I started on a deserted island and encountered Ying Zheng, who insisted I was an immortal.

Wang Ben staggered from the blow, but he held onto the pottery jar tightly, fearing that Zhang Ying would destroy this precious treasure.

"Sir!" Meng Yi finally came to his senses. He scrambled to Zhang Ying's feet, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "This divine substance, this refined salt, sir, is it really... really from the sea?"

Ying Zheng also came over. He did not lose his composure like Wang Ben, but his clenched fists betrayed the turmoil in his heart.

The Qin Dynasty lacked salt, or rather, it lacked good salt.

The common people consumed bitter, coarse salt mixed with mud and sand. Many people in remote areas had never even tasted salt in their entire lives.

Salt is the lifeblood of a nation.

"What else could it be? Did it fall from the sky?" Zhang Ying felt that these people were making a fuss over nothing.

"Isn't it just about diverting seawater into salt pans, evaporating it repeatedly, and then purifying it by filtering it several times with charcoal or activated carbon?" he explained casually, feeling that the principle was so simple that there was no need to go into detail.

"You wouldn't understand even if I explained it to you. Anyway, it's just physical labor, and it's very troublesome."

You wouldn't understand even if I explained.

Indeed, such heaven-defying methods are not something that mortals can easily fathom.

This is a secret technique of immortals! It's a family heirloom!

Ying Zheng took a deep breath and made a decision.

He stepped forward, stood in front of Zhang Ying, and straightened his coarse linen clothes as if they were a dragon robe.

"gentlemen."

His voice regained its usual composure and authority.

"I know that this method is a secret that the master did not pass on."

Zhang Ying raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"If you would be so kind as to offer the salt-making method, along with the techniques for making potatoes, rice, and paper, to the Great Qin Dynasty."

Ying Zheng's voice resonated powerfully in the morning sea breeze.

"I, in the name of the King of Qin, promise that once we are freed and return to court, I will bestow upon you the title of Marquis, a rank equal to the Nine Ministers, and your glory will be intertwined with that of the nation!"

Che Hou!

His rank was comparable to that of the Nine Ministers!

Wang Ben instantly forgot the salty taste in his mouth. He had spent his entire life on the battlefield, fighting bloody battles, to earn the title of Marquis of Tongwu.

Meng Yi was so frightened that his heart almost stopped. What an honor this was! Since the founding of the Qin Dynasty, had anyone from a different clan ever received such a privilege?

This is truly a position second only to the emperor, above all others!

They believed that any one of the amazing skills Zhang Ying had demonstrated was enough to earn this promise.

The two looked at Zhang Ying with a mixture of envy, jealousy, and fervor, waiting for him to kneel down and express his gratitude with tears in his eyes.

Then they heard laughter.

At first, there was a suppressed "pfft" sound.

Then, it turned into earth-shattering, maniacal laughter.

"Hahahaha!"

Zhang Ying clutched his stomach, laughing until tears streamed down his face. He pointed at Ying Zheng, gasping for breath.

"Brother, your illness is getting worse!"

"A title of nobility? A rank comparable to the Nine Ministers? Why don't you just bestow upon me the title of Great Sage Equal to Heaven and grant me an orchard of peaches?"

"I'm serious." Zhang Ying finally stopped laughing and patted Ying Zheng on the shoulder with a sincere expression.

"Your delusions need treatment, really, don't delay. Once you're out of here, I'll get you an appointment with a specialist at Beijing Anding Hospital, one of the top hospitals in the country. I guarantee it'll cure you completely."

The air froze once again.

The fervor on Wang Ben's face turned into a blank stare.

Meng Yi's mouth was wide enough to fit an egg.

The imperial majesty on Ying Zheng's face cracked inch by inch, until only a gloomy, iron-blue color remained.

He didn't understand what "Monkey King" meant, nor did he know what "expert" meant, but he understood the undisguised sarcasm.

To this man, the promise to stake the fate of the Qin Dynasty and the dignity of the emperor was nothing but a joke.

The ramblings of a madman who needs to be sent for treatment.

"Sir, you jest." Meng Yi, being a civil official, reacted the fastest. He quickly stepped in to smooth things over, his back already soaked with cold sweat.

"Old Ying... he just likes to joke, yes, joke!"

"Please have your meal, sir, the porridge is getting cold." Meng-Yi hurriedly pushed Zhang Ying toward the dining table.

The atmosphere at breakfast was strange.

With panda eyes, Wang Ben channeled his grief and anger into his appetite, devouring three bowls of porridge and two salted fish all by himself.

After the meal, Meng Yi rinsed his mouth and found the water infused with mint leaves incredibly refreshing, which helped to alleviate some of the fatigue he had been feeling for the past few days.

He carefully held the wooden cup and brought it close to Zhang Ying.

"Sir, this has a refreshing fragrance; may I ask what kind of magical herb it is?"

"Mint leaves? There are plenty on that hillside over there." Zhang Ying pointed into the distance. "They're refreshing and can be used to make tea. What, you're playing a civil official and you don't even recognize mint? That's so unprofessional."

Meng Yi's face flushed slightly.

He was a high-ranking official, well-versed in literature, yet he found himself on this island like a clueless villager.

He took a deep breath and decided to ask the question that had been bothering him all night.

"Sir, the poem you recited last night, 'A bright moon rises over the sea, we share this moment though far apart,' is truly a timeless masterpiece. I... pondered it all night, yet could not fathom even a fraction of its meaning. I do not know the full poem."

"Oh, you mean that?" Zhang Ying thought for a moment.

That's not a poem.

Which poem would you like to hear in its entirety?

Meng Yi was stunned. He hadn't expected that those two brilliant lines of poetry would come from different people.

"Then...what about 'May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though separated by a thousand miles'?"

"The 'Prelude to Water Melody' is very famous," Zhang Ying replied casually.

"There's an even simpler one, I'll teach you."

Zhang Ying cleared her throat and read aloud in a tone as if teaching a kindergarten child:

"Moonlight shines before my bed."

"It looks like frost on the ground."

"I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon."

"I bow my head and think of my hometown."

The poem is titled "Thoughts on a Quiet Night" and was written by Li Bai.

These twenty simple and straightforward words struck Meng Yi's heart like a heavy hammer.

Without flowery language or complicated allusions, it vividly portrays the longing for home.

Meng Yi swayed slightly. He hurriedly pulled out the precious piece of linen paper from his pocket, found a burnt charcoal stick, and desperately began to write on it.

"Hey, hey, don't use that thing, you'll tear the paper." Zhang Ying stopped him and handed him a willow twig pen that she had sharpened herself. "Dip it in water and write."

As instructed, Meng Yi, with trembling hands, wrote down the poem "Quiet Night Thoughts" stroke by stroke in standard Qin small seal script on the back of the paper.

The handwriting is neat and the strokes are even, exuding a solemn air.

Zhang Ying leaned closer to take a look and let out a sincere exclamation.

"Damn! Old Meng, you've been keeping a low profile!"

"Your small seal script is excellent, just like the ones printed in calligraphy books!"

"With this level of skill, you shouldn't be acting anymore. Go set up a stall and sell calligraphy and paintings; you definitely won't starve!"

Meng Yi's hand, holding the willow branch pen, froze in mid-air.

He was the Grand Censor of the Qin Dynasty, in charge of all documents in the land, the emperor's personal secretary, and a master calligrapher.

I was actually praised by a "celestial being" in the same tone he used to compliment a primary school student's handwriting.