Guidance

Night was quiet and peaceful. A hemispherical sky of stars hung over the land, the twinkling stars like a cradle set with jewels.

Blue Lion City lay sprawled across the plains. Most of it had gone dark, like a sleeping child lying perfectly still. Occasionally, a glimmer of light showed somewhere. It was not the eyes of a child startled awake from a dream, but the royal palace of Blue Lion City.

Royal palace, palace hall, bathhouse.

A huge bathtub stood in the center of the bathhouse, and Richard lay within it with his eyes closed.

The bathwater filled more than half the tub and was kept at around 45°C. Being warmer than normal body temperature, it slowly opened the pores in Richard's skin and gradually relaxed his entire body, yet it was not excessively hot in the sweltering summer.

Several maids stood a few meters from the tub, waiting for instructions.

Farther away, in a corner of the bathhouse, a maid was roasting smooth river stones over a fire. Once the stones had been heated red-hot, she picked them up with iron tongs and placed them into a nearby bucket full of water.

With a sharp sizzle, the water in the bucket churned violently around the scorching stones. A great plume of steam burst forth and rose into the air, where it cooled into tiny droplets of white mist and released heat.

Mist filled the room, maintaining the bathing temperature throughout the bathhouse. Sweat seeped from the maids as well, but they did not dare move carelessly within the mist, much less make a sound, for fear of disturbing Prince.

Suddenly, Richard opened his eyes in the tub.

"Prince?" one maid asked tentatively.

"Mm," Richard answered.

"Yes." The maid nodded. A glimmer flashed through her large eyes as she quickly approached Richard.

Reaching the bathtub, she bent down and took a porcelain jar from a bamboo basket. She poured some bathing paste made from herbs and rose petals into her hands and spread it evenly over her palms.

She straightened up and gently placed her hands on Richard's body, carefully applying the paste to his skin. She kneaded and massaged him with care, helping him relieve his fatigue.

Richard closed his eyes again.

After more than ten minutes, when he felt his muscles had relaxed considerably, Richard raised a hand and gave a light wave.

The maid massaging him understood and softly said, "Yes," before backing away.

With a splash, Richard stood and stepped out of the bathtub onto a non-slip wooden board beside it. Silvery droplets of water rolled rapidly down his body and soaked the floor.

Three maids hurried forward. One carried a bucket, walked behind Richard, scooped up water, and poured it over his body.

This time, it was cool water at 30°C, below body temperature. It did not feel excessively cold to Richard, but the pores opened across his body contracted slightly. His relaxed muscles and skin instantly tightened, refreshing his mind.

Another maid swiftly wiped Richard's body with a large dry cloth. Once he was dry, the last maid stepped forward and helped him put on fresh clothes and boots.

Once everything was finished, Richard walked out of the bathhouse.

The remaining maids quickly cleaned up, then left one after another.

Late into the night, the lights in the royal palace gradually went out, leaving only a few still burning.

At the northwest corner of the palace stood a row of low houses, utterly out of place with the rest of the palace's architecture. They were where the craftsmen and male servants lived.

At that moment, a tiny oil lamp burned in one of the houses. Hans, the craftsman Richard had instructed, squinted at a design scroll spread across the table, his nose nearly touching it.

After studying it for a long while, Old Hans furrowed his brow and stared at one section of the design. "What is going on here? Why can't I make sense of it? This is bad. I didn't ask Prince Richard about it back then. What if I can't make it... then..."

An anxious look appeared on his face. Old Mark turned and walked out of the house, heading into a makeshift shed outside. Inside the shed stood a roughly assembled wooden frame—a simple rotating turret he had rushed to build in a single day.

Feeling around one part of it, Old Hans muttered to himself, "I still can't figure it out. What is this part for? How could putting it here not affect the rotation..."

Even after a long while, Old Hans still could not understand. Feeling somewhat discouraged, he returned to the house and looked once more at the design scroll with a trace of despair. Suddenly, his eyes flickered as he noticed a nearly invisible note beside the part he did not understand.

"...Wing Plate... Rotating Shaft... gears..." Old Mark read aloud, and his eyes gradually lit up. In an instant, he understood what had puzzled him.

But then Old Hans frowned again and muttered somewhat strangely, "I remember there being no markings here before. Why are there suddenly some now? Or were they always there, and I simply didn't see them? Strange, strange. No one came in, and no one would dare touch Prince Richard's things. This..."

Old Hans looked around the room. It was silent and empty. He looked at the doors and windows, but they had not moved at all.

This...

"Fine, no matter what, I understand it now. I'd better get to work quickly," Old Hans said. He then left the house and entered the shed, working through the night. After all, the one-week deadline Richard had set was still extremely tight for him.