Zhao Hanzhang covered her head and said “Oh,” then wheedled: “Uncle, we still haven’t found craftsmen for the printing house construction and operation…”

Zhao Ming said: “I’ve already written to Luoyang. Wait for news.”

He continued: “Haste makes waste. If we obtain them, it’s our good fortune; if not, it’s our fate. Don’t force it.”

Zhao Hanzhang replied: “Then I’ll have people research how to print books in the meantime. Unfortunately, I don’t have many craftsmen on hand…”

Zhao Ming said: “…The clan doesn’t have craftsmen skilled in book printing either, but I can give you two carpenters.”

Zhao Hanzhang knew when to stop.

After entrusting the paper workshop to Zhao Qing, Zhao Hanzhang became a hands-off manager. However, Fu Tinghan had to stay behind to work with the craftsmen on improving the papermaking technique and testing more ratios.

Originally, he hadn’t planned to remain involved—now that the papermaking process was known, the rest was just testing one formula after another.

But when he looked at the craftsmen’s experimental ratios, he found they were adding materials based on feeling. Fu Tinghan couldn’t bear to watch and had to stay to help them calculate.

Then he would analyze the reasons for differences based on the resulting paper and adjust the ratios according to the data.

However, since making pulp took time, he wasn’t very busy. He only needed to calculate the data and give it to the craftsmen for testing.

After finishing calculations, he would return to the county office. During this stretch of road outside the city, he habitually walked.

It was winter now, with almost no one in the wilderness, making it quite peaceful. The snow on the ground was beginning to slowly collapse, not looking as attractive as before.

On such quiet roads, he enjoyed walking back as if strolling. His mind would be very clear—he could think through many problems that wouldn’t occur to him while sitting.

Mathematical ones, everyday ones, and information about this era.

Fu Tinghan walked slowly back. Fu’an and the driver had grown accustomed to following behind him these past few days, obediently trailing along.

When they reached the city gate, he would board the carriage to return to the county office.

Fu Tinghan headed straight for the rear courtyard but was stopped by Chang Ning, who came running. “Young Master, someone has arrived from Wushan.”

Only then did Fu Tinghan turn toward the county office. “Isn’t Hanzhang at the office?”

“The young lady went to drill the troops.”

Fu Tinghan then remembered—today was an odd-numbered day, when she would go drill the troops.

Fu Tinghan went to meet the person from Wushan.

It was a squad of retainers who had been ordered to escort iron ingots to the county seat. Besides the iron, there were also two long boxes.

The squad leader had been holding onto them, refusing to hand them over, insisting on seeing either Zhao Hanzhang or Fu Tinghan.

Chang Ning didn’t force the issue and simply waited for one of them to return.

As soon as Fu Tinghan arrived, the squad leader immediately knelt on one knee and presented the two boxes. “The items the young master requested have been completed.”

Fu Tinghan accepted them, nearly losing his grip as they proved unexpectedly heavy.

He placed the boxes on a table and opened the longest one. Inside was that familiar sword, its scabbard unchanged.

Fu Tinghan picked it up—it felt slightly heavy. He drew it partway out, revealing a cold gleaming blade. Even though he didn’t know much about swords, he could tell this was an excellent weapon.

Chang Ning saw it and exclaimed in surprise: “Is this the young lady’s sword?”

Fu Tinghan nodded. Seeing his eager expression, he drew it fully to show him.

Chang Ning carefully accepted it and examined it closely with admiration. “What a fine sword! But judging by its luster, it doesn’t seem to be forged from refined iron. What was added?”

“Steel,” Fu Tinghan thought for a moment, then gripped the sword and sliced toward the table corner. The solid corner was cut off as cleanly as if it were tofu.

Chang Ning’s eyes immediately widened, and even Fu Tinghan was somewhat surprised—he hadn’t used much force at all.

Chang Ning clutched his chest. “This… this is a divine weapon.”

Fu Tinghan leaned in to examine the blade more closely, then smiled after a moment. “Master Lu truly lives up to his reputation as Xiping’s finest blacksmith. This sword is exceptionally well-crafted.”

He told Fu’an: “Go fetch some money to reward Master Lu.”

Fu’an acknowledged the order.

Only then did Fu Tinghan sheathe the sword and open the other box.

Inside were two spearheads, equally gleaming with cold light. Just from their color, one could tell they were made from the same material as the sword.

Fu Tinghan reached out to grasp a spearhead, but his fingertip was cut just from touching it.

He quickly withdrew his hand. Fu’an saw this and cried out: “Young master, you’re injured.”

“How did you get injured?” Zhao Hanzhang strode in briskly, approaching with large steps.

Fu Tinghan pressed on his finger. “It’s nothing, just accidentally cut myself.”

Zhao Hanzhang pulled his hand over to look. Seeing blood slowly seeping out, she frowned slightly. She pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against the wound. “Doesn’t it hurt? How did you cut yourself?”

Fu Tinghan looked toward the spearheads in the box. “These spearheads are very sharp. Be careful when you use them in the future.”

Zhao Hanzhang looked down and saw the diamond-shaped spearheads gleaming with cold silver light. She immediately took a liking to them.

“Did you design these?”

Fu Tinghan nodded. “They still need a spear shaft. I had Mr. Ji procure some oak wood. I’ve observed your martial practice and have a preliminary understanding of your force points. Later, you can find some people to practice with so I can observe further, then I’ll custom-make a spear for you.”

Zhao Hanzhang hadn’t expected him to be so thoughtful—she’d assumed he’d simply left everything to the blacksmith.

She opened her mouth, paused, then asked: “Won’t this be too much trouble?”

“Not at all.”

Zhao Hanzhang looked at his hand covered with the handkerchief, closed the box lid, and tossed it into Fu’an’s arms. Clasping her hands together, she helped him press on the wound. “Come on, I’ll take you to see a physician.”

Fu Tinghan quickly said: “There’s also the sword…”

Zhao Hanzhang freed one hand to grab it, then pulled him toward the physician.

The physician opened the handkerchief under Zhao Hanzhang’s anxious gaze and stared blankly at the wound.

Zhao Hanzhang, seeing no reaction, leaned forward to look. “How is it? Is it serious?”

The physician replied expressionlessly: “It’s quite serious. If the young lady had brought Master Fu any later, this wound would have healed.”

Fu Tinghan felt somewhat embarrassed.

Zhao Hanzhang examined it and saw the wound had stopped bleeding, though it was still red. She quickly asked: “Don’t you have any ointment? Something that could make him heal faster? Master Fu needs to write, and the wound is right on his index finger where he holds the brush—it will hurt terribly.”

The physician desperately wanted to throw them both out of the clinic, but since Zhao Hanzhang currently held the most power in Xiping County, he didn’t dare. He could only pull out a ceramic bottle and hand it to Zhao Hanzhang. “Just apply a little. Actually, even without it, the pain will pass in a while.”

Zhao Hanzhang didn’t believe that. “Fingers are different from other places—they’re more sensitive. Plus, writing is detailed work. How could a wound right here not hurt?”

Fu Tinghan was already unwilling to stay any longer. He stood and urged her: “Let’s go back quickly.”

Zhao Hanzhang could only help him up and had Fu’an pay.

Fu’an: …

He felt so helpless. The young lady usually never complained about pain from her own bumps and bruises and never called for physicians, yet when the young master accidentally got a small cut, she was this anxious?

He, as a servant, had only been startled at first. Compared to her, he felt he was far too composed.

—