“Bullshit, I know there’s a salt mine by the river, but that’s poisonous salt—you can’t eat it. If you do, you’ll get diarrhea so bad you could die, not to mention your whole body turning purple from eating that stuff. I’m talking about the salt in your bag—it’s even better than official salt. Where did you get it?” David Bolton’s eyes were already bloodshot as he loudly questioned Edward Carter.

Edward Carter was deeply impressed by the ancient people’s spirit of experimentation. Eating salt is fine, but eating it along with the nitrates and phosphorus-potassium impurities from the salt mine is just asking for death. If you eat nitrate, maybe you can last a while, but if you eat too much phosphorus and potassium, it’d be strange if your body didn’t turn purple. In later generations, Edward Carter had seen people supplementing calcium and iron, but never nitrate, phosphorus, or potassium.

“Uncle Bolton, how could you just eat salt straight from the mine? It needs to be crushed, dissolved, filtered, and refined—the final crystals are the salt people can eat. It’s like some herbs that are clearly poisonous, but after special processing, they become harmless and can even cure diseases. Salt is the same. Everything in this world is prepared for people; as long as you find the right and proper method, everything under heaven can be used by man. The art of making salt is just a minor technique.” Seeing the confusion in David Bolton’s eyes, Edward Carter knew his words had been wasted.

“So you’re saying you know how to extract edible salt from poisonous salt?” David Bolton wasn’t stupid—he could summarize and ask the key question without being misled.

“Didn’t I just tell you? It’s just a minor technique.” There was no need to mess with an honest man, so Edward Carter gave a straightforward answer, trying hard to put on the air of a master.

No matter the past or present life, people who are beneficial to others—or who can bring benefits—are the easiest to integrate into a group and be accepted. Edward Carter’s top priority was to join the Tang Dynasty’s big family, obtain household registration, and become a brick in the great feudal dynasty. After all, a thousand years later, he’d still be a brick, so what difference did it make where he served?

David Bolton’s face was full of joy. He wanted to speak but held back, his face turning red as he anxiously rubbed his hands, pacing back and forth in front of Edward Carter like an old donkey walking in circles. His lowly status restrained his passion to know the secret recipe. He couldn’t offer Edward Carter any promises; the alchemical method of turning waste into treasure involved too many interests, far beyond what a mere squad leader could participate in. Edward Carter was a disciple of a hermit master—just showing a glimpse was already astonishing. If he revealed everything, how profound would his knowledge be?

“I am but a simple warrior, unworthy of knowing the secret recipe. I beg you, young master, to have pity on our hardship and allow me to report this matter to the Commandant. You will surely be commended by the court, and your good deeds will be spread throughout the land.”

“Uncle Bolton, what does the salt you eat look like?”

David Bolton carefully took out a cloth bundle from his chest, unwrapping it layer by layer. A walnut-sized, yellow-brown crystal appeared. Edward Carter picked it up and tasted it. Besides being salty, it had all sorts of strange flavors, making him feel like he was in heaven and hell at once. He grabbed his water gourd and rinsed his mouth several times before the strange taste faded.

“Is this salt? This is poison!” he said, tossing it away. As soon as he let go, David Bolton, who had been eyeing the salt block in Edward Carter’s hand, snatched it back like lightning, wrapped it up, and stuffed it back into his chest. His eyes were a bit sad as he gave a bitter laugh and pointed to the people around them listening in.

“Young master, do you think everyone is like you, born into luxury, never having to do manual labor, only caring about your studies and nothing else? Even now, when you’ve fallen on hard times, you still have ancestral ways to survive and live comfortably. You look like a talented young man—smart, worldly. In a few years, when you grow up, luxury will be as natural to you as your own skin—no one can take it away. That’s fate! We’re different. Our parents only taught us to dig food from the earth, nothing else. The salt block you casually threw away was a reward from the Commandant after I killed two rebels. Ask them—how many have ever seen a big chunk of salt?”

The few men sitting across the fire all shook their heads, and the two women lowered their heads in embarrassment.

“Isn’t it already the Zhenguan era? Why are things still so hard?”

“Young master, you may not know—peace has only just returned to the land. With no more war, we can barely get by on wild vegetables and grain. A few years ago, salt was expensive, but we could still buy a few taels now and then. But in recent years, the Turks have invaded every year, burning, killing, and looting. Trade routes are cut off, Shandong salt can’t get through, and there’s no way to harvest salt from the grassland salt ponds. My Left Martial Guard has been stationed in Longyou for three years, fighting every year. The army lacks salt, so we use vinegar cloth as seasoning. The soldiers grow weaker every year. The General knows the Turks retreat to the grasslands from Yanchuan, but the troops are too weak to pursue, only able to defend the city. I heard the General was so angry he broke his treasured sword and swore to wipe out the Turks. If you, young master, reveal your secret, the army will never lack salt again. Once we’ve recovered, wiping out the Turks will be no problem.”

Ignoring David Bolton’s persuasive words for now, Edward Carter found the straightforward scheming of these rough men rather endearing. The method had to be explained, but to whom and how—that was a big question.

David Bolton’s superior’s superior was Charles Brooks, the eldest son of the famous troublemaker Cheng Yaojin, currently serving as the Zhechong Commandant of Lanzhou—a classic second-generation official, bold and loyal, who had followed his father into battle since he was eighteen, a true scion among the privileged. Through him, offering the salt-making method would be a shortcut to success. More importantly, legend had it that old Cheng lived past a hundred—a true evergreen of the Tang Dynasty. No matter, better to latch onto a sturdy backer first.