Chapter 046: An Unfriendly Visitor

Chapter 046: Trouble Approaches

"I own a gun, cherished for eighteen years, waiting quietly to bloom. Day and night, I long for the battle—oh lovely maiden, come forth and fight…"

Having just toyed with the thorny little cabbage in his mind, the pig in question felt elated; the little one beneath his robe swelled with pride, head held high and unchallenged. Humming a bawdy song he’d modified in his previous life, he descended the mountain with ease, oblivious to the changing expressions of Dun Wu behind him—from confusion, to doubt, to sudden understanding, ending in a helpless smile and sigh.

Wei Ba was unaware that his imposing image among his subordinates had crumbled to dust. Grinning, he returned to camp and immediately spotted the beautiful wheelchair. As he’d requested, only a single layer of varnish had been applied, leaving the wood’s natural color exposed; no carvings adorned it. An ordinary wheelchair, yet it exuded a touch of technological elegance.

“So soon?” Wei Ba inspected it from every angle, slapped it forcefully, pushed it a few steps, then tried out the functions he’d designed one by one. He was very satisfied, if a little surprised. The wheelchair was actually quite complex, and to have it finished in just a day and night was proof of the carpenter’s remarkable skill.

“The young general treats his servants well, so they work with spirit,” Peng Xiaoyu said, carrying a wooden basin out from the tent, just catching Wei Ba’s words. Wei Ba patted the wheelchair and laughed, “It’s not that I treat them well—it’s thanks to your timely reminder. So, have you tried it yet?”

“I have. It’s even better than I expected,” Peng Xiaoyu poured out the water, set down the basin, wiped her hands on the wall, then pushed the wheelchair a few steps. With concern, she said, “It looks heavy, but it’s effortless to push. I suppose there’s plenty of grease in the axle.”

In these times, there was no synthetic lubricant; animal fat was used instead. This high-fat, high-cholesterol grease was considered junk food in later ages, but now it was a treasure. For someone like Peng Xiaoyu, who rarely tasted meat even once a year, finding a piece of fat in her meal was a rarity. Using so much fragrant grease for a cart seemed like extravagance, even wastefulness, to her.

Wei Ba chuckled and pushed the wheelchair into the tent. Fu Xing lay on his bed, having overheard Wei Ba and Peng Xiaoyu’s conversation and knowing the wheelchair had arrived. After days of gloom, his heart felt as if the clouds had parted and the sun shone through, so much so he was eager beyond words. When Wei Ba entered with the wheelchair, his gaze fixed on it, reluctant to look away.

“Zhongjian, come, try it out. If there’s any problem, I’ll fix it. If not, today’s a good chance to attend that gathering.” Wei Ba said, placing the wheelchair by the cot, carefully picking up Fu Xing and gently settling him in.

Fu Xing was nervous, fearing Wei Ba’s strength would fail and he’d be tossed onto the chair—then he’d suffer. Luckily, Wei Ba’s training had paid off; he carried him easily and settled him without trouble. Fu Xing’s injured legs were splinted and couldn’t bend, but Wei Ba had anticipated this, designing a flat board to support them. If Fu Xing grew tired of sitting, the backrest could be lowered, turning it into a stretcher for lying down.

Fu Xing tested the features, wheeled himself a few steps in a circle, and gratefully said, “Ah Ba, your mind… truly leaves me in the dust. How did you ever… how did you think of such a clever contraption? It’s like the work of gods!”

Wei Ba laughed with pride, “Such fine words, save them for the carpenter. In front of others, don’t say I made it, or my reputation will really be ruined.”

Fu Xing nodded understandingly. He knew better than Wei Ba that for an official’s son, having skillful hands was at best a complement, never the foundation for making a name.

Soon after, Zhuge Qiao sent for them again. Wei Ba, knowing it was hopeless to avoid, decided not to resist pointlessly and agreed with a devil-may-care attitude. He brought Dun Wu and several guards, with Fu Xing’s personal attendant pushing the wheelchair, and together they headed to the central camp. As they reached the entrance, Zhuge Qiao came out to greet them. Just as he began to speak, he spotted Fu Xing in the wheelchair and paused, then exclaimed with delight, “Zhongjian, you’re up?”

Fu Xing smiled, “Not quite mobile yet, but with this chair, I don’t have to be cooped up in the tent. I heard there’s a gathering today, so I came to join the fun.”

Zhuge Qiao was overjoyed, affectionately patting Fu Xing’s shoulder. “Look at you, what are you saying? It’s my fault—I didn’t expect you’d be up so soon. If I’d known, I’d certainly have invited you. This chair… new?”

Zhuge Qiao’s gaze shifted to Wei Ba, clearly assuming he was the inventor. Wei Ba shrugged helplessly, “Made by the carpenter in the supply camp. I merely offered a few suggestions.”

Zhuge Qiao laughed, “Brother Wei, you’re impossible to fathom. I thought nothing would surprise me anymore, but now you’ve created this chair in such a short time—I’m at a loss for words.”

“It’s nothing, nothing, just some trivial skills,” Wei Ba cut off Zhuge Qiao’s praise, pulling him inside. “You came out to greet me—am I too early? Are the others not here yet?”

“You’re too modest. With your talents, how could I not come to greet you?” Zhuge Qiao said, half in jest, taking Wei Ba by the arm and leading them into the camp.

Upon entering, Wei Ba was startled. On the open ground before the tent sat twenty or thirty young men, gathered in groups. Some whispered and laughed, some fiddled with their weapons, probably warming up, while others sat quietly, waiting for the competition to begin. The tent door was half open, obscuring the interior, but the absence of anyone blocking the way suggested someone of unusual status was within.

As Zhuge Qiao led Wei Ba and the others into view, a stir arose; those scattered about all turned their gaze toward him—some with envy, some with resentment, some curious, some admiring—a mix of emotions. Soon, some noticed Fu Xing’s wheelchair, and a few young men cried out, standing up and gathering around him, offering concerned greetings.

“These are my good friends,” Fu Xing said to Wei Ba, “This is Feng Jin, son of the late Commander Feng; this is Zhang Wei, son of the late General Zhang…”

Wei Ba immediately understood: these were the sons of officers who had followed Liu Bei in the campaign against Wu and died in battle. All from the same province, sharing similar fates, naturally drawing closer. He hurried forward to pay his respects. Feng Jin and Zhang Wei, seeing how well he cared for Fu Xing, were pleased and exchanged a few polite words.

“Nice chair!” A young man in scholar’s robes approached, neither speaking to Wei Ba nor greeting Fu Xing in the wheelchair, nor offering a single word of concern, but immediately fixating on the wheelchair. He circled it twice, then looked up, smiling broadly at Wei Ba, “Master Wei, truly skillful hands—surely this is your labor of love?”

Wei Ba instantly sensed the wrong tone, and seeing the fake smile, knew trouble was brewing. He had no intention of causing a scene today, only wanted to keep the peace, smooth relations, and mitigate the fallout from his father’s notorious temper. Thus, knowing this fellow was no friend, he still cupped his hands and replied modestly, “Not at all, it was made by the camp’s craftsmen—I didn’t contribute much. And you are…?”

Zhuge Qiao’s brow tightened slightly, “Yuanxiu, don’t be absurd. It’s just a little cart—how could it be Master Wei’s magnum opus? Brother Wei is a man of great talent; he wouldn’t waste his mind on trifles.” Turning to Wei Ba, he apologized, “Yang Wei, son of Staff Officer Yang Yi—brilliant, good-natured, just a bit acerbic. You may find him hard to take at first, but in time you’ll see he’s actually warm-hearted.”

Wei Ba sighed inwardly. Whether Zhuge Qiao spoke truth or not, since this lad was Yang Yi’s son, it seemed he’d only experience his acerbity, never his warmth. He kept calm and responded politely, “Ah, Master Yang, I’ve heard much of you.”

Yang Wei’s cheek twitched, his eyes flicking, yet he kept up his insincere smile, “It should be I who’s heard much of you, Master Wei. These days, your name is on everyone’s lips.”

“Embarrassing, embarrassing,” Wei Ba thought, sending Zhuge Qiao a pleading glance to remove the troublemaker before things escalated. But Zhuge Qiao, annoyed, glared at Yang Wei, oblivious to his signals. Yang Wei, too, ignored Zhuge Qiao’s displeasure and continued, “Master Wei truly should be embarrassed.”

Wei Ba rubbed his brow in resignation, “Master Yang, please enlighten me.”

Yang Wei patted the wheelchair in exaggerated fashion, raised his voice, and deliberately made sure all could hear. “We know Master Wei’s name, not only for his astonishing performance in the supply camp, but for his ingenious skills—he invented the iron spade, and a new bookkeeping method soon to be implemented across the land. Many will benefit from it, and of course, the Wei family will profit handsomely from selling these new ledger pages. Ha ha ha…”

He laughed as if heartily, but few joined in—most remained neutral, neither supporting him nor rescuing Wei Ba.

“But, though Master Wei is skilled, he’s stingy. Fu Zhongjian is your benefactor; making him a chair is only right, but must you be so miserly? Look—the whole chair lacks ornament, not even a proper coat of paint. Isn’t that… isn’t that too stingy? Is this the family tradition of the General of the North?”

—First update of the day! Asking for recommendation votes, favorites, and especially Three Rivers votes! As the saying goes, a good start is half the battle. Old Zhuang calls for extra chapters to rally Three Rivers votes! Let’s get excited together!