The third watch was near, and the entire city was under curfew.
The clamor of hauling logs and boulders during the day had faded completely. Along the northern section of Zhenbei Pass’s city wall, only the lingering echoes of the night watchman’s drum and the long wind from beyond the frontier remained.
Tie Lanshan still wore his armor, unbuckled.
When he located the command tent, Xu Qinghuan stood before the northern frontier map, using the candlelight to tally the grain and fodder accounts of the various battalions.
“Magistrate Xu, the wind bites hard at the wall. Care to take a walk with me along the northern section?” Tie Lanshan stood at the tent flap, lifting one side of the felt curtain.
On the eve of battle, the seasoned general’s face betrayed no panic, carrying instead a steady, anchor-like composure.
Xu Qinghuan set down her vermilion brush, adjusted the cloak on her shoulders, and stepped out of the tent. “I was about to suggest the same. Lead the way, Grand Marshal.”
The two walked one after the other up the horse ramp leading to the wall.
The night pressed down, heavy and dark. Every ten paces along the wall, logs soaked in oil were stacked high.
The charcoal fires in the windproof braziers had been deliberately banked low, leaving only a few dim embers flickering in the night breeze.
Soldiers in iron armor curled up in the shelter of the crenellations, dozing.
At the sound of officers ascending—the clink of armor scales—a few veterans braced themselves on their spears and began to rise for a salute.
Tie Lanshan raised a hand, gesturing for them to rest.
He strode with heavy steps along the battlements toward the northern section, using the dim firelight to inspect the newly mounted bolt-throwers.
The ox sinew on the winches had already been thoroughly soaked in tung oil, gleaming with a cold, dark luster.
At the base of a wall section, Tie Lanshan halted.
He raised his right hand, still gloved in leather, and struck the wall twice with heavy thuds.
Thump. Thump.
The sound that echoed in the night wind was a dull, solid thud.
An ordinary rammed-earth wall under such a blow would have shaken loose a few grains of dirt.
But this surface was smooth and even, rebuffing the force of the blow without a speck of dust falling.
Tie Lanshan turned his head to look at Xu Qinghuan beside him, shifting the topic. “Almost forgot an amusing tale I owe you, Magistrate Xu.”
“Pray tell, Grand Marshal.”
“The other day, when we were repairing the defenses, the craftsmen came to inspect the quality of this new wall section. Later, idly chatting with me, they mentioned that the method for building this wall came from the mansion of a nobleman in the capital.”
Tie Lanshan rubbed his fingers along the rough surface. “It was the work of your father, Xu Youde himself.”
Xu Qinghuan’s hand, clutching her cloak, paused.
She turned her face, her gaze falling on the wall bricks illuminated by the brazier, and asked bluntly, “Is the marshal referring to that 'Heavenly Palace Wall'?”
“Exactly!”
Tie Lanshan laughed heartily.
“This wall’s mortar mix contains a secret recipe, and iron bars and steel ribs were embedded in the wall core for reinforcement.
Once set, its hardness surpasses that old section of century-old blue bricks by threefold.
When the barbarians’ stone artillery strikes it, it leaves at most a faint white mark, without peeling off a single piece of plaster.”
Xu Qinghuan removed half her glove, extended a fingertip, and pressed it against the cold wall surface.
Running it along the joint of compacted earth, the material felt fine, dense, fiercely cold, and free of dust.
That was back in Taoyuan...
“I’ve no idea which master craftsman named it, calling it ‘Heavenly Palace,’” Tie Lanshan said, pulling back his hand with a tone of admiration.
“They say this wall is too hard to belong to the mortal world, as if it were brickwork fallen from the celestial palace.
As I mull over the name, Magistrate Xu, it suits your style perfectly.
In business, you’ve always had a knack for turning ordinary things into mysteries that others can’t fathom.”
Tie Lanshan lowered his voice, leaning half a step closer.
“From reliable palace sources, I hear this formula was personally presented to His Majesty by Magistrate Xu back then. With the emperor’s approval, it was allowed for trial construction at several strategic passes along the border.
This foresight of yours, Magistrate Xu, has truly saved Zhenbei Pass.”
Presented to His Majesty?
Xu Qinghuan stood frozen on the spot.
Those four words dredged up years-old memories pressed deep in her mind.
She looked down at the dust on her fingertips and couldn’t help letting out a low laugh.
“The marshal speaks truly—this thing was indeed produced by my family.”
Xu Qinghuan brushed the dust from her fingers. “But it was originally a case of making a mistake that turned into a fortunate accident, a mere unintended result.”
Tie Lanshan took it as the modest words of a noblewoman, and his spirits rose all the more.
He slapped the battlement with a resounding hand. “Intentional or not, what does it matter! Those barbarian battering rams and stone-throwing trebuchets could usually chew a breach in a rammed-earth wall in just two or three volleys. Now, facing this Heavenly Palace wall, I’ll have them break all their teeth below the pass!”
“Come, Magistrate Xu, follow me for a closer look at the base of this new wall section.”
In high spirits, Tie Lanshan strode down the horse ramp.
Qingque walked ahead, holding a windproof lantern.
The dim yellow glow fell on the wall, revealing the distinctive gray-white undertone of the material.
At the sheltered base of the wall, an old soldier with one eye was on guard.
He crouched on the ground, sharpening a chipped saber on a piece of bluestone.
Hearing footsteps, the old soldier looked up, saw the Grand Marshal himself, hastily dropped the whetstone, knelt on one knee, and saluted.
“At ease.”
Tie Lanshan raised a hand, recognizing the soldier by the lantern light. “Wang Shuan, you’ve been guarding this wall section for a few days. What do you think of it?”
Wang Shuan stood up, grinning wide to reveal a mouthful of broken teeth:
“Marshal, this wall is downright eerie! A few days ago, I tried chopping it with the flat of my blade—my whole hand went numb from the shock, and the wall didn’t even get a scratch.”
“If those barbarians really want to ram their heads into the wall, they’ll just be smashing themselves to death for free!”
Wang Shuan grew more excited as he spoke, slapping his calloused hand against the wall. “Commander, my worthless son died in one of the early battles years ago.
He was guarding that old crumbling wall around the city back then. The barbarians knocked half of it down with just one round of catapults, burying him along with the bricks.
The old soldier’s voice dropped low. A murky glint of tears flickered in his one good eye, but he blinked it away fiercely. “Now that we have this Celestial Wall standing here, this old bag of bones dares to hold off the barbarians on the ramparts for a few more days—on behalf of my dead boy!”
Every word Wang Shuan uttered thudded like a stone against the cold wind.
Xu Qinghuan crouched down, examining the mortar seams at the base of the wall by the lantern light held by Qingque.
The mortar in the cracks had solidified into a single block, not a single fissure in sight.
“General, when was this section of wall built?”
Xu Qinghuan looked up and asked.
Tie Lanshan stood stunned for a moment before counting on his fingers. “About this spring when construction started. The Ministry of Works sent the materials down, and conscripted laborers from all over the passes worked day and night for two months.”
Spring.
Xu Qinghuan rose to her feet within the glow of the lantern, her thoughts drifting back to a memory that felt distant yet vivid.
That was just after she had transmigrated into the Great Qian Dynasty.
Her original intent was simply to squander her family fortune, to become a notorious spendthrift and seek exile as a way out.
Old Man Li, a craftsman from the workshops south of the city, had gotten drunk and forgotten to dispose of some waste residue.
That pile of leftover sludge, mixed with lime and clay, met water and hardened into a rock-like mass as tough as pig iron. Even a sledgehammer striking it only sent sparks flying.
She had recognized the nature of this material immediately.
It was by no means a divine gift—just dead ash that could neither be recycled nor sold.
A perfect excuse for wastefulness.
Effortlessly, she threw down a hundred taels of silver, forcibly buying the exclusive formula for this waste residue.
She strictly ordered the craftsmen to keep silent and monopolized the entire supply of this mortar in the Xu family’s hands.
She hired workers to spread the mortar across the streets of Taoyuan County, turning the thoroughfares into smooth, stone-like pavements.
To deliberately stir up public anger, she enacted absurd regulations.
She formed a squad of burly men to patrol the streets, carrying water hoses to wash the pavement.
Any cart or carriage leaving a muddy trail was fined a heavy sum on the spot.
She even priced this mortar—which cost less than one tael per stone to produce—at an exorbitant fifteen taels per stone.
All she sought were four words: rich and ruthless.
Who could have guessed that such outrageous behavior, in the eyes of the imperial inspector Song Yubai on his tour of the capital, would take on a different meaning?
Song Yubai concluded that the mortar required deep-sea quarrying, extreme-north ash collecting, and even mixing with rare medicinal ingredients.
In his mouth, the price of fifteen taels per stone became a “loss-generating price” that was exhausting the Xu family’s wealth.
He praised Xu Qinghuan everywhere for bankrupting herself to help the realm, for having the character of a true patriot.
Then, this strange wind reached the ears of the third prince, Xiao Jingyan.
And Xiao Jingyan? He was an even bigger factor. He saw this act as a brilliant scheme.
He even claimed that Xu Qinghuan was forcing the hoarded silver of the capital’s wealthy merchants into circulation, turning it into living capital for building roads and bridges and providing relief for displaced laborers.
Finally, an imperial edict descended.
The Emperor confiscated the workshop for this mortar and designated it as state property under the name “Celestial Mortar” to be used for building border fortifications.
She had originally wanted nothing more than to earn herself a reputation lasting a thousand years for folly.
But after all the twists and turns, here it was—this dead material she had created purely to squander her family fortune—
Spanning a thousand miles, had become the “Celestial Wall” holding back Helian Tiefutu’s heavy cavalry here at Zhenbei Pass.
Xu Qinghuan stood up, brushing the dust off her hands.
She gazed at the indestructible city wall under the night sky and laughed once more to herself.
The twists of fate in this world—truly more absurd than any play.
