bookbashuk Chapter 204 The White Dragon Horse Sets Sail on the Ice
Chapter 204 The White Dragon Horse Sets Sail on the Ice
As soon as the North Gate warehouse opened, all the heat in the city escaped.
The next morning, the banks of the canal were covered with white crusts. The wheelbarrow's tracks crunched over them, like crushing a thin bowl. The dark-faced old man was still pushing his cart, which was no longer loaded with grain, but with sacks of salt, rolls of coarse cloth, and two baskets of charcoal. At each intersection, someone would peek out from a nearby house, glance inside, and then close the door again.
Chen Fan stood on the North Gate Slope, his cuffs covered in frost.
Below was a makeshift unloading area. The wooden stakes had just been driven into the frozen ground, and the ropes were still stiff. The white horse had already circled the water twice, its nostrils filled with white breath. Now that it was no longer carrying scriptures or tied to the back, the entire transport load on the northern route truly fell on its shoulders.
Wukong squatted on an overturned boat plank, a half-eaten grass stem dangling from his mouth, and gently tapped the ice with his stick.
"Not bad." He looked up at the white dragon horse. "You really dare to take that old route through the North Sea?"
The white horse didn't turn around. It trod on the frozen mud on the bank and whispered, "No one dares to take the old route, so it's our turn now."
Chen Fan closed the booklet and walked down the slope.
"Just keep going. The icebreakers ahead and the salt, cloth, and charcoal behind will all be provided for you. The northern camp can't wait. The patrol team has been expanding outwards these past few days, and the fire pits are burning twice as much as usual. We don't even have enough strips of cloth to wrap our hands."
Liu Sanniang stood beside a pile of burlap sacks, holding a long iron hook in her hand, examining the knots in the hemp ropes. Without looking up, she said, "Load the charcoal into the middle of the boat first, then put the salt at both ends to weigh it down. Don't let the cloth touch the ice water, or it will harden when it gets there."
Si Mo squatted on the wooden box to count, his pen tip almost frozen, and he had to breathe on it after writing a few strokes.
"One hundred and eighty bags of salt. Thirty-six rolls of coarse cloth. Ninety baskets of charcoal. Eight barrels of lamp oil. Four boxes of sewing kits. Two baskets of medicine ash."
Pigsy came from behind carrying a plank, swung it over his shoulder, and put it on the edge of the boat.
"We're still missing a pot," he shouted. "Those kids on the north front are good at fighting, but they can't cook. Last time we sent three, and they came back with only two ears left."
A burst of laughter erupted from the shore.
The white dragon horse finally turned around. He hadn't fully transformed; he was still in human form, two strands of wet hair clinging to his face in the wind, and his clothes were covered in ice shards. He reached out and pressed his hand against the bow of the boat, his palm against the old wood, and his eyes lit up for a moment.
The river flows north to Haikou. Beyond Haikou lies the deadly ice-covered zone in winter.
In the past, the Dragon Palace governed this section of the water, and the tide lines, reefs, thin ice, and whirlwinds were all fixed. Now, the North Sea is in chaos, the old stations are gone, the patrol boatmen have scattered, and the remaining boatmen would rather take a long detour than touch this desolate, white wasteland.
The white dragon horse deliberately chose this spot.
"We set off at Shenshi (3-5 PM)," he said. "We crossed the first ice ridge before dark. When the moon came up at night, the ice surface shone brightly, and we could see the cracks."
Chen Fan looked at him: "What are the chances of success?"
"Seventy percent."
Wukong clicked his tongue: "You've learned to keep your mouth shut."
The white dragon horse raised its hand and wrapped the rope around its wrist: "The remaining 30% depends on whether the people on the ship are stable."
As soon as he said that, the dozen or so boatmen behind him all stood up straight.
These men weren't seasoned sailors. Two used to grind grain, three sold firewood on South Street, and four were young men newly recruited into the patrol team, their faces still bearing the marks of time. These past few days, they had practiced pole vaulting, learned to read the wind, and, most importantly, learned the most crucial thing—to listen for the white dragon horse's whistle.
One short stroke, then retract the pole.
Two short hooks, change hooks.
First, abandon the cargo on the side and save the main ship.
Chen Fan didn't ask any more questions, and simply handed over the signed book.
"Upon reaching the North Camp, have them distribute the goods according to the register. Salt should be given to the sentry posts first. Cloth should be given to the night patrols and the wounded first. Charcoal must not be burned out in one go; the three camps should take turns receiving it. Anyone who steals it, their name will be recorded."
The white dragon horse took the book and stuffed it into its bosom.
He walked to the foremost, narrow-bowed boat, and with a light touch of his toes, he was already at the bow. The wind rushed in from the estuary, making the sails flap loudly. He didn't rush to give the order; instead, he bent down, grabbed a handful of ice water, and wiped it on his forehead.
The next moment, a long whistle pierced the air.
The first icebreaker moves first.
The bow wasn't pointed; it was reinforced with two layers of ironwood. When the bow struck the floating ice, there was a dull thud, followed by a crack. The two cargo ships behind it hulled close to the crack, their oarsmen half-kneeling as they rowed, not daring to veer even an inch. Everyone on the shore watched intently. The ships squeezed into the white expanse of the estuary; at first, they were still visible as dark silhouettes, but after rounding an ice ridge, only a speck of dust remained on the top of their sails.
The wind picked up.
Liu San Niang threw down the hook and cursed, "That madman."
Wukong jumped off the deck, looked north for a while, and suddenly laughed.
"He used to be led around by someone every day in Eagle's Sorrow Gorge. Today, he's finally choosing his own path."
Chen Fan didn't respond to that. He turned and walked towards the warehouse, instructing Si Mo as he went, "Make a list of the second batch as well. Cloth shoes, leather gloves, flint and steel, and a hammer. Once the northern line is secured, the patrol team can take over those three gray stations on the outer edge in one go."
Si Mo was so busy taking notes that his fingers were stiff, but he still nodded.
They waited from daytime until nightfall.
Three large lamps were erected on the north gate slope. The lamp oil was fully burned, and the flames flickered against the glass domes. Zhu Bajie squatted by the fire pit, munching on a cold pancake. Halfway through, he got up and glanced at the sea estuary. Yang Jian had returned once, his Heavenly Eye opened for a brief moment, then closed again, only saying that the ice belt was not in disarray, before leaning against the wooden stake and remaining still.
At the second watch of the night, there was finally movement at sea.
First came a very distant whistle, which dragged on for a long time.
Wukong's ears perked up first, and he turned around and scolded, "You really know how to pick your time to come back."
The people on the shore all stood up at once.
The white light shone out, and a black line slowly emerged from the white hull of Haikou. It was a ship. The bow of the foremost ship was chipped off, and the ironwood exterior was completely mangled, as if it had been gnawed on. Two long cracks in the ice trailed behind the ship. Further behind, the cargo ships were all intact.
The white dragon horse stood at the bow of the ship, a layer of ice forming on its shoulders. The long pole in its hand was broken in half, yet it was still clutched tightly.
As soon as the boat docked, the boatmen at the back collapsed onto the ground.
A young man, his shoes soaked through, clung to the edge of the boat, panting, but still laughing, "We made it! We really made it!"
Liu San Niang was the first to jump up and lift the curtain in the middle cabin.
Not a single basket of charcoal was missing.
The salt bags next to them were still dry. The rolls of coarse cloth at the very back, wrapped in three layers of oil paper, hadn't gotten wet at the edges.
Chen Fan then released his grip.
He didn't even realize that he had been pinching the loose thread on his cuff so hard it was about to break.
"What about the North Camp?" he asked.
White Dragon Horse tossed aside the broken pole, his voice a little hoarse: "Delivered. Manpower has been replenished. Salt was distributed first to the east outpost, and charcoal to the west slope. Four new pots were started over there last night, and the patrol team didn't let up on the fire."
Si Mo immediately flipped through the book to check.
"Sign it?"
The white dragon horse pulled a crumpled, stiff reply slip from its robes. The corners of the paper were frozen and curled, and the ink still had ice crystals on it. There weren't many words on it, and it was written in a hurry.
The three battalions on the northern front have been captured. Salt, cloth, and charcoal are sufficient. Border outposts can be maintained for another three days.
Chen Fan pressed the reply slip into the book without saying a word.
Just then, a series of heavy footsteps sounded from the south slope, like a long row of millstones rolling towards them. Everyone turned their heads and saw torches forming a line in the night fog. The Bull Demon King, riding a black-horned ox, led the caravan up the slope. The wheels were wide, the ruts deep, and the carts were covered with tarpaulins, the edges revealing the cold gleam of metal.
Before even getting close, he raised his voice: "You guys stole the credit over at Beihai, I won't argue with you. I only have one question: where are you unloading the salt from the warehouse?"
Pigsy jumped to his feet, forgetting all about the cake: "You actually brought the mountain salt?"
The Bull Demon King dismounted, and the sound of his boots hitting the ground was so loud it made the frozen earth thud.
"I personally oversaw the mine tunnel behind the mountain." He lifted the tarpaulin, revealing neatly arranged salt bricks, iron pots, short shovels, iron nails, locks, and bundles of forged thin iron sheets. "And the furnace bars that the Northern Camp specifically requested. The wind there is too strong; the old furnace openings couldn't withstand it."
Wukong walked over, casually picked up an iron pot, and weighed it in his hand.
"Okay, big guy. You didn't just rely on your voice this time."
The Bull Demon King snorted, "Enough nonsense. Two pack mules froze to death on the road, and I didn't stop."
Chen Fan looked up and saw the train convoy still climbing uphill in the night. As soon as one train came to a stop, another would push up behind it. Beneath the tarpaulin lay not only mountain salt and ironware, but also the breath and determination that everyone had accumulated over the past few days.
He turned and shouted towards the north gate warehouse, "Turn on the lights, clear the way, unload the pots first, then unload the salt bricks!"
The people in the courtyard immediately dispersed.
Some pulled the rope, some lifted the plank, and some carried the freshly boiled ginger water to the shore. The white dragon horse sat on the edge of the boat, wringing out the ice water from its boots. A patrolman ran over with a brazier, placed it at its feet, and seemed about to speak, but was a little hesitant.
The white dragon horse raised its head and nodded at the child.
The child then whispered, "The second message just came back from the Northern Camp."
"explain."
"They said the guard lights will remain on tonight."
A north wind blew straight in from Haikou, making the lampshade tremble slightly. The first iron pot that had been unloaded was already placed on a wooden block. Liu Sanniang grabbed a handful of snow, wiped it in the pot, and shouted, "This one is for the First Battalion of the North. Make a note of it!"
Si Mo responded and his pen flew across the paper.
Two boatmen were working together to move the charcoal baskets onto the cart. Pigsy, dragging the rope, grumbled and complained about their slow pace. Bull Demon King rolled up his sleeves and carried a box of furnace bars himself. White Dragon Horse sat for a while, then stood up and went to pull the rope again.
On the slope north of the gate, figures moved back and forth. One fire after another burned brightly.
The first wheelbarrow was still parked by the ditch, its wheels covered in white frost. The dark-faced old man finished half a bowl of ginger water, then silently straightened the handlebars and followed the salt carriers down the slope.
Chapter 738 Iron Stake Connects to the Big Dipper
The wind on the North Gate Slope was getting stronger.
The snow no longer fell in large flakes, but instead drifted down in clumps. Each clump was black, and it only dispersed three feet above the ground, as if someone above were shaking down handfuls of burnt paper ash.
Si Mo stood at the top of the slope, flipping through the newly signed booklet in his hand at lightning speed.
"North Seam 1, with a total of three landing points."
"North seam two, half a zhang to the east."
"North seam three, pasted on the old wall base."
With each sentence he read, he would dab the ink on the corner of the page. That dot of ink quickly turned black, and the edge of the page began to fray.
Chen Fan stood on the edge of the ditch, looking up at the sky.
The sky was cloudless and dry. But a thin, crooked crack, as if torn open by fingernails, stretched from the old star station all the way to the barren slope outside the city. That's where the black snow leaked down.
Wukong has already gone up.
He didn't use the ramp; instead, he pushed off with his foot and leaped up the half-collapsed wall to a higher point. His golden cudgel was held horizontally behind his shoulder, while his other hand carried the first iron stake. The stake was as thick as a forearm, entirely black, with three coils of copper wire wrapped around its head, and a number engraved at its end.
These are the foundation piles that were dug out of the old warehouse two nights ago.
It was originally used to nail the base of the copper wheel.
Now they're all being carried here to seal the seams.
"The first one, North One," Chen Fan shouted.
Wukong didn't turn around, and swung his arm to smash.
When the iron stake went down, the ground didn't blast, and the sound wasn't particularly loud, just a dull thud. Like a sledgehammer striking a hollow iron pot. The stake went three feet into the frozen soil, with half of its end still sticking out. The copper wire wrapped around it immediately tightened, making a soft crackling sound.
The cluster of black snow in mid-air suddenly paused.
It was originally spreading downwards, but when it reached the top of the stake, it seemed to bump into something, and the spreading edges pulled back to the center, drifting to the side with the wind.
"Write it down," Chen Fan said.
Si Mo lowered his head and wrote: "The north is pressed down, the snow is biased towards the east."
Pigsy carried the remaining iron stakes up the slope, white breath coming out of his nostrils.
"Old Pig finally understands. This thing isn't nailed to the ground; it's nailed to a vent."
As he spoke, he slammed the second one to the ground, the impact making the soles of his shoes go numb.
The Bull Demon King reached out and helped it up, preventing it from rolling down the slope.
"Enough talk, send it up."
"You sure know how to order people around."
Zhu Ganglie cursed, but his hands didn't stop; he bent down and carried another one.
The people transporting grain down the slope all avoided this side. No one dared to look up for long. As soon as the black snow fell near the fire, the flames would shorten. When it fell into the water, a layer of white film would immediately float on the surface. Liu Sanniang simply ordered people to move all the pots under the eaves, leaving only a few large stoves exposed to the wind to burn, specifically for charcoal to be obtained from this side.
The second iron stake was driven into the base of the old wall.
Wukong landed incredibly fast. With a light tap of his toes, he swept half a zhang to the side, thrusting the iron stake downwards in a backhand motion. The stake went in along the brick seam, barely splashing any dirt. But something inside the wall seemed startled by this attack; white steam first rose from the cracks, followed by tiny specks of ink seeping out.
"It's not soil," Yang Jian said from behind.
He had somehow arrived at the outer edge of the old star station, standing on the half-collapsed stone base. His Heavenly Eye was only slightly open, the golden mark between his brows glowing faintly as he stared at the ink spots flowing down the wall.
"It's Huimo."
Chen Fan glanced at him: "Can you pursue him?"
"able."
Yang Jian flicked his finger, drawing a thin, pale gold line that followed the flow of ink dots and burrowed into the stone base. A moment later, the end of the line trembled slightly.
"Next, the white page layer."
Upon hearing this, Si Mo paused for a moment as he picked up his pen.
The white page layer had already been pried open once before.
After the bronze wheel shattered, the layer of substance didn't completely dissipate, remaining like torn paper stuck to the sky above the north of the city. The black snowfall points are numbered and change positions, so it's most likely that it's rotating over there.
"Seal off seven stakes first," Chen Fan said. "The loop will be cut off later."
Wukong has already driven in the third nail.
The third stake veered the furthest, landing on a frozen patch of wasteland beyond the slope. That spot, previously neglected and overgrown with withered grass, now had white flakes clinging to its tips. Wukong first flattened the ground with his staff, then drove the iron stake in. The instant the stake sank into the earth, a series of low cracking sounds echoed from beneath, like ice seams forming in the shadows.
Immediately afterwards, the northern slit in the sky sank downwards.
It wasn't the whole thing that was sunken, but a section in the middle had visibly collapsed by about an inch, and the edges had curled up.
"There's a way." Wukong grinned.
He raised his hand and gestured: "The fourth one."
Zhu Ganglie threw the stake directly up.
The black iron stake spun and flew. Wukong caught it mid-air, flipped over, and used the momentum to land even further north. That place was very close to the old star station. The wind howled through the narrow channels of the broken tower, and listening to it for too long made one's head ache.
When the fourth pillar was lowered, the entire tower shook.
The thin frost that originally hung on the eaves of the tower fell off piece by piece, and instead of melting, it shrank to the size of a piece of paper with curled edges.
Chen Fan bent down and picked up a piece.
It feels light to the touch, not like ice, but more like crispy glutinous rice paper.
He squeezed it, and a little gray water seeped out from the middle of the paper, making his fingertips immediately feel cold.
"Don't touch it," Yang Jian shouted.
Chen Fan tossed the object into the charcoal brazier. The charcoal fire suddenly leaped up, emitting a wisp of blue smoke, but the smoke didn't rise; it just swirled around the rim of the brazier.
Yang Jian had already jumped down from the stone base.
He had somehow acquired a short blade in his hand, its narrow blade seemingly drawn from the moonlight. The moment he landed, the tip of the blade was already pressed against the outer edge of the stone base, carving along the golden line that had been there before.
It's not profound.
It simply dragged lightly along the stone surface.
A layer of white skin has been peeled off the stone.
The white skin was ridiculously thin, like wall plaster, yet shinier. Where the blade passed, dark patterns were revealed underneath, circling around the base of the old star station, finally twisting all the way towards the north seam.
"It really is the way," Si Mo said softly.
"It's not a road," Yang Jian said without looking up. "It's a loop."
He slashed even faster.
With each turn, the faint sound from inside the tower grew louder, as if someone were scratching the wall with their fingernails. At the third spot, a thin white thread, as fine as a hair, shot out from a crack in the stone and was being pulled upwards.
Yang Jian flicked his wrist.
The white silk thread broke in half, and the cut end burst open, scattering scraps of paper all over his sleeve.
He didn't even frown; he just flicked his sleeve and continued carving.
While things were breaking down here, Wukong didn't stop there either.
The fifth iron stake was driven directly below the widest part of the north rift.
The wind was fiercest there, and the black snow was densest. Just getting close was enough to cover one's hair with a layer of gray. Wukong didn't try to withstand it head-on; instead, he slammed his golden cudgel horizontally on the ground. The cudgel immediately thickened, like half a bridge spanning a ridge, cutting a slit in the wind. The black snow slid along the sides of the cudgel, creating a brief opening in the middle.
He landed on the stake in that instant.
"Go in!"
With a kick, the iron stake sank in all the way to the root.
The northern rift in the sky suddenly trembled.
The previously scattered, numbered black snow dots suddenly became fully visible. It was as if someone had scattered a page of an account book in mid-air, the dots, the grids, the faint ink marks all brightening for a moment. North 1, North 3, North 5, and several other old landing points were all right inside the stake lines.
Si Mo's breathing tightened as he watched, and he wrote furiously, the ink almost spilling off the page.
Chen Fan took the booklet, glanced at it, and pointed north.
"Six or seven roots, including the tail."
"Where's the tail?" Zhu Ganglie shouted.
Yang Jian suddenly spoke up: "Behind the tower."
Everyone turned their heads at the same time.
The old star station's north rear wall had long since collapsed, leaving only half a stone stack. What was once buried in snow beneath the stack now revealed a bright white object, like half a turned-out page of paper. The corner of the page kept arching upwards, and with each arch, the northern seam in the sky seemed to twitch.
"That's it," Chen Fan said.
Wukong didn't wait for the second sentence.
He grabbed the sixth iron stake and ran across the stone base outside the tower. The stone base was narrow, and the footholds were covered with frost and cracks, but he didn't slow down. When he reached the stone pile, he smashed it down with his club, firmly pressing down the upward-arching white corner.
White Horn is still struggling.
Pressing down on the rod and pushing it outwards, it made a soft "creaking" sound.
Wukong lowered his arm and used his other hand to drive the iron stake straight down.
This time, the sound was crisper than the previous ones.
Like a nail piercing through a thin wooden board.
The area behind the stone stack immediately fell silent.
The black snow in the sky also thinned out.
"The last one!" the Bull Demon King roared from below.
As the seventh iron stake was thrown up, Yang Jian's knife was just carving the last section.
That section of wire was the deepest, winding halfway around the base of the tower, its end connecting directly to the back of that white corner piece. If it wasn't nailed in place first, it would bounce back when the seventh wire was dropped.
Yang Jian flicked his wrist, and the short blade made a diagonal cut.
The white bark was flipped up, revealing the dark blue stone veins underneath. Light was moving within the stone veins, a thin wisp of light darting towards the white bark layer.
"Sever."
He uttered a single word.
The blade pressed down.
The light was extinguished on the spot.
At the same moment, Wukong had already sent the seventh iron stake into the northernmost part. The seven stakes, in a line, stretched from the base of the old wall all the way to the stone pier behind the pagoda, completely encircling the densest points of the northern seam. The copper wire at the head of each stake now glowed, not gold, nor fire, but rather like the dark bluish light reflected from wet iron on a rainy night.
They hooked up at the crack of dawn.
A sealing line slowly emerged from the ground, crooked and ugly, but hard enough.
The white page that was spread out in mid-air trembled first, and then split in the middle. It didn't flip to the sides, but just rolled inward, forming a narrow strip, as if someone had casually picked it up and stuffed it back into the crack.
The black snow is still falling.
The quantity was reduced by more than half.
What used to be clusters are now just a few scattered pieces, which are hit outside the stake line and no longer produce a white film when they hit the ground.
The people on the slope fell silent for a moment.
Zhu Ganglie was the first to exhale a heavy breath, threw the hook in his hand to the ground, and sat down directly in the snow.
"Damn it, at least it's not like they're pouring ashes on my head anymore."
Liu San Niang brought up a pot of boiling ginger soup, first handing a bowl to Si Mo, and then handing it to Chen Fan.
"Let it burn your hands first, then you can talk."
Chen Fan took it, but didn't drink it. He looked up at the tower behind him.
Wukong was squatting beside the last stake, tapping the top of the stake with his fingers, listening to the echo inside. Yang Jian, on the other hand, sheathed his short blade, bent down, and tore off a piece of the white skin that had been turned up, examining it closely between his fingers.
When the wind passed, the white skin still tried to stick up.
Yang Jian pinched two fingers together and crushed it.
The snowflakes landed on the edge of the boots, melting as soon as they touched the snow, leaving only a shallow wet trail on the ground.
Wukong turned around and asked, "Should we still fix it?"
Chen Fan walked over and squatted down to look at the sealing line.
The line is still there, and the seven stakes are stable. The northernmost section of soil is slightly undulating, as if there is still some air underneath.
He reached out and pressed his hand against the ground, feeling a slight tremor in his palm.
"No need to patch the piles," he said. "Just apply mortar and leave it overnight."
Liu Sanniang, who had heard this from behind, turned around and rushed down the slope shouting, "Bring up the ashes! Fine ashes, not coarse charcoal ash!"
Si Mo followed, holding the booklet, and squatted down beside the seventh stake to add the last entry.
"The seven stakes at the north seam are now connected. The external loop road to the star station is now closed."
He blew on the ink, then looked up at the sky.
The crack is still there.
It's become much thinner.
Like a cracked porcelain rim, it was first wrapped with black thread.
Wukong slung his golden cudgel over his shoulder, jumped down from behind the tower, his shoes kicking up a layer of frost. He walked over to Chen Fan and glanced at the booklet.
"Is it written down?"
Si Mo nodded.
Wukong raised his hand and slapped the last post again.
"Then let it behave for one night."