Swift as Wind, Fast as Lightning, Grand Transport Motorcycle

Turn stone into gold and Golden House Hiding a Beauty were both hopeless.

Though Shen Tang was disappointed, she did not dare gamble with her own life.

As time trickled away drop by drop, the ink-blue clouds at dawn were dyed with a faint halo of red-orange, until night gave way to morning.

When a mischievous ray of sunrise kissed his eyelids, Qi Shan woke from his dreams.

He glanced at the sun, rubbed his right eye sleepily, and muttered softly.

"Why is it only the middle of the hour of the Rabbit?"

Shen Tang said, "It's not early at this hour."

Hearing her, Qi Shan looked over and saw Young Master Shen sitting by the bonfire, roasting something.

"You didn't sleep at all last night?"

That coarse hemp prison uniform had been soaked by dew and clung limply to her skin, without a single crease pressed out by deep sleep.

Without lifting her head, Shen Tang said, "I didn't sleep. Too much happened yesterday; I simply couldn't fall asleep. Mister Qi, would you like to try my cooking?"

As she spoke, she held the forked branch in her hand out to Qi Shan.

Only then did Qi Shan see what Shen Tang was roasting.

Three buns strung together on a branch.

Each bun was about palm-sized, roasted golden-brown on both sides, quietly giving off an enticing charred fragrance.

Out here in the wilderness, where had these buns come from?

There was no need to guess.

He did not stand on ceremony with Shen Tang. "Thank you."

Qi Shan was a particular man. Before breakfast, he had a "warm-up"—he dampened a cloth with water from his waterskin and wiped away the lingering drowsiness from his face. Then he took out a tooth-stick from his pack, sprinkled it with a little mint-green powder, and used the remaining water in the waterskin to clean his teeth and rinse his mouth.

Only after finishing his ablutions did he pick up the fragrant roasted bun.

"Hm? Why is it sweet?"

Though the sweetness was faint and more than half concealed by the crisp char, it could still be tasted upon careful sampling.

Shen Tang revealed the answer. "Cauldron Sweet as Honey. It could not be sought even if one wished for it."

The moment Qi Shan heard that, his expression became indescribable. Even the bun in his mouth no longer smelled appealing.

Helplessly, he said, "...'Cauldron as Sweet as Honey' comes from the Song of Righteousness. It is also a word spirit meant to bolster morale, and its requirements for a Literary Heart are extremely high..."

Was she sincerely determined to pick a fight with all these word spirits?

No matter what effect they had, did they become food in Young Master Shen's hands?

How was he supposed to look directly at "Cauldron as Sweet as Honey" ever again?

"Who cares what kind of word spirit it is? In my view, only word spirits that can fill my stomach are useful." Shen Tang blew on the scalding bun and cautiously took a small bite. As the fragrance of food spread through her mouth, a sense of satisfaction nearly burst her happiness meter. "Besides, the malt sugar on the buns did not come solely from 'Cauldron Sweet as Honey.' I discovered that sentence consumed quite a bit of Literary Heart, so I abandoned it..."

Qi Shan said nothing.

So, for a single piece of malt sugar, she had tormented other word spirits too?

"Then which sentence did you choose?"

Shen Tang calmly held out her right hand. "The plains of Zhou are rich and fertile; bitter greens and teasel taste sweet as honey."

A piece of malt sugar the size of a thumb appeared.

Qi Shan suddenly frowned. "That word spirit..."

Shen Tang tossed the malt sugar into her mouth and chewed. Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction. "What about that word spirit?"

"No one has ever used it."

Shen Tang said, "...Huh?"

"All the word spirits we currently use originate from those National Seals—or rather, from that Calamity Star. The word spirits recorded upon it are as vast as smoke and mist, too many to count. In the more than two hundred years since the Calamity Star appeared, more and more word spirits have been used by capable people and extraordinary individuals. Yet compared to the word spirits that cannot be used, they remain merely the tip of the iceberg. I only copied down this sentence, 'The plains of Zhou are rich and fertile; bitter greens and teasel taste sweet as honey,' by chance..."

He had found it interesting, so he wrote it down.

Shen Tang said nothing.

Qi Shan asked her, "What effect does this word spirit have?"

Did it merely produce a piece of malt sugar?

Instead of answering, Shen Tang asked, "Didn't Mister Qi see it?"

Her gaze was too frank and clear, like a spring so transparent one could see straight to its bottom. Qi Shan could not determine whether she had concealed anything, but he knew she was not as simple as she appeared. They spoke no more. The two of them quietly ate breakfast, finishing all the roasted buns before dealing with the bonfire after they had eaten and drunk their fill.

They packed up and prepared to set out.

Because the coarse hemp prison uniform on Shen Tang was too eye-catching, Qi Shan contributed a clean old garment. While waiting for Young Master Shen to change, he inadvertently stepped on a patch of relatively soft earth.

"Eh?"

He crouched down, brushed aside the wild grass, and investigated.

He pinched up a little loose, damp soil between his fingers and carefully sensed it. He discovered that it was entirely different from the barren sandy earth three paces away, where a kick would raise clouds of dust.

Thinking of something, he drew the sword at his waist with a swish and fiercely stabbed it into the ground. The blade entered the soil easily at first, soft and unobstructed. Yet after sinking six inches deep, it became difficult to move even an inch. The blade had become entwined in something sticky within the earth.

He drew the longsword back out of the soil.

The mud clinging to the blade faithfully reflected the situation.

Qi Shan rubbed the mud from the sword edge between his fingers and murmured thoughtfully, "The plains of Zhou are rich and fertile; bitter greens and teasel taste sweet as honey..."

The rough meaning of this word spirit was—the plains of Zhou were fertile, so even teasel and bitter greens could taste as sweet as malt sugar.

This word spirit of Young Master Shen's...

Was its focus on the "malt sugar"?

Or on the richness and fertility of the plains of Zhou?

Qi Shan lowered his eyes and wiped the blade clean, sheathing it again. As though nothing had happened, he rose and scuffed the patch of earth with his wooden clogs, concealing the sword mark. Before long, Shen Tang emerged from the dense forest.

An adult man's clothes were far too large on an eleven- or twelve-year-old youth. She had no choice but to bind the sleeves at her wrists with long strips of cloth, turning the wide sleeves into narrow ones. She then lifted the overly long hem to ankle height and wrapped a waist cord around her middle to secure the garment.

Paired with that handsome face, somewhat feminine yet carrying a hint of wildness, she truly had the air of a dashing young man.

Qi Shan called, "Young Master Shen, we're leaving. Keep up."

Shen Tang jogged a few steps. "Sir, I'm coming."

As the sun rose higher, its blazing heat became fiercer. Shen Tang wiped her sweat with her sleeve. "Mister Qi, don't you have a word spirit that can conjure tall horses? That Third-Class Zan Niao last night had blades, spears, swords, halberds, and tall horses. How convenient for travel."

Qi Shan asked flatly, "Does Young Master Shen have a Martial Spirit?"

Shen Tang shook her head. "That... I don't..."

"Because you have no Martial Spirit, you have no horse."

That one calm sentence pronounced Shen Tang's "death sentence."

Shen Tang nearly spat out her soul. "Why? Aren't Literary Hearts and Martial Spirits equal? Can't word spirits like this be shared?"

She felt that her Literary Heart had been looked down upon!

She lowered her head to look at her two skinny legs, like thin bamboo poles, and was left speechless. Though the wounds on her feet had been simply treated and she wore the soft-soled straw shoes Qi Shan had lent her, the road was rugged. Traveling to the closest village or town on her own two legs—who knew how many years and months it would take...

Qi Shan glanced from the corner of his eye at Young Master Shen, who looked as though her soul had left her body, and could not help laughing.

"There is no need for word spirits like that to be shared."

"How could there be no need?"

What were tall horses in ancient times equivalent to?

Luxury sports cars!

"Generally speaking, scholars with Literary Hearts travel with carriages and horses accompanying them. Why would they need to support themselves like that pack of brutes?"

Shen Tang said nothing.

After they had walked a little farther, Qi Shan faintly heard Young Master Shen, following behind him, muttering weakly under her breath.

"Swift as Wind, Fast as Lightning—"

He was just about to marvel at Young Master Shen's extraordinary comprehension, that she had even learned such an advanced word spirit for increasing an army's marching speed.

Who would have thought that her next words would be—

"Grand Transport Motorcycle!"

Qi Shan said, "???"

This chapter was not easy to revise. I revised and revised it again.

This was the update for the twenty-fourth. There would be another chapter during the day.

The wind outside the window was so strong that I couldn't sleep. Sigh.