Mercenaries

"Young Lord, are we selling this cement outside?"

"Not for now. We don't even have enough for ourselves. Selling it would delay our own construction." Qin Mo rejected Lin Bo without a second thought. The output of these cement kilns was not high, and Dayuan was his home turf. If he did not build it up properly, he would be letting down that cheap father of his who had died, wasting the vast estate he had left behind.

"But... but... we still haven't gathered enough equipment for ten thousand men..." This time, it was not Lin Bo speaking, but another fierce general among the retainers Qin Mo's father had left him—Wu Shengze.

"Uncle Wu, don't worry. Cement is something new. Outsiders may not accept it right away, and time is pressing for us—we cannot afford delays. So I plan to make a move with sea salt." Qin Mo explained to them amiably. These were the foundations his cheap father had left him. Father's legacy passed to son; generation after generation, they had been his family retainers. He could not treat them like ordinary rank-and-file soldiers.

A whole group of men who killed without blinking were collectively dumbfounded. No matter how they looked at it, cement had nothing to do with sea salt. Could this black powder somehow turn into snow-white salt?

The next day, Qin Mo brought men to begin building saltworks in a bay he had long had his eye on. Dayuan had previously made sea salt by boiling it: seawater was simmered dry in huge iron pots, leaving salt behind. Such salt had large grains and a heavily astringent taste. More importantly, a large iron pot would soon corrode through, so the cost was far from low.

Building saltworks to sun-dry salt was the quickest-acting, least technical path to wealth Qin Mo could think of. Drying salt was simply a process in which the salt in seawater continually settled while the water continually evaporated. With cement, it was easy to accomplish.

The saltworks consisted of several salt ponds, rising step by step from the seashore toward inland like terraced fields. Each tier had a drop of three to five inches, with sluice gates between the upper and lower ponds to allow the brine to flow and be replaced. Beside the entire complex ran a deep channel connected to the sea. At high tide, it began storing seawater for salt drying.

Watching the saltworks steadily take shape under Qin Mo's command, Lin Bo and the others marveled at how useful cement was. The ground of the saltworks was smooth and level, several times better than even the finest stone pavement.

But they did not understand what the Heir Apparent was doing. Could salt really be produced this way? Was he going to set iron pots on the cement ground and burn them? Since they could not understand it anyway, they simply stopped thinking about it. Since the Heir Apparent could create something as good as cement, whatever he did must have his reasons.

The bay Qin Mo had chosen was windy, with a broad, gently sloping beach and peninsulas stretching into the sea on both sides. With a little construction, it would become a fine harbor sheltered from wind and waves. Qin Mo's original intention was to seal this place off, then load the salt directly onto ships once it had dried.

That day, Qin Mo called Lin Bo and several trusted household generals to the saltworks, letting them witness the salt being produced with their own eyes. He also wanted to show off a little. Let them see how I make money. Follow me, and there'll be wine and meat for everyone.

The uppermost salt pond was for settling the impurities in the seawater. After one day of settling and evaporation, the water was released into the next pond. After another day of evaporation, it was released into the pond below that, and so on, cycling through the salt ponds. As the brine gradually evaporated, by the time it reached the lowest pond, the salt content had reached saturation. After several days under the blazing sun, the salt within began to crystallize.

Qin Mo led them to the lowest salt pond and personally opened a drainage valve at one side, releasing the uncrystallizable "bitter brine" into the sea. What remained was granular salt. Some bitter brine still clung to the salt, but it quickly evaporated away in the sea breeze.

Qin Mo waved his hand. The salt workers waiting nearby had long been unable to hold themselves back. Picking up their tools, they began pushing through the salt pond. Sheets of sea salt were heaped up, piling into a mountain.

Lin Bo and the others were already staring wide-eyed. Salt had been produced just like that? In the past, boiling sea salt consumed who knew how much firewood and manpower, yet only a few catties of salt could be boiled in a day. How much salt did it take to trade for one iron pot? But now, a mountain of salt stood before them. If they had not seen it with their own eyes, who would believe someone claiming that tens of thousands of catties of salt could be produced in a day? Anyone who said it would be lucky not to get spat in the face.

After the scattered salt grains remaining in the pond had been swept clean with brooms, the salt workers opened the valve of the pond above without waiting for Li Mo to speak. Brine instantly flooded the lowest salt pond again. In just a few days, there would be another pond full of sea salt.

Looking at the mountain of sea salt, then at the endless barren tidal flats beside the saltworks, everyone's breathing grew heavy.

"Young Lord, this method of making salt... who taught it to you...?" Lin Bo had fought his way off battlefields, yet now even his words came out in fragments.

Qin Mo said nothing. He merely pointed to his chest, his expression light as clouds and gentle as wind. Seeing his manner, the others naturally assumed he meant that he had plans and stratagems in his heart. But Lin Bo knew that Qin Mo was pointing to the Phoenix Mark on his chest.

"Lin Bo, find trustworthy hands and build a dock. After that, do not let idle people come here. Though there are no walls without cracks in this world, every moment we can keep it hidden is another moment we can profit."

"Rest assured, Young Lord. If even a whisper leaks out, we will settle ourselves without waiting for your command."

"Whoever dares covet the Young Lord's estate, I'll twist off his head."

A group of murderous veterans thumped their chests and rolled their shoulders, only lacking oaths to heaven and military pledges. If their master's household prospered, then they, the household generals and retainers, would naturally live well too. Whoever came to lay hands on the master's foundation would be cutting off the road to prosperity for their descendants. Of course they would fight to the death.

Watching a group of gray-haired old men transform into violent men, Qin Mo was deeply moved, but even more helpless. They had already been no longer young when they followed his father, Qin Lan, to Dayuan, and most had come with wives and children in tow. Most of the younger men had remained in Great Xia, continuing to fight on the battlefield in pursuit of a future.

Sixteen years had passed since they came to Dayuan, yet his cheap father had not brought them wealth and glory. They had at least possessed a peaceful life to console themselves with, but even that was about to be shattered by the coming expedition.

Qin Mo had looked through the roster. There were fewer than three thousand warriors and household generals under forty with combat experience. Even including those under fifty, there were only eight or nine thousand. At such an age, they were unquestionably old soldiers in this world. Qin Mo felt terrible. They were already grandfathers, yet he still had to drag them onto the battlefield. Wasn't that committing a sin?

"Lin Bo, when I go to the imperial capital this time, we won't bring so many men. Three thousand will be enough. The rest will stay in Dayuan to guard our home. Only while our foundation remains will we be safer. Relying on anyone else is never as good as relying on ourselves." Qin Mo came up with a compromise. Of course, without dependable military strength, they would not be able to protect the immense wealth that was about to arrive.

"But what about the military order from the Central Military Office? The officials in there are not all straight-hearted good men. Many are black-hearted scholar lords."

"We'll recruit the rest along the way. As long as we sell the salt quickly, with money in hand, do we need to fear that we cannot recruit refugees?" Ever since the new emperor ascended the throne three years ago, the empire had abandoned its previous defensive strategy and launched proactive campaigns every year, ravaging the lands of the Orc Tribe. But because of those annual expeditions, fields had gone barren, taxes had soared, and refugees had gradually begun to appear.

"Young Lord, if we are recruiting refugees to make up the numbers, I have an idea. We can recruit Fusang people."