang’s idea, they cleverly sawed off the charred tree trunks, cut them into sections, fitted them with wooden pegs, and arranged them into small rafts. These were laid atop the still-warm cinders, forming a relatively flat path.

On this path, travel—whether by foot or cart—became much easier.

“Eleventh Young Master, your method is indeed effective! In just half a day, look at what we’ve accomplished!” Ye Dan greeted him joyfully. “I thought it would take two or three days, but half a day sufficed!”

“The Patriarch forgets, Eleventh Young Master can even summon the Bodhisattva and is the disciple of Master Sun, the Immortal. Of course, he has some divine powers!” Ye Zhi laughed nearby.

Ye Chang smiled and made a formal bow, thanking the villagers who had come to help.

As Ye Chang anticipated, the progress was swift. In just ten days, the valley had already taken shape. Then came the digging of foundations and tamping earth to build walls. These tasks were rotated among several groups, and what would normally take four or five days was accomplished in one. Only the raising of beams and the tiling took a little longer, but even then, all the buildings were completed in just seven days.

Strangely enough, on the very night the beams were raised, the first rain in over two months fell in Xiuwu County. It wasn’t heavy, but it eased the drought, making the streams swell with water.

After the rain, green shoots began to sprout from the burned areas. Ye Chang took advantage of the dampened earth and, with everyone’s help, opened up about two acres of scattered fields in suitable spots within the valley.

With this, the main construction was finished. Building the water-powered pestle required far fewer hands. But Ye Chang did not let the people disperse; instead, he set them to quarrying stone and building roads.

Their method was to first heat the rock with fire, then douse it with cold water, causing it to crack from thermal shock. They would then split the stone along these fissures. It was a hard and troublesome process, but safer than using gunpowder. Ye Chang, of course, knew the formula for gunpowder—he was aware that, in this era, alchemists of the Tang Dynasty were inventing it. But for now, he was not prepared to reveal such a revolutionary tool, as he had no way to protect the secret.

He lacked the power to protect himself.

Ye Chang could well imagine that, once the value of gunpowder was realized, whether it was the powerful clans behind wealthy merchants, members of the imperial house, or border generals, none would hesitate to seize him and force him to give up the formula. The shrewd ones might spare his life and imprison him to improve the formula. The shortsighted would simply kill him—and all who might know the secret—since silencing witnesses is not a crime reserved only for villains.

“If we want to pave this road entirely with stone, it will take a very long time.” After ten days’ work, they had laid only about a mile, and Ye Dan sighed.

“With fewer people, progress slows. But building roads is secondary; what matters most is teaching our villagers how to coordinate such work. In the future, whether building roads, bridges, or digging canals, everyone will know how to proceed.” Ye Chang was not discouraged. “Only through such labor are people truly trained. But let’s set this aside for now. One cannot eat without earning; now, the money I have on hand is running low, and I must find a way to make more.”

Ye Dan snorted at this. Though Ye Chang had spent freely these past twenty days, he had received much from others and still had at least thirty strings of cash—enough for two good years if spent carefully. Moreover, Ye Dan had a sort of superstition about Ye Chang now, convinced that someone would soon bring him yet more money.

“You’d best finish building the mountain gate first,” Ye Dan said, pointing to the valley entrance. “Didn’t you say you wanted to erect an archway and a water gate there?”

“That’s my plan, but a stone archway would be expensive and too gaudy. I’ll make a wooden one for now—I’ve already drawn the design. I just need Uncle Zhi to have a free hand.”

“Him? He’s nearly lost his mind over the water pestle. Only you, so prodigal, would give him so much money to practice.”

Ye Chang knew that, for now, Ye Zhi was the most reliable carpenter; the water pestle depended on him, so he provided ample materials for him to practice with. Yet Ye Zhi had little talent for this; after all this time, he had made no progress.

Ye Chang was about to say more when suddenly he saw a rider galloping toward them. Though mules and horses did pass through Wuze Slope, few ever rode so fast. Ye Chang frowned, a sense of foreboding rising within him.

The rider’s figure was familiar, and soon Ye Chang recognized him: Lin Xicheng from Xunyang.

It was said that Qin Qinshou had already returned to his home in Qinyang to manage the sale of folding fans to Chang’an, leaving Lin Xicheng behind mainly to keep in touch with Ye Chang. Ye Chang’s heart leapt—had something gone wrong with the advice he’d given Qin Qinshou, prompting him to send Lin Xicheng for counsel?

Lin Xicheng dismounted before him, knelt, and cried loudly, “Master Ye, Master Ye, your brother is in trouble!”

At these words, Ye Chang’s heart clenched.

By “your brother,” Lin Xicheng must mean Ye Shu. For Lin Xicheng to come so urgently, it could not be a minor matter.

Ye Shu was now in Chang’an—the capital of the Tang, under the Emperor’s very eyes, the foremost city in the realm. If something happened there, Ye Chang’s wits would be of no avail.

“Get up and tell me clearly—what has happened?” Ye Chang pulled him to his feet.

“This is a letter from my lord,” Lin Xicheng said, producing a letter and handing it to Ye Chang.

Ye Dan craned his neck to look. The letter bore dreadful news: Ye Chang’s elder brother, Ye Shu, had tragically died.

Ye Dan gasped and glanced at Ye Chang, surprised to see his expression still steady. But a second look at the letter revealed that Ye Chang’s hands were trembling violently.

He shook so hard that he could scarcely read the words himself. Ye Chang steadied himself, took a breath, and tried to read again, but his hands still shook.

By rights, he had not spent much time with Ye Shu and should not have such deep feelings, but perhaps the true consciousness of the former Ye Chang lingered in this body. Or perhaps it was the shock of losing a loved one so soon in this new life, helpless to prevent it, that stirred memories of pain from his previous existence.

“Eleventh Young Master, do not grieve. What matters now is how to tell your sister-in-law,” Ye Dan, older and more experienced, patted his shoulder and sighed, taking the letter from Ye Chang.

Once the letter was taken, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from Ye Chang’s body. He exhaled heavily and sat down on the ground, an unusual sight for one normally so neat and proper.

The cause of Ye Shu’s death was simple—he had been bullied to death.

Qin Qinshou apologized deeply in the letter but did not say who had bullied Ye Shu to his end. He only wrote that it was someone of power and privilege, without naming names. The Qin family, though prominent in Qinyang and influential locally, were still minor nobility compared to the great families. In Chang’an, their power was limited and of little help to Ye Chang.

Not naming the culprit was not meant to conceal, but to subtly warn Ye Chang: the enemy was too powerful for him to confront, and there was no use hoping for revenge.

“Your brother’s body is still at Qinglong Temple in Chang’an, the Qin family handling the funeral arrangements. Qin Qinshou asks if you wish to bring your brother home, or if he should bury him in a suitable site there.”

Ye Chang did not answer. His gaze was fixed in the distance.

Ever since finding himself in this era, Ye Chang had resolved that those he cared for, and who cared for him, should all live well. It was not an ambitious goal, but even this modest aspiration had been dealt a heavy blow so soon.

Ye Shu was a man of few words, somewhat timid, but his brotherly love Ye Chang could deeply sense. Perhaps shamed by clan pressure, having Ye Chang adopted into the third branch was Ye Shu’s lifelong regret, but he truly wished for Ye Chang to have a better life.

When he left, Ye Shu had warned him to beware the schemes of the eldest branch.

Never had he thought that the eldest branch would fail to harm Ye Chang, while Ye Shu himself would die far from home.

“Eleventh Young Master, you must compose yourself. Now, with the main line ruined, only you remain to support the second and third branches—you must not lose heart,” Ye Dan pleaded, alarmed by Ye Chang’s state.

It was not only the third branch; the hopes of the Ye family of Wuze rested on Ye Chang. Without him, they could never surpass the Liu family in a generation or two.

Ye Chang forced himself to look up, twitching his lips. “Do not worry, Great Uncle. Do not worry.”

Yet, though he said this, he did not rise.

Lin Xicheng grew anxious. He was hot-tempered, not as steady as Qin Qinshou, but had come to respect Ye Chang. “Master Ye, are you not one who communes with immortals? Then call on the immortals! Crying will not bring your brother back, nor kill your enemies.”

Ye Chang’s eyes suddenly lit up.

Immortals and their arts he knew little of, but the skills of future generations, in this era, were as the magic of the immortals. No matter how mighty his enemies, with such means, he would one day surpass them. When that day came, avenging his brother would be as easy as lifting a hand.

“Eleventh Young Master, are you feeling better?” Ye Dan asked.

“I’m fine.” Ye Chang rubbed his face hard, trying to compose himself. “What I’m thinking about now… is how to tell my sister-in-law…”

Ye Shu’s death could not be hidden. Several others had gone to the capital with him as conscripts, and would surely send word home. Judging by the time, over a month had passed; their service was nearly over, and they would soon return.

Madam Fang was busy cleaning at home. She could not bear idleness, and in all of Wuze Slope, her house was the cleanest—her small courtyard and even the surrounding public spaces she swept daily.

Ye Chang paused before the small courtyard.

The second branch’s house was barely half the size of the third branch’s. It was cramped for Ye Shu’s family, something Ye Chang had never felt before, but today it struck him with a pang.

He knocked gently. After a moment, a child’s voice called out, “I’ll get it, Mother, I’ll get it!”

With Ye Shu away, Madam Fang kept the doors tightly shut these days. Though local bullies cared little for the Ye clan, they respected Ye Chang’s growing reputation and dared not cause trouble. The one who opened the door was young Jinü, who struggled mightily to lift the bar and open the door.

“It’s Uncle, it’s Eleventh Uncle!” Jinü called joyfully, then frowned. “I thought it was Father coming back. Mother said Father would be back soon!”

Ye Chang’s heart lurched again. He knelt down, tousling Jinü’s hair. “Father can’t come back just yet. He asked me to tell you that, with only you as the man of the house, you must take care of Mother and your little sister.”

Jinü’s eyes sparkled with a grown-up’s seriousness. “Of course!”

Bang!

No sooner had Jinü spoken than there was a crash from the side. Ye Chang looked up to see his sister-in-law, Madam Fang, pale as death, swaying like a willow in the wind.

“Sister-in-law…” Ye Chang murmured.

She crouched to pick up her fallen sewing box, ignoring Ye Chang and remaining there for a long while. He saw drops of tears, large as beans, falling to the ground before her.

“I will set out for Chang’an tomorrow,” Ye Chang said in a dry voice.

He had always known Madam Fang was clever, beyond most women, but had not expected her to be so perceptive. From a single phrase to Jinü, she had sensed the truth.

“What… what has happened?”

“A friend wrote to say my brother is in trouble,” Ye Chang could not bring himself to say outright that Ye Shu was dead.

“I knew it… Chang’an is no good place… I knew it… Oh, Heaven…”