Chapter 43: The Embroidered Flag Stands Unfallen, Echoes Resound Where the Wind Passes

Daylight inched up the window lattice, and the Shen family’s small courtyard awoke.
Shen Guilan pushed open the courtyard gate, her fingers brushing lightly against a bundle of dried mugwort newly added to the door knocker.
The grass was already withered and yellowish, but it still carried a bitter, medicinal scent.
She didn’t pause, acting as though she had merely brushed past some weeds blown by the wind, but deep within her eyes, a flash of light appeared.
This was an unspoken signal among the village women—I support you.
Without turning back, she walked straight to the newly set embroidery frame.
Half an hour later, Madam Liu entered the embroidery workshop with a heart full of worries.
Shen Guilan did not raise her head, only saying indifferently, "First day, just watch. Do not rush to work." Madam Liu nervously gave an affirmative response, retreated into a corner to sit down, her heart hammering violently.
She did not know whether her cough of the previous night and the meager goodwill she had offered could buy her a path to survival.
Close to lunchtime, Shen Guilan’s daughter, Xiuwei, brought over a bowl of hot ginger soup, speaking in a voice just loud enough for everyone to hear: "Aunt Liu, my mother said you coughed terribly last night. The wind is strong; drink this to warm yourself."
As soon as the words left her mouth, every eye in the room turned toward them—some astonished, some resentful, and others deep in thought.
Madam Liu took the coarse porcelain bowl, the warmth transferring from her palms straight to her chest. She quickly lowered her head, afraid others would see her reddened eyes.
No one knew that in Shen Guilan’s ledger, a line had long been written: "Madam Liu, first day of teaching skills, three days of wages waived."
Unspoken assistance was exchanged for unspoken gratitude and unmistakable protection.
This proved far more effective than shouting a hundred slogans.
By the afternoon, the sun had grown fierce.
Hunter Ma, carrying his bow on his back, strode toward the entrance of the village.
He casually glanced at the Shen family’s drying rack, where the embroidery piece "Double Eagles Fighting the Clouds," which he had always mocked, was still hanging.
Illuminated by the sunlight, the embroidered wings of the eagles seemed to flash with a cold light, sharp enough to slice through dark clouds.
Just as he was about to laugh, his steps came to a halt.
In front of the drying rack, Sister Tian, usually the most timid woman in the village, was leading her two daughters to look up at it.
While looking, she traced patterns in the air with her fingers, as if trying to learn those complex needle techniques.
Her younger daughter tugged at her hem and asked loudly, "Mom, is this eagle just like Aunt Shen—afraid of neither the wind nor bad people?"
The child's words struck Hunter Ma like a physical blow.
He opened his mouth, but the phrase "just women's trinkets" was forcibly swallowed back down.
He suddenly remembered his sickly younger sister, who had once used such bright eyes to watch others do needlework.
Without a word, he turned around and gently placed a bundle of newly peeled deer skin by the woodpile outside the Shen family’s courtyard.
A piece of paper was pinned to the deer skin, bearing scrawled handwriting: "For moisture prevention."
Long after he had left, Shen Guilan came out and immediately spotted the conspicuous bundle of deer skin.
She walked over, untied the straw rope, and unfolded the deer skin, releasing a pungent wave of blood and animal pelt.
Right there in the interlayer of the hide, a charcoal-drawn topographic map of the Southern Ridge was revealed.
The map marked three hidden water sources and two secret paths unknown to others, clearly detailing routes that could bypass the imperial guards' checkpoints.
It was Gu Changshan’s handwriting—a life-saving map delivered through the hunter’s hands!
Shen Guilan’s heart skipped a beat, but her expression remained unchanged.
She immediately traced copies of the map onto several pieces of white silk and summoned the six steadiest-handed apprentices in the workshop.
"From today on, drop your other work and focus entirely on embroidering this." She distributed the silk pieces, her voice cold and resolute. "This map is called the 'Mountain Trail Guide.' Each piece must be embroidered using the cracked-ice stitch to conceal a water route within it. Once finished, uniformly embroider the four characters 'May the Mountains Bless and the Village Remain Safe' upon them."
The apprentices did not understand, but they dared not ask.
Shen Guilan announced the new rule publicly: "These maps are not for sale; they are for trade. Whoever joins the village night patrols, for every full three days of patrolling, can exchange their work points for one map. Remember, they are not given for free—they are earned through the hardship of guarding our village!"
With these words, the entire village exploded with excitement. These few pieces of cloth had suddenly become more sought-after than rice!
The news reached Madam Zhang’s courtyard.
Li Cuihua hid in a corner, lowering her voice as she cursed, "Insane! Does she really think she’s the savior of the world? Daring to claim credit over a few rags, bah!"
"Shut your mouth!" Madam Zhang whipped around, glaring at her with eyes full of warning. "Last time your sachet was searched out and disgraced me in front of everyone! Let me tell you, if you dare cause trouble again, I will tell your husband about the two taels of private savings you’ve hidden under your bed!"
Terrified, Li Cuihua shrank back, her face turning pale. Madam Zhang actually knew her secret!
Just as she tried to argue, a strange chuckle came from the doorway.
The local ruffian Zhao Dayang leaned sideways against the doorframe, revealing his yellow teeth, "Oh, you're all here? Sister Cuihua, you said you'd return the eight qian of silver you owe me today. Aren't you going to give an explanation?"
With Madam Zhang's threats in front and a debt collector blocking the exit behind her,
Li Cuihua panicked and turned to flee through the back alley.
As soon as she entered the alley, a figure blocked her path.
It was Xiuwei.
The young girl handed over a slip of paper, expressionless, "Aunt Li, my mother asked me to post this month's workshop wage list at the village entrance, and by the way, to let you take a look at this copy."
Li Cuihua took a look, and the paper clearly stated: Madam Liu, one hundred and twenty wen; Madam Tian, ninety wen... seven names in total, each followed by a solid, tangible income.
At the very bottom of the list, a line of small text slapped her right across the face:
"Li Cuihua: No labor, no points."
Deep into the night, the wind howled fiercely.
Shen Guilan sat beneath the lamp, clicking the abacus to check the final account.
Outside the window, the wind lashed against the "Mountain Trail Guide" hanging on the drying rack, the fabric fluttering like banners about to take flight.
Suddenly, a slight sound came from the woodpile in the back courtyard, like dry branches snapping underfoot.
The abacus beads beneath her fingers did not miss a beat, clicking together with unwavering steadiness.
Yet her other hand quietly fished the longest embroidery needle out of the sewing basket, its tip concealed between her fingers, flashing with a cold light.
After a few seconds of dead silence, a dark figure emerged from behind the woodpile.
Tall, draped in a new animal pelt—it was Gu Changshan.
He carried a basket of mountain walnuts, his footsteps as light as falling leaves.
"The guards at Southern Ridge have been replaced," he pressed close to the window, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "In three days, a merchant caravan will cross Qinghe Ferry. What they are transporting is not salt—it is medicine."
Shen Guilan’s gaze sharpened.
At a time when the village was blockaded and food was cut off, medicine was far more dangerous than grain, signaling that a major event was surely brewing behind the scenes.
She nodded, took a newly completed piece of embroidery from the frame, and handed it over.
It was "The Solitary Pine Standing in the Snow," depicting a pine tree standing firm amidst wind and snow. Its trunk was rigid, its stitches dense, exuding a fierce, unyielding stubbornness that would rather snap than bend.
Gu Changshan took it, staring at it for a long time, as if etching the pine, the snow, and the spine within those stitches deep into his heart.
He carefully tucked the embroidery close to his body, turned to leave, but then paused, uttering an uncharacteristic remark:
"Hunter Ma asked me to pass along a message... his younger sister wishes to learn embroidery."
Before his voice had even faded, he vanished into the night.
The wind grew even more violent, and the six "Mountain Trail Guide" banners in the courtyard flapped noisily, like a host of flags refusing to fall.