"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh! Young master! No! Young master! Slow down! Young master! Young master!" Shameful cries echoed intermittently along the mountain path. The woodcutter dropped his axe, face flushed with rapturous delight. The traveling monk clasped his hands, murmuring, "Amitabha... form is emptiness, emptiness is form."

Such suggestive sounds sparked wild, vivid imaginations.

But Jiang Huoer on horseback had heard enough.

"Neighhhhh—" He yanked the reins. The galloping brown stallion skidded to a halt. The youth leaped off, then unslung the basket from his back.

Lifting the lid revealed a sweat-drenched human head...

"Eeek!!!" Jiang Huoer recoiled. "Shangfeng! What are you doing?!"

"Young master..." That single word carried a world of emotion. He doubled over, vomiting uncontrollably.

"Are you really so reluctant to call me 'young master'?" Jiang Huoer's eyebrows twitched. "Fine. From now on, I permit you to call me Huoer. Or 'cannon pal' if you prefer."

"No... young master..." He kept retching, expelling everything he'd eaten that morning. They'd been riding nonstop since dawn.

"You've got horse sickness?"

"Young master, that basket bounced like a ball! I couldn't take it anymore..." Shangfeng's voice trembled with委屈.

"Father said not to reveal I have a scribe—it might attract mountain bandits. And you're smaller than me. I can't fit in that basket. We could swap places."

"No! How could I let the young master cram in there? I'm fine. Just need a rest." Shangfeng offered a gentle, reassuring smile.

"Alright then. It's getting late. Traveling these gorges at night is dangerous. We'll camp here." At this pace, they'd reach the Tahang Mountains in three more days. Not bad.

"Thank you, young master..."

Jiang Huoer gathered firewood himself, mindful of his scribe's frail state. A nearby stream seemed kin to the Spirit Stream back home.

By the time the campfire crackled to life, full darkness had fallen.

"It's useless of me... making the young master do chores..." Shangfeng buried his face in his arms, conscience-stricken.

"Nonsense. I bounced you around all day in that basket. Consider us even~" A makeshift grill of branches held a chicken and rabbit—both felled effortlessly by Jiang Huoer earlier. Gunpowder blasts alone could stun prey.

"Young master~~~"

"Don't look at me like that... I feel personally threatened." Jiang Huoer sprinkled salt over the meat.

"Say, young master... is there really saltpeter on Mount Tahang?"

"Well... who knows? But even a sliver of hope is worth chasing. Geographically, it's unlikely. But Father mentioned the second possibility—the Celestial Mechanism Camp's old stockpile there. If we snagged it? Massive profit~" He handed Shangfeng the roasted rabbit. "Here. Eat up. Replenish yourself."

"No! The young master should have the rabbit! I'll take the chicken!"

"Eat what I give you. I'm the young master—you obey." Jiang Huoer tore off a chicken leg, chewing. Rice wine flasks—stolen from Jiang Mansion—sat before them both.

"Young master... truly no plans for the Imperial Capital?" Shangfeng asked. "I think you'd thrive there."

Fireflies flickered brighter here than in Spirit Martial Town, summer lights dancing in the dark.

"Well... I've considered it." Jiang Huoer stared into the flames. "Xiu Ran's joining the Five Armies Camp. Meng Qi's heading to the Imperial Hospital. They'll see less of each other but still cross paths daily. I hear the capital's military camps and academies hold annual competitions. Sounds fun. But..." He sighed. "Without forging the War God Imprint, it's all pointless. In a place like the Imperial Capital—strength rules, the weak get culled—I'd be eliminated fast. Even as a blacksmith apprentice or engineer in some workshop... I couldn't craft weapons for the Imprint. Better to live freely in Spirit Martial Town. If boredom strikes, I'll wander. Traverse every inch of our vast Great Ming. Isn't that nice too~?"

Deep down, a tiny dream lingered. Since age three, seeing those cannons, he'd known his passion. Truly, there was one place he craved: the 'Heavenly Fire Divine Army,' tasked with 'guarding the capital within, preparing for war without.'

Yes—the Celestial Mechanism Camp. Foremost of the Imperial Capital's Three Great Camps.

"So the young master still dreams of the Celestial Mechanism Camp." Shangfeng smiled, firelight dancing on his face.

"You..."

"It's fine. Since childhood, you've shared your heart with me. I'm happy to listen."

"Tsk tsk tsk. Knowing too much is dangerous. I might silence you one day." Jiang Huoer washed down chicken with rice wine.

"The young master won't kill me." Shangfeng ate his rabbit silently, then choked on a sip of wine.

At Jiang Mansion, Jiang Huoer would never voice these thoughts. His parents—though not blood kin—had raised him as their own for fifteen years. He couldn't bear to hurt them. So he buried these dreams, only unearthing them occasionally. At his age, chuunibyo fantasies bloomed: if he manifested the War God Imprint, grew as strong as Yi Xiuran... would a Princess notice him in the capital? Would the Emperor bestow a General's title? Would he charge battlefields, defending the nation?

Imagining the unrealizable held its own sweet value. Besides, Jiang Huoer liked it.