Chapter 36: The Wind Has Risen

After venting his anger, Zhao Yi finally felt that the pent-up frustration in his chest had dissipated.

He emerged from Tianyi’s place feeling as though his bones were about to fall apart from the sheer exhaustion of the day. He decided he was done for the day; he was going straight home to lie down.

For the entire afternoon, Zhao Yi sprawled on his bed like a salted fish, though his mind remained active. He had the cement. He had the glaze. Once Old Zhang finished firing that perfectly transparent glass, and once he figured out the fermentation of the alcohol, he would have it—the Molotov cocktail.

Holy crap! If he could pull this off, then in future battles, it wouldn't matter how heavy their heavy cavalry armor was or how fancy their ridiculous formations were. He could just toss tens of thousands of those firebombs. A sky full of flames, wails rising from every corner—just imagining the scene was exhilarating! He would be the living King of Hell on the battlefield.

The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. Zhao Yi leapt from his bed, grabbed a pen and paper, and hunched over his desk to tinker. Drawing from memory, he sketched the rough construction of a Molotov cocktail: a glass bottle filled with strong spirits, with a piece of cloth stuffed into the neck. The drawing was crooked and squiggly, looking like a demonic talisman.

Just as he was admiring his "masterpiece" from every angle, feeling quite satisfied, his father, Zhao Zhao, strolled in with his hands behind his back.

"Sneaking around again? What kind of harmful nonsense are you cooking up now?" Zhao Zhao leaned in to take a look and froze on the spot. He pointed at the paper, his face twisted in undisguised disgust. "What is this? In all my life, I have never seen a drawing so ugly!"

These words infuriated Zhao Yi. He snatched the paper back, clutching it to his chest like a treasure, and shot his father a sideways glance. "You philistine! Do you know why I can speak in verse while you struggle to even let out a fart? It's because you have no vision!"

Zhao Yi brandished the blueprint in front of Zhao Zhao, his nose held high in the air. "I don't blame you for not understanding. Let me tell you, this is art! This is a devastating weapon capable of changing the very landscape of war!"

Zhao Zhao curled his lip, completely unconvinced. He circled his son, looking at him as if he were a fool, and then asked in a low, chilling tone, "Is it more powerful than 'Golden Juice'?"

"..."

The smugness on Zhao Yi's face instantly froze. He opened his mouth to retort, but found he couldn't utter a single word. Golden Juice... that stuff was disgusting, but in terms of lethality... it actually was pretty damn effective. It dealt both physical and magical damage—a double critical hit; who could withstand that?

Not wanting to waste another word on his senile, topic-derailing father, Zhao Yi felt his IQ was being insulted. He shoved the blueprint into his robes and turned to leave. He had to get to his secret base—now, immediately, right this second!

He jogged all the way to the estate outside the city and stormed inside. "Li Jin! Li Yin! Get your asses out here!"

The two brothers came scrambling over. "Young General, what is it?"

"The alcohol! How is it coming along?" Zhao Yi demanded, cutting straight to the point.

Li Jin pulled a long face. "Young General, it’ll take a few more days. The smell is still way too pungent!"

Zhao Yi didn't bother asking further and turned to find the master craftsman, Old Zhang. "Old Zhang, where is that formula I asked you to write down last time? I forgot it."

Old Zhang hurriedly pulled two small booklets wrapped in oil paper from his robes and handed them over. "Young General, the formulas for the glaze and the cement are both here."

Zhao Yi took them and tucked them away. "And the transparent glass? Any progress?"

"Reporting to the Young General, we’ve tried a few kilns, but there are still some impurities; it’s not quite perfect yet," Old Zhang said, looking ashamed.

He led Zhao Yi to a storeroom where several "mirrors" half a person's height were displayed. While not as clear as the glass of future ages, compared to the blurry bronze mirrors of this era, they were artifacts of the gods. Standing in front of one, one could see the pores on their own face with perfect clarity.

"Not bad!" Zhao Yi was very satisfied. "Keep firing! Money is no object!"

He turned to Li Jin and Li Yin, who had followed him in. "I’m giving you another hundred thousand taels! Recruit more people! Expand the estate! Make sure the food and rewards for the brothers are top-notch! Don't you dare save a penny for me!"

The brothers’ faces flushed with excitement. They hadn't even finished spending the last hundred taels of the reward! Following the Young General meant eating good meat!

Zhao Yi called the craftsman and the two brothers to a quiet corner and spread the blueprint of the firebomb on a stone table. "Old Zhang, here’s a new job for you." He pointed at the drawing and explained his concept. "Take the strongest alcohol, put it in this kind of glass bottle, light it, and throw it!"

Old Zhang’s eyes lit up as he listened. He picked up the blueprint and studied it meticulously. "The Young General’s idea is... brilliant! Truly brilliant!" He patted his chest, promising, "Rest assured, Young General. I will study this immediately and strive to produce this treasure for you as soon as possible!"

"Good."

Zhao Yi was satisfied. Before leaving, he pulled several banknotes from his robes and handed a stack to each of them. "Take this—a reward!"

By the time he finished everything, it was pitch black outside. Exhausted, his eyelids felt like they were glued shut. He yawned all the way home, collapsed into bed, and fell fast asleep.

...

The next day, before dawn had even broken, Zhao Yi was dragged out of bed. With dark circles under his eyes, he sat in the carriage with his equally listless father, Zhao Zhao, on the way to the palace.

In the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the civil and military officials had already gathered. Everyone craned their necks, waiting for the Empress to hold court. But they waited and waited, and there was still no sign of anyone on the dragon throne. Whispers began to ripple through the hall.

Sun Decai, the Minister of Works, leaned over to Zhou Xian, the Vice Minister of Revenue, and lowered his voice. "What’s going on? What time is it already?"

Prime Minister Wang Defa stood at the head of the officials, eyes closed, appearing calm and collected, but the slight trembling of his fingers betrayed his inner turmoil.

Just as the crowd was abuzz with speculation, Eunuch Gui’s sharp, thin voice echoed from the back of the hall. "Silence—"

He trotted to the front of the hall, wearing an expression of perfectly measured anxiety and concern, and shouted at the gathered officials, "Her Majesty has caught a chill and is feeling unwell. Today’s morning court is canceled! My lords, please return home!"

Boom!

The moment the words were out, the entire hall exploded. The Empress was ill? How could she have suddenly fallen ill out of nowhere? The officials exchanged glances, their faces filled with shock and suspicion.

Zhao Yi stood in the crowd, watching their expressions—as if the Emperor had already kicked the bucket—and chuckled inwardly. He looked up at the empty dragon throne.

The wind is blowing, he thought.

...

Time passed quickly. In just one day, an invisible storm had quietly swept through every corner of Luoyang. In teahouses, taverns, and on every street corner, people were whispering.

"Have you heard? The Prime Minister’s mansion is haunted!"

"Really? I heard from Wang the Lame at the end of the alley that he saw green light glowing on the roof of the Wang mansion in the middle of the night!"

"That’s not all! You know the fortune-teller Zhang from the east side of town? He was sitting at the street corner yesterday, sighing and saying something about the 'Ziwei star dimming and evil spirits rising,' and that there were traitors in the court causing the dragon body to be unwell!"

"Hiss... now that you mention it, I remember! The Empress fell ill yesterday, didn't she?!"

The rumors, as if they had grown wings, flew rapidly across the entire capital.