44: We'll take the blame together.

Just past the Mao Hour (5-7 AM), the sky was still a chaotic, bluish-gray.

A thick fog covered the entire Su Family Village. Beyond five steps, figures were blurred, leaving only a few scattered rooster calls that pierced the mist, sounding particularly distant.

Su Shan didn't light a lamp; using the faint light filtering through the window, he carefully buttoned his short jacket, which was starched until white and had the fewest patches. His movements were slow but steady.

Su Ming was already fully dressed, standing quietly in the shadow of the doorway.

"Let's go." Su Shan's voice was low, yet carried the heavy slowness of a man who had made up his mind.

The father and son, one following the other, merged into the morning mist. The fog struck their faces, carrying the damp, cold scent of soil and vegetation. Su Shan's figure was ahead, his steps heavy, each one measured, unlike the slightly sluggish pace he usually adopted when working the fields.

Su Ming followed behind, communicating with Master in his heart.

"Master, I'm a little nervous."

"It's good that you're nervous." Lin Yu's voice held a hint of lazy amusement. "It means your head is clear and you know this concerns your life and livelihood. Don't worry, just follow what we rehearsed last night. Remember, your father is the ballast, and you are the boatman. He stabilizes the boat, and you find the right direction to pole it."

"My father... he seems different." Su Ming looked at his father's back, which was straighter than usual.

"Hmph, even a clay figure has a bit of earth temper. Your father just doesn't like to fight, but he's not without weight. When he has something serious on his mind, he's like this."

Village Head Zhao Dequan's house was located at the east end of the village. It had blue brick walls and a courtyard nearly twice the size of the Su Family's. Su Shan stopped at the courtyard gate, pondered briefly, then raised his hand and knocked three times—neither too hard nor too soft—on the sturdy wooden door. The sound was clear, showing neither impatience nor cowardice.

"Who is it? Knocking before dawn." A sleepy-eyed woman, the Village Head's wife, opened the door.

"Sister-in-law, pardon the early intrusion. I am Su Shan. I have an urgent matter and would like to ask Brother Dequan to help me look into it." Su Shan nodded slightly, his tone peaceful, his face devoid of unnecessary expression.

The woman looked the father and son up and down. Seeing that although they carried the morning dew, their expressions were composed and they didn't look like they had panicked and caused trouble, she stepped aside and let them into the courtyard.

"Wait in the main hall. He's getting up now."

The main hall was brighter than the Su Family's house. A clean Eight Immortals Table stood in the center, accompanied by four long benches. A faded New Year's Print of the God of Wealth was posted on the wall. The air had a faint smell of smoke.

Zhao Dequan shuffled out of the inner room in cloth shoes, wearing an outer jacket. He was in his forties, not tall, but his back was straight, and the tuft of short beard on his chin was neatly trimmed. His eyes held their usual shrewdness. Seeing Su Shan and his son, he was somewhat surprised, but didn't show much on his face.

"Shanzi? So early, what's the matter?" He walked to the table and picked up a coarse pottery teacup.

Su Shan did not reply immediately. He walked to the table and gently placed the tobacco pipe he had been gripping onto the table, making a soft "thud." He looked up at Zhao Dequan, his gaze calm.

"Brother Dequan," he began, his voice not loud, but every word clear. "I've run into something too big. My family can't handle it, and I can't figure it out on my own. You are the backbone of our village, and I need you to help me judge this matter."

These words were spoken steadily and heavily, like a weighty stone dropped into calm water.

Zhao Dequan's hand, holding the teacup, paused. He narrowed his eyes and carefully observed Su Shan's expression. On that weather-beaten face, there was no panic, only a heavy solemnity and determination. This made him shed some of his casualness.

"What is it that would make you, Su Shan, say the words, 'can't handle it'?" He put down the teacup and leaned slightly forward.

Su Shan did not answer directly. Instead, he tilted his head and signaled to Su Ming: "Xiao Ming, show the item to Uncle Zhao."

Su Ming took out the palm-sized, coarse piece of paper from his chest pocket, placed it flat on the Eight Immortals Table, and pushed it toward Zhao Dequan.

Su Shan extended a rough finger and tapped the paper, but his gaze remained fixed on Zhao Dequan: "Brother Dequan, you are experienced and knowledgeable, please take a look. See if this thing, falling into the hands of us farmers, is truly food that can save lives, or... a root of disaster that can take lives?"

Zhao Dequan's brows furrowed completely. He picked up the paper, and the roughness and unique toughness transmitted to his fingertips caused his expression to change slightly. He carefully examined the texture, then brought it to his nose to smell it, and even, following old habits, pinched off a small corner and chewed it before spitting it out.

"This... is paper?" He looked up sharply, scanning back and forth between Su Shan and Su Ming's faces. "Shanzi, what kind of play are you two putting on?"

"Master, it's my turn." Su Ming murmured in his heart.

"Uncle Zhao," Su Ming stepped half a pace forward, standing beside his father. His tone was respectful but fearless. "This thing wasn't bought outside, nor was it given by others. I found an Ancient Recipe in an old book about miscellaneous studies, which claimed that one could try to make paper using young bamboo from the back mountain and plant ash from the stove."

He paused, and meeting Zhao Dequan's scrutinizing gaze, he continued clearly, "I was young and reckless, so I actually tried fiddling with it for a few days. My technique was clumsy, and the heat control was far off, so I only managed to produce this crude item. But it... actually worked."

"What?!"

The paper in Zhao Dequan's hand trembled violently. He rose abruptly, eyes wide, body leaning forward in shock, and grabbed Su Ming's arm. "What did you say? Made from bamboo? This... you made this?!"

His grip was strong; Su Ming felt a slight pain but did not pull away, only nodding in confirmation.

Zhao Dequan's breathing instantly grew heavy. He was the Village Head, he had been to the town and seen the Yamen—he knew the value of paper too well! It was silver! It was the dignity of scholars! It was liquid wealth!

Using bamboo that covers the mountains? Using ash left over from burning wood?

If this was true... the stretch of green on the back mountain of Su Family Village instantly transformed into dazzling mountains of gold and silver in his eyes!

The massive shock made his head buzz, but the caution developed from years of handling village affairs immediately suppressed the ecstasy. He slowly sat down, his eyes becoming bottomless, staring intently at Su Ming, as if trying to see through him completely.

"Kid, words spoken are nails hammered. Do you know the consequences of playing games with the Village Head about such a serious matter?"

Su Shan now stepped half a pace forward, his broad shoulders slightly shielding Su Ming. He looked at Zhao Dequan, his voice still slow and heavy, yet conveying an unquestionable seriousness: "Brother Dequan, you know what kind of person I, Su Shan, am. I wouldn't bring something baseless to you. It is precisely because this matter is truly too big—big enough to overturn the heavens—that my family alone cannot withstand it, and I must come to you for this major decision."

Su Ming knew the time was right. He had to expose the most crucial point.

"Uncle Zhao," he took over his father's words, his tone becoming even more solemn. "My father is right. The moment this thing was created, my father and I were first stunned, and then terrified."

He looked directly into Zhao Dequan's sharp, scrutinizing eyes, every word striking the quiet main hall: "This recipe is a mountain of gold that can save countless lives; but it is also a basin of burning charcoal that will incinerate anyone holding it until not even bones remain! With the meager foundation of our Su Family, we cannot possibly conceal this treasure. If even a hint of this news leaks out, what awaits us will absolutely not be fortune, but likely a catastrophic disaster leading to the ruin of our family!"

"Therefore, my father pondered all night. Before dawn, he brought me here."

"Our family cannot swallow this fortune. We certainly cannot shoulder this disaster. After much consideration, the only Righteous Path for it is to hand it over to you, to be managed by you, the head of the household—and this is also the only possible way for our entire village to survive!"