Potential risks

The air in the workshop froze.

Mo Chen's words still hung in the dust, heavy as lead.

Wang Shuo's face went pale, and he shrank back behind Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan stood still. He looked at Mo Chen-terror lay beneath the wild joy in his eyes, and shock mingled with resentment.

"Ten years?" Lu Yuan asked, his voice steady.

Mo Chen grinned, his smile uglier than a sob.

"Ten years is the lighter sentence." He wiped his face, smearing grease across his tear tracks. "Do you know why I was kicked out of the Spirit Hall Technical Department?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Just because I wanted to make Soul Power lamps cheaper."

Mo Chen sat back down in the rickety chair, which creaked beneath him.

"I was in my early thirties, and I'd worked in the Technical Department for eight years." His gaze drifted toward the dusty blueprints in the corner. "Testing, keeping records, writing reports. Every day I watched those high and mighty gentlemen use the most expensive materials and engrave the most complicated circuits. What they made was fifty percent brighter and cost twenty times as much."

Lu Yuan didn't interrupt. He went over to the wall and found an empty spot to sit. Wang Shuo squatted beside him, clutching the hem of his clothes.

"I just wondered," Mo Chen said, his voice dropping, "whether it could be simplified. Made less expensive, so ordinary families could have brighter lamps too."

He raised his hand and spread his five fingers against the dim yellow light.

"I spent three years secretly experimenting. I used scraps from the waste pile and worked out the circuits myself. I actually found a way-replace silver wire with copper, cut half the circuit branches, and the brightness only drops ten percent while the cost drops seventy percent."

His hand slowly clenched into a fist.

"I was overjoyed. I stayed up all night writing a report and turned in all the data, blueprints, and samples." He forced out a short laugh. "Guess what happened?"

Lu Yuan said nothing.

"The next day, the department head called me in," Mo Chen said. "He didn't read the report. He held his teacup and asked, 'Mo Chen, do you know how much of the Technical Department's annual funding is sustained by the profits from selling high-grade Soul Tools?'"

The workshop was so quiet they could hear dust settling.

"I didn't say a word. The department head went on, 'Who would you make that simplified design for? Commoners? How many lamps costing a few copper coins could they afford?'"

Mo Chen raised his head, his eyes empty.

"He said, 'Mo Chen, some things aren't better just because they're cheaper. What Soul Masters use has to be different from what ordinary people use. That's the rule.'"

Wang Shuo held his breath.

Lu Yuan traced circles on his knee with his index finger.

"What happened after that?"

"After that?" Mo Chen sneered. "My laboratory 'accidentally' caught fire. My notes and samples burned to ashes. I was transferred to the storeroom to manage scrap and stayed there for half a year."

"I couldn't give up." His voice suddenly rose. "There was plenty of scrap in the storeroom, so I secretly experimented again. I was more careful this time and only worked at night. After three months, I came up with a new design-etching iron sheets to halve the cost while retaining ninety percent of the brightness."

He paused, his shoulders sagging.

"This time I didn't submit a report. I found a small craftsman's shop in the city and wanted them to make a trial batch."

Mo Chen rubbed his face hard.

"The shop owner readily agreed. Three days later, a Spirit Hall deacon squad showed up and accused me of 'revealing confidential information without authorization' and 'conducting dangerous experiments.'" His voice was hoarse. "I was locked up in solitary confinement for six months. When I got out, the Technical Department gave me two choices-sign a confidentiality agreement and get lost, never to touch a Soul Tool again; or serve ten years of hard labor in the mines for 'endangering public safety.'"

Lu Yuan's finger stopped.

He looked at Mo Chen, whose head was bowed, his long, tangled hair hiding his face.

"I chose the first." Mo Chen spoke softly. "I signed, took a little severance pay, and was driven out of Spirit City. I wandered in exile, then hid away in this miserable place for seven years."

He looked up, his eyes frighteningly red.

"For seven years, I didn't even dare touch a Soul Power lamp. Once in a while, when my hands itched, I'd tinker with some scrap, but I only dared make the worst junk, terrified someone would see the skill behind it." He gestured at the "junk" filling the room. "Even I can't stand looking at this stuff."

When he finished, he let out a long breath.

It was as though he had poured out everything he'd held back for seven years.

Silence fell over the workshop again.

Wang Shuo's legs had gone numb, so he quietly shifted position. He looked at Mo Chen, then at Lu Yuan, sweat beading on his forehead.

A long time passed.

Lu Yuan stood up. He walked over to the table and picked up the new Soul Power lamp. Its casing was rough and heavy in his hand.

"So," he said calmly, "you're afraid of this?"

Mo Chen stared at him.

"I am." He gritted his teeth. "I'm afraid it'll happen again. I'm afraid someone will find out I've been working on things I 'shouldn't be working on' again. I'm afraid they're right-that some knowledge is forbidden, and touching it means death."

Lu Yuan said nothing.

His fingers rubbed the etched lines on the lamp casing. It was rough and cool.

"Uncle Mo Chen," Wang Shuo couldn't help asking, his voice trembling, "th-then should we destroy the lamp?"

Mo Chen said nothing.

He stared at Lu Yuan, as though waiting for an answer.

Lu Yuan put the lamp back on the table.

"Destroy it?" He shook his head. "No need."

Mo Chen froze.

"You said your design could cut the cost by seventy percent while reducing the brightness by only ten percent." Lu Yuan turned around. "What would happen if it were actually made and sold?"

Mo Chen's lips moved.

"Common families could have brighter lamps," Lu Yuan answered for him. "They could see clearly when they worked at night, and children's eyes wouldn't grow tired when they read. They might even save some money on lamp oil."

"But what about the merchant associations that sell high-grade Soul Power lamps?" Mo Chen countered, bitterness in his voice. "What about the families that make money through monopolies? They'd lose a huge chunk of their profits. Would they let me off?"

"No." Lu Yuan answered without hesitation.

Mo Chen was rendered speechless.

"They'd try everything they could to crush you," Lu Yuan continued, speaking slowly. "They'd say your technology was 'unsafe' and 'shoddily made.' They'd pull strings to keep your lamps from selling. And if you still refused to give up, they'd use more direct methods-just like they did seven years ago."

Wang Shuo felt cold all over.

Mo Chen's face turned ashen.

"Then why do you still say there's no need to destroy it?" His voice trembled.

Lu Yuan walked over to the wall and picked up the stub of charcoal. It was black with grease.

"Because destroying one lamp won't change anything," he said. "Destroy it today, and tomorrow you'll still be thinking about it. You held it in for seven years, but the moment you picked up an engraving knife, you could still make something better. That's your skill. It can't be destroyed."

Mo Chen stared at him in a daze.

"It's not one lamp they're afraid of." Lu Yuan placed the charcoal on the table. "They're afraid of those ideas in your head that you 'shouldn't have,' and the craftsmanship in your hands that you 'shouldn't know.' They're afraid someone really believes that good things don't have to be so expensive, and technology doesn't have to be so mysterious."

He paused.

"What they're afraid of is making it widespread."

The workshop was frighteningly quiet.

Mo Chen opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked at the lamp on the table, then at his own hands-rough and misshapen, covered in calluses and burn scars, yet steady as a mountain when they held an engraving knife.

"But what can I do?" he finally asked, his voice weary. "I can't fight them on my own."

"You can't fight them now," Lu Yuan said.

He returned to his spot and sat down, moving at an unhurried pace.

"But you can stay alive first." He looked at Mo Chen. "Keep your skills hidden and carry on making your 'junk.' When your hands itch, make something good and keep it hidden for yourself to look at. Don't let anyone find it."

Mo Chen gave a bitter smile.

"How is that any different from what I've done for the past seven years?"

"It is," Lu Yuan said. "For the past seven years, you were afraid. Now, you're waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"An opportunity." Lu Yuan tapped his knee with a steady rhythm. "Wait for the technology to mature a little more, for more people to understand this, for the first crack to appear in those walls of monopoly."

He raised his eyes.

"Uncle Mo Chen, you said you were afraid knowledge was forbidden." Lu Yuan's voice was soft, but every word was like a nail. "But what I think is-if a kind of knowledge can only be held by a few people, and only used to make a fortune and put on airs, how is it any different from shackles?"

Mo Chen's pupils contracted.

"Knowledge shouldn't be shackles," Lu Yuan continued, his tone as calm as if he were stating a fact. "It should be a key, used to open locks. If someone insists on locking the key away for their own use, then we have to find a way to make more keys, or... find a way to pick the lock."

Wang Shuo only half understood, but he saw Mo Chen's eyes gradually light up.

It wasn't wild joy, but something deeper and more resolute.

"Easy for you to say," Mo Chen said hoarsely. "Pick the lock? With what?"

"With this." Lu Yuan pointed at the lamp on the table. "First, make it well and make it solid. Then wait."

He stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes.

"I have to get back to the academy," he said. "They'll close the gates if I'm late."

Mo Chen didn't move.

He sat in the rickety chair, staring at the lamp on the table as though it were a distant dream.

Lu Yuan walked to the door and rested his hand on the handle, then paused.

"Uncle Mo Chen." He didn't turn around. "If we're afraid to show it, knowledge will always be a toy for the few. What we need is... to make it less 'special.'"

With that, he pulled the door open.

The evening light slanted in, cutting a bright patch across the floor.

Wang Shuo hurriedly got up and followed him out.

The door closed softly.

In the workshop, only Mo Chen remained, along with a roomful of "junk."

He sat there in a daze for a long time.

Then, slowly, he reached out and picked up the new Soul Power lamp. His fingers rubbed the rough casing and brushed over the etched lines, his touch as gentle as if he were stroking a baby.

The lamp went out.

But Mo Chen felt as though some kind of warmth was hidden in the cool metal against his palm.

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

A few days later, a rumor quietly began to spread through Nuoding Academy.

Teacher Sun, who taught the elective Soul Tool course-the old lecturer who had worked in the Spirit Hall Technical Department for more than ten years-had flown into a terrible rage in class.

The reason was a work-study student who had brought him a sketch he had drawn after class and asked whether a "simpler parallel circuit" could replace the complicated series structure in the textbook, "saving materials while giving about the same brightness."

Teacher Sun tore up the sketch on the spot.

He pointed a finger at the work-study student's nose and sharply scolded him in front of the whole room:

"Reaching for the skies with your feet off the ground! Utterly impractical! You work-study students haven't even laid a firm foundation, yet you dare dream of changing a classic structure? Do you know how many times these circuits have been forged and refined? If you change them at random, a Soul Power backlash blowing up the lamp would be the least of it. Could you bear the consequences if someone's meridians were injured?"

The work-study student was scolded so badly he couldn't even lift his head.

As word spread, the work-study students taking the elective Soul Tool course behaved especially meekly for the next few days. No one dared ask questions "beyond the syllabus" anymore, and even fewer sought the teacher's advice after class.

Teacher Sun was very satisfied.

He felt that this was the order things ought to have.

Only occasionally, when he passed the alley behind the library, he would see the work-study student named Lu Yuan squatting in a corner, drawing something on the ground with a twig.

He drew with great concentration.

Teacher Sun glanced at the crooked lines but couldn't make out what they were. He shook his head and walked away with his hands clasped behind his back.

Kids these days really don't know how high the heavens are or how vast the earth is.