Chapter Fifty-One: From Utter Despair to Furious Rage

After Wu Ning returned, he didn’t really fall asleep. What he’d said to Ugly Uncle was one thing, but what he truly felt was another. To put it bluntly, could he really spend his life tending a guesthouse, drifting through a mediocre existence? It wasn’t impossible, but a sense of unwillingness gnawed at him.

He drifted into a muddled sleep and awoke at dawn. After getting up, he made breakfast. By the time the sun was high and the guests had eaten, Li Wenbo and Chef Luo finally arrived for work. It wasn’t that they were deliberately late—both lived in town and had to wait for the city gates to open in the morning before they could come out, so arriving early was out of the question.

“This won’t do,” thought Wu Ning. They arrived late in the morning and had to rush back before the gates closed at night—it was terribly inconvenient. He realized he needed to talk to the two about the situation; if it really didn’t work, perhaps they could move to the village.

Just then, last night’s guests were preparing to leave, and Wu Ning had to put the matter aside and greet them. The previous night’s guests were an elderly man with his son and daughter-in-law, enough to take two rooms. Wu Ning didn’t need to ask why they’d come to Changluo Mountain. It was obvious: the daughter-in-law was holding a newborn, just a month old—they must be here to consult Master Xiao about the child’s fortune or naming.

Seeing how the family had both old and young, Wu Ning decided to lend a hand. He stepped forward. “Sir, please wait a moment!”

The old man was surprised. “Is there something else, young gentleman?” Hadn’t he already settled the bill?

Wu Ning smiled, handing over a slip of paper. “If you give this to Daoist Meng at the temple, he’ll make arrangements for you, so you won’t have to wait in line.”

Delighted, the old man thanked him profusely—their family had come all the way from Xiangyang, so if they could avoid queuing, the sooner they could return, the better. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, young sir, for your kindness and generous help!”

Wu Ning returned the gesture with a gentle smile. “It’s getting late, sir, you’d best be on your way up the mountain.”

Helping others was helping himself, too. The old man’s refined clothing and scholarly manner suggested he was not a merchant but a learned man—perhaps a good connection to make.

After sending them off, Wu Ning, together with Wu Qi, Wu Li, and Tiger, set up the stall and left it to Wu Li, as the three of them headed back to the charcoal kilns. They’d spent the day there yesterday, but Grandfather had not returned—who knew how things had turned out.

When they arrived, they found that all three kilns had been converted to the new style by Grandfather and were in the process of being opened.

Had it worked?

Wu Ning felt a flicker of hope, but Grandfather’s expression told another story. He moved closer and realized he’d been too optimistic. The three kilns had yielded nothing but ash or half-burned charcoal. The old man sat in front of the kiln, lost in thought.

Wu Ning tried to comfort him. “Don’t lose heart, Grandfather. It’s only been two days—sooner or later, we’ll get it right.”

The temperature for burning large logs versus small branches and the time the kiln was sealed would all be different—it would take many trials to get it right.

But Wu Ning’s words did little to lift the old man’s spirits. He shook his head gloomily. “No more trials…”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re out of fuel!”

Wu Ning was speechless. Only then did he recall that the factory had brought in just seven or eight kilnloads of wood this summer, all of which had been used up in the past couple of days.

“No more experiments,” Grandfather said bitterly. “Even if we get it right, there’s nothing left to burn.”

The root of the problem at the village’s kiln was the lack of wood—Chen Family Manor intercepted it all. Even Wu Ning’s new, more productive method was useless without raw material. What use was a way to make money when there was no rice to cook?

At this, Grandfather struggled to his feet and walked over to the pile of charcoal Wu Ning had made, taking a handful and saying dully, “This charcoal’s well made, but alas, we are not fated to enjoy it!”

He heaved a sigh, hands clasped behind his back, and trudged away, his figure seeming to age before Wu Ning’s eyes.

Wu Ning’s heart ached. Grandfather looked even older than before. Frustration surged through him—just last night, he’d been boasting to Ugly Uncle, but reality was bitter indeed: a single charcoal kiln blocked his path.

He grabbed a handful of charcoal sticks and squeezed them so hard they crumbled to powder. With a sudden motion, he flung it away.

“Damn it, I refuse to believe I can’t lift this village out of ruin!”

Tiger, oblivious to his ninth brother’s mood, watched the charcoal dust scatter and his imagination took flight.

“If only we could add a bit of water to this charcoal dust and stick it together,” he mused, “we could form it into big blocks and sell it!”

Wu Ning’s heart skipped a beat.

He spun around, staring at Tiger. “What did you just say?”

Startled, Tiger shook his head frantically. “Nothing! I didn’t say anything!” Then, adopting a pitiful look as if he was about to be beaten, he pleaded, “Ninth Brother, don’t take it out on me just because you’re upset, okay? Don’t be like Eighth Brother!”

“Get lost!”

Wu Ning couldn’t help but laugh. So that’s what Tiger thought—he was afraid of getting hit?

“I’m just asking what you said, not planning to hit you.”

“Oh.” Relieved, Tiger replied, “I just said, if you add a bit of water, you could stick it together into big blocks.”

“Yes!” Wu Ning exhaled a long breath. “That’s it!”

“You’re a genius!”

He turned to Wu Qi. “Go get a stone roller!”

“Huh?” Wu Qi was baffled. Bring a millstone to the charcoal kiln?

“What for?”

Wu Ning grinned mysteriously. “To grind… charcoal!”

...

Tiger was right: you could indeed stick the charcoal dust into big blocks! Wu Ning marveled at how he’d forgotten about this. All those barbecue charcoals and smokeless coals in later generations—none of them were just raw charcoal. They were all pressed charcoal.

A short while later, Wu Qi actually came back, hauling a stone roller on an ox cart. Without hesitation, Wu Ning began grinding charcoal. The branches, already broken to pieces, were ground even finer under the roller, turning into charcoal powder.

“Hey, Ninth!” Wu Qi and Tiger pushed the roller, both a bit skeptical. “Will this work? The finer you grind it, the harder it’ll be to light.”

“It will work,” Wu Ning declared confidently.

Wu Qi was still uneasy. “It better work. I’m risking my life here, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Wu Ning frowned, sensing something odd in Wu Qi’s words.

Before Wu Qi could answer, Grandfather suddenly reappeared, brandishing a stick and bellowing, “You little brats! You wastrels! Where did you take my roller?”

Wu Ning was dumbfounded. He glanced down at the millstone, now black with charcoal dust, then up at Grandfather, who was fuming with rage.

He turned to Wu Qi. “You—you didn’t… you didn’t bring Grandfather’s grain mill here, did you?”

“Of course!” Wu Qi glared, nodding vigorously. “Where else was I supposed to get a roller? Eighth Brother, Tiger, I even called Eleventh and Fourteenth. It took all five of us to get it onto the cart—it was hard work!”

“You idiot!” Wu Ning cursed and bolted.

Grinding charcoal with the roller used for milling grain—Grandfather would kill him!

...

(Three chapters now—where are those votes?)