Chapter Sixty-Six: Crafting Mosquito Coils

Master Zhu shook his head. Though the Bai family rampaged through North County City with unchecked arrogance, they still exercised some restraint before officials arriving from the capital of Junluo. If they were to act with further impunity, naturally, punishment would await them.

“Perhaps he does not dare.”

By now, Lady Zhilian from the Drunken Flower Pavilion had called upon them several times. With no other recourse, Master Zhu had been sent as an intermediary.

“Brother Han, there is another matter in which we require your assistance. Will you truly not see Lady Zhilian?” He sounded him out, his tone probing.

It was true that the fault lay with them, but it was not right to place all blame upon others.

“It’s not that. The timing is simply not right. Besides, why would she wish to see me? Is it not because she wishes to apprehend the true culprit behind this case?” Han Qing spoke slowly, his voice calm. He had long since discerned her intentions.

“But you have seen it yourself—the evidence is lacking. There is no way the Bai family will truly be brought to justice.” Han Qing’s words were cold, cutting. In this matter, she had shown an uncharacteristic foolishness. She, who had always been so composed, had misstepped at this juncture.

“Shall I try persuading her again?”

Han Qing shook his head. The situation was already a deadlock. Breaking through would be exceedingly difficult. It would not be long before the Bai family found a scapegoat, and the matter would fade into oblivion. The Drunken Flower Pavilion would certainly suffer as well. But what of it? It was Master Zhu who had invested in the establishment, even hoping for a larger share of the profits. Let him worry alone.

“Husband, perhaps I ought not wear this jade any longer. It has already brought us so much trouble,” Jiang Xiuxiu said sorrowfully, tears shimmering in her eyes. She feared that wearing the jade might bring even greater calamity upon them, casting the entire Han family into peril.

“Xiuxiu, this is not your fault. It is they who are blinded by greed. I gave you this jade, and jade is believed to bring peace and protection,” Han Qing comforted her gently, holding her close. His young wife had nearly been frightened out of her wits.

But as he looked, he noticed several red marks on her hand. “What’s this?”

“Perhaps a small insect bit me,” she replied softly, feeling warmth in her heart.

Later, back in their room, he too found his arm itching with red spots. It wasn’t yet summer—why, then, so many mosquitoes? He felt a twinge of annoyance. There was nothing to drive the pests away in this place.

Was he simply to endure it? At night, the ceaseless buzzing of mosquitoes filled the air, truly testing his patience. Yet he noticed that in the courtyard, where camphor trees grew, mosquitoes were far fewer. It was common for ordinary families to plant camphor trees for this very reason. An excellent solution for the outdoors—but indoors?

Most people simply bore with it. Han Qing, however, was unwilling to just suffer through, especially as it was only early spring. In a few months, when summer arrived, the mosquitoes would be innumerable. Suddenly, an idea struck him: since nothing here repelled mosquitoes, what if he made something himself? Such an item would surely sell well.

He quickly sought out a few capable men. Some among them were refugees, displaced and with nowhere left to go. Upon hearing Han Qing would take them in, they felt immense gratitude.

“Go and see if you can find places where camphor trees grow in abundance,” he instructed them.

The men set out loyally, fanning across the city—east, west, and into the nearby homes of townsfolk—inquiring everywhere.

In his own courtyard, Han Qing cut a small piece from a camphor tree and ground it finely, adding in the stems of night-blooming jasmine and other mosquito-repelling plants, blending them together. The shape of the mosquito coil took form. That very night, he burned one in his study.

The next morning, he felt no discomfort, nor did he hear the incessant drone of mosquitoes. His exposed skin showed no red spots. Evidently, his mosquito coil had succeeded.

He swiftly placed his creation in the side rooms of the courtyard. The effect was remarkable.

Soon, his men returned with their findings. “Young Master Han, most families have only one or two camphor trees, but near Clear Water Lake, there are vast groves of them.”

An ideal location. Since the saltworks were also situated there, he could repurpose a few buildings to produce mosquito coils, saving much effort.

But advertising such a thing would be a challenge. The locals had never seen mosquito coils before; how could they be expected to trust this invention? There was no need to rush. Step by step, he would proceed.

When Han Qing returned from Clear Water Lake, night had fallen and the streets were nearly deserted. He had intended only to observe the area, but finding that many still did not grasp how to make mosquito coils, he personally demonstrated the process, teaching them himself.

Yet all along the way, he felt an odd sense of unease.

Suddenly, four or five men sprang out before him, all masked and armed with sharp blades.

“Tonight is your last, brothers—get him!” their leader shouted, charging at Han Qing with a knife.

Han Qing dodged swiftly, but had not anticipated an attack from behind. Was this truly the end?

He felt a sudden rush of wind at his back, and in an instant, all four or five assailants lay sprawled upon the ground.

Startled, Han Qing turned to see an old beggar.

“Repaying the favor from last time,” the beggar said coolly, then departed without another word.

Han Qing recalled that some time before, he had indeed helped this man, who had been driven away by others. He had never expected that a small act of kindness would be so repaid. Yet the beggar’s martial skill was extraordinary, far beyond that of an ordinary man—could he be a master in hiding, concealing his true identity?

Han Qing shook his head, banishing such fanciful thoughts. But he knew now that these masked men would not give up easily. In North County City, only the Bai family bore such deep enmity toward him. Their current recklessness was intolerable.

Word of the attack soon reached Zhilian. The Drunken Flower Pavilion was rife with spies from all quarters, and any incident, large or small, was known within half a day.

He knew that his previous rash actions had caused her to lose faith in him, but now, presented with such news, she would surely take action.

She immediately sent people to uncover the identities of the masked assailants.

An hour later, the information was delivered to Tinglan Courtyard.

Han Qing opened the letter and read its contents. It was certain—the Bai family was responsible.