Here's Noodle Soup

Critic walked along the streets of Bozhou, surveying what remained of the city's population. Bozhou was not Chaoge. There were far fewer restrictions and obstructions here, allowing Critic to carry out his duties as imperial envoy far more smoothly. Yu Zhuo had once formed a new cabinet in Bozhou. Under the laws of the Great Shang, many people here were already guilty of high treason, which provided Critic with even more convenient pretexts to exercise his authority as imperial envoy. After all these days, was anyone still alive in Bozhou aside from the Dream-Tethering Tower, which had received his promise back then? Yes. The people tasked with carrying corpses. These corpse bearers were all thralls. They had developed an astonishing resistance to disease foci, which was likely linked to their harsh living conditions, or perhaps to their relatively primitive physiological makeup. Critic had spared most of the corpse bearers. Bozhou was exceptionally clean now, and he had no desire to see this beautiful city piled high with rotting corpses. Yet if any of the corpse bearers stepped out of line, Critic showed them no mercy either. Just yesterday, several corpse bearers had taken up whips and lashed out at other corpse bearers. With a smile, Critic had seen them off. In Bozhou, Critic's dream had largely been fulfilled; there seemed to be little reason to linger any longer. He planned to board a ship used for transporting corpses to leave Bozhou, but after waiting at the harbor for a long time, not a single vessel docked. In all of Bozhou, there was not a single ship. Critic realized something was wrong. Leaving the harbor, he entered the First Ring of the city, drew a pocket watch from the inner pocket of his tailcoat, popped open the cover, and turned the stem to set the hour and minute hands to six twenty-five. He was contacting Zuo Anna. The watch's second hand ticked along, its rhythm unchanging. He couldn't reach Zuo Anna. Was there interference where he stood? Critic tried several different spots, yet the watch gave no response. Had communications across all of Bozhou been blocked? At a street corner in the Second Ring, the pocket watch finally responded. Just as Critic was transmitting his location, he sensed something off about the watch's reply. The second hand was trembling too slowly—not at the frequency Critic was accustomed to. The person answering the watch wasn't Zuo Anna! Critic transmitted a false location, immediately threw away the pocket watch, and headed toward a roadside ceramic workshop. This ceramic workshop was where the Dream-Tethering Tower was located. The front courtyard was deserted as before. Critic made his way straight to the backyard, yet even after stepping through the gate, he heard no sound from Meng Qian. Meng Qian hadn't warned Critic, nor had she barred him from entering. Had she abandoned this Dream-Tethering Tower? And what of the agreement between the two of them? Did it still hold? Critic walked deeper into the backyard. He saw kilns, workshops, and quarters where the workers lived. The compound was vast. Most of the land was occupied by worker dormitories—three-story buildings huddled closely together, each with over a hundred rooms, and each room housing one person. By rough calculation, this ceramic workshop could have accommodated over seven thousand people. Yet that was merely Critic's estimate. In each room he looked into, he saw only a single bed, but no one on it. There was not a soul in the entire ceramic workshop. Meng Qian had relocated this Dream-Tethering Tower elsewhere. “Tower Master of the Dream-Tethering Tower, where is your honor?” Critic gritted his teeth and left the ceramic workshop. He had walked along the street for only a brief moment when a group of pedestrians appeared ahead. They wore green official robes. Judging from the color and patterns, their ranks were not particularly high. They maintained basic human forms—the humans Critic was familiar with, not the stature or size of Inner States folk, nor did they possess three heads. The young man at their head bowed to Critic. “This humble subordinate, Cheng Wuzu, greets the Lord Envoy.” Critic returned the bow. Cheng Wuzu continued, “We have prepared a ship at the harbor, solely to escort you to Chaoge.” “Your efficiency is truly remarkable. Just as I was hoping to return to Chaoge, here you are to receive me. Cough, cough, cough—” Critic coughed several times toward the group. The men didn't flinch. Seeing Critic coughing, they showed not the slightest trace of fear. Cheng Wuzu waved behind him, and several men carried a sedan chair forward. “Lord Envoy, please step into the chair. We will take you to the docks at once.” “Very well!” Critic walked toward the sedan chair. When he was still five meters away, his nose twitched, and he suddenly sneezed. The sneeze came out crisp and loud, blowing off both the curtains and the roof of the sedan chair. Nothing remained on the carrying poles but a bare seat, from which an arm shot out, reaching toward Critic's face. The arm moved astonishingly fast, and surrounded as he was, Critic seemed to have no way to dodge. “Achoo!” He let out another sneeze. The arm lunging for Critic had two fingers blasted off by the sneeze, snatching at empty air. Relying on the recoil of the sneeze, Critic threw himself backward more than a dozen meters, turned, and fled. Cheng Wuzu and his men gave chase in hot pursuit. They knew Bozhou intimately; judging by their pursuit routes, they would soon close the net. Critic fled across two streets before Cheng Wuzu suddenly materialized in front of him. Going by his speed, this man was a Travel Cultivator. Hiss! The sweat on Critic's body instantly vaporized, and shrouded in dense steam, he slammed into Cheng Wuzu. Cheng Wuzu was remarkably agile and intended to capture Critic alive, but the moment he made contact with Critic, his left hand was severely scalded, robbing him of his strength. To avoid worsening his injury, Cheng Wuzu yielded the path, letting Critic break out of the street. To prevent Cheng Wuzu from pursuing further, Critic turned his head and spat a wad of bloody phlegm. Under the intense heat, the bloody phlegm rapidly vaporized into a crimson mist that cloaked Critic's figure. This was a Disease Cultivator technique Critic had developed himself: Phthisis Miasma Cloud. The technique served both to conceal his movements and to launch an effective counterattack against pursuers. Yet Critic knew in his heart that the disease foci within the Phthisis Miasma Cloud might not be effective against these foes. Earlier, during their initial encounter, he had already implanted disease foci when coughing, yet these men hadn't reacted at all. When he sneezed twice in succession, he had planted disease foci once more. The arm on the sedan chair had reacted only because its fingers had been blown off. Very little—if any—reaction to disease foci, but responsive to physical trauma: these signs indicated that the people sent to receive Critic were first-class weapons. Qiao Yi had deployed so many first-class weapons certainly not to expel Critic; he had no intention of leaving Critic an escape route. Critic had no intention of letting himself be captured without a fight. He sprinted all the way into the Third Ring. Bozhou was once the capital of the Shang State, and the city was massive. Critic was confident he could lead them in circles for a long time. By 'a long time', he didn't mean a few hours, or a day or two; Critic was confident he could keep them occupied for half a month, if not longer. Bozhou had nine concentric rings in total, with vast fields stretching beyond the Ninth Ring. Plentiful food reserves lay both inside and outside the city, and as far as Critic was concerned, there were countless routes to evade pursuit. The critical issue now was how to establish contact with the outside world while dodging his pursuers. If he truly could not find reinforcements, his only recourse would be to take a desperate gamble and seize a ship at the harbor. Having pursued him into the Third Ring, Cheng Wuzu was in no rush to press forward. He took out a bell, hooked it over his index finger, and rang it continuously. After waiting about ten minutes, over a hundred and eighty first-class weapons gathered by his side one after another. Cheng Wuzu put away the bell, produced a bamboo slip, and wrote a line upon it: 'We have pursued him to the Third Ring.' Aboard a warship outside Bozhou, Nian Shangyou watched the words appear on his bamboo slip while eating an orange. He didn't want to go ashore; he didn't want to get anywhere near Critic. Merely because the words on the bamboo slip concerned Critic, Nian Shangyou lost all appetite even for his orange. He set down the orange and wiped away the writing on the bamboo slip. Both his slip and the one in Cheng Wuzu's hand turned completely blank. Nian Shangyou did not rush to reply. He ordered a bugler to sound the horn. The blare of the horn was deafening, ringing clearly across the whole of Bozhou. Cheng Wuzu held his troops in place; this horn had not been sounded for his benefit. At the center of the Ninth Ring, a newly placed stone reacted. Critic had no recollection of this stone, for massive quantities of stone were constantly being shipped to Bozhou to repair the Grand Altar, and stones of every kind were piled mountain-high, particularly in the Ninth Ring. Yet this stone was exceptional. Upon hearing the horn, it unleashed a technique, forming a Boundary outside the Third Ring. Once the Boundary took shape, Cheng Wuzu received Nian Shangyou's order: 'Resume pursuit!' Cheng Wuzu replied with a question: 'Still capture alive?' Recalling Qiao Yi's prior instructions, Nian Shangyou assessed the current situation. Qiao Yi hadn't insisted on taking him alive. Nian Shangyou promptly issued an order to Cheng Wuzu: 'If he still resists arrest, kill him. Retain only his soul.' A faint smile touched Cheng Wuzu's face. He relayed the order to all the first-class weapons and relied on Seeking Fortune and Avoiding Calamity to track Critic's trail. Before long, he located Critic in a coal yard in the Third Ring. Cheng Wuzu was in no hurry to strike. Ringing the bell in his hand, he did his best to persuade Critic: “Lord Envoy, Lord Qiao harbors no malice. He has sincerely invited you to discuss government affairs. “However, if you stubbornly refuse to board the ship, this humble subordinate will have no choice but to handle this strictly by the book. Should I cause offense, I ask the Lord Envoy's generous pardon.” Critic shook his head. “I am a foreigner; I don't know what 'by the book' means. Could you be more specific?” Cheng Wuzu frowned slightly, his expression turning somewhat grim. “Then I will speak plainly: if you do not board that ship with me, I will kill you.” Critic nodded. “Very well. Come and kill me.” Cheng Wuzu's expression calmed once more, even taking on a faintly joyful smile. “Since you are willing to discard this life of yours, our business today becomes much easier.” Late at night, Bozhou's Seventh Ring. Covered in wounds from head to toe, Critic carried Cheng Wuzu into an attic. Setting Cheng Wuzu down, Critic leaned against the wall and panted for a long while. He had underestimated Qiao Yi's tactical preparations, as well as the coordinated combat ability of the first-class weapons. According to Critic's original escape plan, he intended to breach the Fifth Ring first, slip outside the city walls, and then scout the harbor to see if circumstances allowed him to hijack a ship. If the conditions were right, Critic would seize a vessel and immediately flee the Shang State. If hijacking a ship proved impossible, he would flee to the villages outside the city and keep playing hide-and-seek. Yet he never anticipated that once he entered the Fifth Ring, there would be no way back out. Outside the Fifth Ring lay a Dwelling Cultivator's Boundary. The moment Critic touched it, he nearly lost a layer of skin. Charging through by force meant certain death. Unable to flee outward, Critic could only press deeper inward. By the time he fled all the way to the Seventh Ring, Critic's stamina was nearly exhausted. He hadn't just been running—he had fought numerous battles along the way. He laid Cheng Wuzu on a table and smiled at him. “I originally thought I could lead you on a chase for at least half a month. I never expected that in less than a day, I would have nowhere left to run.” Cheng Wuzu couldn't move his body, but he could still speak. “Lord Qiao cherishes talent, and the imperial court is in dire need of capable men right now. Lord Envoy, as long as you mend your ways, Lord Qiao can forgive all past misdeeds.” Critic had no faith in such leniency. “I have killed several first-class weapons, and now I intend to kill you. Do you truly believe that can be swept under the rug?” Cheng Wuzu said in a tranquil tone, “Compared to the vital mission Lord Qiao has entrusted to us, our own lives are not worth mentioning at all...” “Wait a moment,” Critic interrupted him. “Your mission is to capture me. Is that mission really so important?” Cheng Wuzu said, “Lord Qiao told us that you can make monumental contributions to the court. This mission is exceedingly important—far more important than our lives.” Critic still couldn't comprehend it. “You are from Puluo Province. The court of Shang is not your court. You were remodeled into a weapon by the Shang court, yet here you are, professing such loyalty to Shang?” Cheng Wuzu shook his head. “Loyal to the court for a single day, loyal to the court for a lifetime. My kind are mere ants, specks of dust. To give my devotion to the court is the greatest fortune of my life. No matter how the court treats me, I have no grievances or regrets—” Before Cheng Wuzu could finish, Critic clamped a hand over his mouth. “I apologize. I respect every person's choice, and I do my best to listen to everyone's opinions. But what you're saying is truly nauseating.” Critic's palm grew hotter and hotter. The air Cheng Wuzu drew in became scorching, rapidly incinerating Cheng Wuzu's body. Once Cheng Wuzu drew his last breath, Critic carefully examined the structure of this first-class weapon. There were simply too many varieties of first-class weapons. Some, like Cheng Wuzu, were nearly humanoid; others resembled animals in appearance; still others were closer to industrial machinery from a factory, while some were more abstract, resembling everyday household goods. Precisely because there was such diversity among these weapons and such massive variance between individuals, Critic had never been able to find common ground among them, nor could he find a suitable disease that could spread across first-class weapons. For instance, with humanoid weapons like this, Critic had always attempted to combat them using traditional disease foci, only to find later that traditional foci were virtually useless against them—because they had no cellular structure whatsoever. Their bodies merely resembled humans on the surface, but in reality they were more like automatons equipped with organic tissue, and that organic tissue was vastly different from the living tissue Critic knew. “Could I use a virus that infects souls against them?” Critic meticulously examined Cheng Wuzu's soul before it dissipated, but the results disappointed him once more. Cheng Wuzu's soul was incomplete. To be precise, what he carried was not a soul at all, but an amalgamation of soul fragments glued together. Only twenty percent of Cheng Wuzu's soul had been preserved—the equivalent of slicing his soul into a hundred pieces and selecting twenty of them. Those twenty fragments appeared to have been chosen at random, as the soul structure of Cheng Wuzu bore no resemblance to that of other first-class weapons. “Overcoming order through disorder? How can the melting furnace produce such an extraordinary construct?” Critic laughed helplessly. “If only I had a little more time, I could surely unravel the secrets of first-class weapons and find a disease focus to infect them. What a pity...” Footsteps echoed outside the attic; it was time for Critic to leave. He took a bite of a flatbread, bound his wounds tight, and walked out the door. A few minutes later, Critic retreated back into the attic. Outside stood more than ninety first-class weapons. Critic looked at Cheng Wuzu lying on the table, shook his head, and murmured, “To be remodeled into a weapon like you... what a tragic fate that would be.” He ascended to the attic's second floor, barred the door with a numinous artifact, and sat quietly in a corner of the room. He drew out a water flask and took a gentle sip. Footsteps drew nearer. Several first-class weapons were already ascending the stairs. From his bosom, Critic drew out a tin can. The wild flower inside was on the verge of blooming, and Xiao De, sitting upon a leaf, was looking up at Critic. Critic poured all the water from his flask into the can. He smiled at the wild flower. Between the flower bud and the leaves, he saw Desong Cliff. He saw that mountain cave, the pile of firewood and the iron pot, and Xiao De eating noodle soup. “Here's noodle soup.” Beneath the wild flower, Xiao De held a dewdrop high. Critic nodded vigorously and took the noodle soup. Bang! The door to the second floor was shoved open. The first two first-class weapons to storm the room were met with a blinding light that forced all of them to shut their eyes. When the brilliant glare faded, a shower of cinders drifted slowly downward. Where was Critic? Not a trace of him could be found in the room. The first-class weapons lying in wait outside hadn't caught sight of Critic either. Several weapons possessing Scry Cultivator traits pushed their techniques to their limits, yet still found nothing. “He killed himself—” one first-class weapon shouted. “Quick, bring Demon Cultivators to gather his soul!” Before long, several Demon Cultivator weapons rushed over. They attempted to gather the soul for a long time, but reaped nothing at all. One of the Demon Cultivator weapons examined the ashes on the floor and shook his head. “This dust was left behind by a soul. He has been reduced to ashes and smoke; his soul is completely extinguished.” The remaining first-class weapons wore grim expressions. A result like this would be difficult to report to their superiors. Apprehensive and uneasy, Nian Shangyou entered Qiao Yi's study. “My lord, this subordinate went to Bozhou to arrest Critic. Critic resisted arrest and committed suicide.” “Did you bring back his soul?” Nian Shangyou replied, “He used some method when taking his life. His soul was reduced to ashes.” Qiao Yi kept his head down, reading a document, and added an annotation with his writing brush. Nian Shangyou stood rooted in place, feeling as though every breath was an agony. After annotating the document, Qiao Yi looked up at Nian Shangyou. Just as Nian Shangyou was about to kowtow and beg forgiveness, he heard Qiao Yi speak: “Shangyou, you have worked hard.” Hearing those words, Nian Shangyou didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified, nor did he know what Qiao Yi planned to do next. Qiao Yi sighed. “Across the Great Shang, spies belonging to various factions lurk in every corner. Leaks of military intelligence have become a common occurrence, causing the Great Shang to lose troops and commanders time and again. This old man detests it to his very core! “Shangyou, the Ministry of War, the Ministry of Personnel, and the Ministry of Justice each submitted a list of spies. Your name appears on all three lists, complete with enumerations of your crimes, alleging that you share numerous ties with the White Falcon Alliance.” Thump! Nian Shangyou dropped to his knees. “My lord! This subordinate is wrongly accused! I have never collaborated with the enemy! Every interaction I had with the White Falcon Alliance was carried out with Your Lordship's permission, and from beginning to end, I have never exceeded my bounds! “This subordinate is willing to be interrogated! I am willing to be investigated! My devotion is true, as Heaven can witness! My loyalty is unwavering, without a single traitorous thought!” Nian Shangyou kowtowed repeatedly until blood seeped from his forehead. Qiao Yi let out a long sigh. “Shangyou, tell me: should I believe you?” Prostrate on the floor, Nian Shangyou cried, “My lord, this subordinate is incompetent and has accomplished nothing, yet when braving death for Your Lordship, have I ever uttered a single word of complaint? My lord, please see the truth!” At this point, Nian Shangyou broke into loud weeping! Qiao Yi remained silent for a long time, then raised his hand, signaling for Nian Shangyou to rise. Nian Shangyou rose cautiously, awaiting judgment. Qiao Yi stared intently at Nian Shangyou for a long while before nodding slightly. “Shangyou, I will trust you one more time. Go back, pack your belongings, and accompany me on a journey immediately.” Nian Shangyou dared not ask questions. He immediately returned home to pack his things and boarded a ship alongside Qiao Yi. This was not the kind of vessel Qiao Yi usually traveled on; it was a fishing boat, modest in size and very plainly furnished. Before arriving at the harbor, Qiao Yi had told Nian Shangyou to change his clothes. Both men were dressed in coir raincoats and conical bamboo hats, looking just like ordinary fishermen. Before casting off, the guards first activated magical treasures to check whether there were any hooks on board. Having confirmed there were no hooks on the vessel, the guards activated another treasure to jam all communication devices. Nian Shangyou felt somewhat nervous. Shutting down communication equipment on the open sea was a perilous move, but given his precarious standing, he dared not inquire. After sailing for a day and a night at sea, Qiao Yi suddenly asked Nian Shangyou, “Do you know where we are headed on this voyage?” Nian Shangyou shook his head. “This subordinate does not know.” Standing on the deck, Qiao Yi said, “Have you ever heard of Zhenxun?” “Zhenxun?” Nian Shangyou pondered for a moment. “Does Your Lordship refer to the former dynasty's capital?” Qiao Yi nodded. Zhenxun was one of the Xia Dynasty's capitals. Nian Shangyou said, “My lord, as far as this subordinate knows, Zhenxun sank to the bottom of the sea long ago, untouched by the light of day for over a thousand years.” Qiao Yi shook his head with a chuckle. “Zhenxun is not beneath the sea; it lies in the Unnameable Land. That false king possessed a stroke of good fortune as well—the single thing he ever did right in his life was finding Zhenxun.” The 'false king' referred to the Sage. What did this have to do with the Sage? Qiao Yi suddenly asked, “Shangyou, do you think Critic deserved to die?” This was a matter of life and death, a question that had to be answered correctly. Nian Shangyou said, “He deserved death. That scoundrel should have been killed long ago!” Qiao Yi smiled. “Are you implying I killed him too late?” Nian Shangyou kept his head lowered. “This subordinate believes it was indeed a bit late.” This was not a slip of the tongue on Nian Shangyou's part; choosing to speak the blunt truth now would actually lessen Qiao Yi's suspicion. Qiao Yi sighed. “Shangyou, our campaign begins today. Once we reach Zhenxun, only then will you understand the pains this old man has taken.” Embarking on a campaign today? So pressing? Nian Shangyou froze. “My lord, where are we setting out to conquer?” Qiao Yi gazed into the distance. “To conquer the most perilous realm in Puluo Province.”