Chapter 164: Worth the Wait Until Mid-Autumn

When I reached chapter 111, I decided to set the book aside and wait until the Mid-Autumn Festival to continue reading it. Exactly one month has passed. If Banana had maintained a daily update schedule of 4,000 words, there would have been 100,000 words. Although Banana’s consistency has greatly improved, only 25 chapters were released in 30 days, which was a little less than I hoped for. Still, the 100,000-word quota was met, and I am very pleased.

The most frustrating aspect of reading Banana’s books is his penchant for elaborate setups, always building towards a grand scheme. This was a common trait in his earlier works, such as 'Diary' and 'Hidden Kill'. He isn't inclined to introduce small, immediate gratifications for readers; it’s not that he’s incapable, but rather unwilling. I recall feeling similarly anxious while reading Old Cat's 'Joy of Life', as two battlefronts opened simultaneously and several top experts engaged in combat. The same applied to Guan Guan's 'Return to the Ming Dynasty', where Master Yang abruptly disappeared at a critical juncture, causing widespread turmoil. Both authors patiently held back, refusing to reveal their best plot points until the very end. Only truly discerning readers could vaguely anticipate their ultimate designs.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a discerning reader. So, even after accumulating 25 chapters and 100,000 words, when Ning Yi received the faded golden fabric and stated that its faded nature had its own utility, I still couldn’t grasp how he intended to turn the tables. Using it to compete for the imperial merchant contract would surely be suicidal. Technical matters, much like general knowledge questions on civil service exams, are clear-cut: you either know them or you don’t. There’s no point in racking your brain, and absolutely no room for clever tricks. It was only when the Wu family publicly presented the brilliant golden brocade that I understood; the trap had been laid there all along. This realization then connected back to the earlier secret meeting between Xi Junyu and Young Master Wu. I then chastised myself for my foolishness, seeing that with a strong insider, the Wu family could indeed acquire the secret formula, thereby pulling the rug out from under the Su family. And naturally, Ning Yi would use their own scheme against them, turning their supposed gain into worthless rags.

Given Ning Yi's abilities, even without an insider, he would have found a flawless way to deliver the secret formula to Young Master Wu.

However, none of these possibilities occurred to me while I was reading. I was merely enjoying the smooth flow of the narrative, which even made me lazy and disinclined to think. This is likely a disadvantage of letting a book accumulate chapters: one simply wants to turn the pages quickly and follow the plot’s progression, becoming a passive observer rather than an active participant.

Ning Yi embodies this very mindset, that of a complete bystander. That's why he stepped back and approached matters with a different perspective. This, too, was subtly foreshadowed; he taught the Zhou siblings not to become artisans, but to fundamentally alter their way of thinking. It's similar to the Buddha’s teachings in the Diamond Sutra: the Buddha never explicitly defined what a Buddha is, but rather stated what a Buddha is not. By eliminating everything that isn't, what remains is the true essence of Buddha. Ning Yi similarly blocked every avenue the Wu family could use to struggle, leaving him as the one in control.

The factors shaping Ning Yi’s mindset and perspective were actually quite simple. First, he merely wished to live a plain, even mediocre, life. Second, he aimed to secure Su Tan’er’s position as the family successor. To achieve this, becoming an imperial merchant wasn’t the only route, yet readers (or rather, I) were completely led astray by Banana. He continually emphasized that securing the imperial merchant contract would solve everything, which was a truly wicked psychological suggestion. In reality, Su Tan’er would succeed simply by advancing the Su family’s business. And once Su Tan’er succeeded, Ning Yi could continue living his low-profile life.

Ning Yi’s low-key demeanor is truly authentic. When circumstances forced his hand, he once sighed that his enemies were too relentless, disturbing his peace. Many novels, in their introductions and initial concepts, aim to depict a low-profile character—someone who "plays the fool to catch the wise" or subtly manipulates the world—but very few manage it successfully. This is often because authors are reluctant to relinquish control over certain plot points, preventing the protagonist from truly operating independently. If the protagonist is always present in every major and minor event, how can they truly be considered low-key?

Ning Yi, however, is different. After shifting his perspective, he subtly steered events in his desired direction, blocked all the enemies’ possible retreats, and then simply left. Consequently, he didn't bother to investigate who hired the assassin to kill Su Boyong—though, of course, we now know the mastermind. But this information emerged naturally as the plot progressed; Ning Yi himself had no desire for exhaustive inquiry. He focused on the major issues, allowing the minor ones to resolve themselves, confident that the truth would eventually come to light.

This, I suppose, is what’s called "strategic vision." It’s easy to utter those words, but achieving such a perspective requires immense cultivation to understand what truly constitutes a "big" situation. To possess strategic vision, one must first recognize the boundaries of the current situation. Even the grandest scheme is always nested within a larger one. Therefore, "the big picture" merely refers to the situation one can influence most effectively. For instance, given the current plot development, I wouldn't believe it if someone claimed Ning Yi could influence Wu State's diplomacy or have a decisive impact on future wars. However, within the confines of the Jiangning business community, thanks to the Su family’s inherent strength and Su Tan’er’s accumulated prestige, he certainly gained the leverage to exert significant influence.

I also found myself admiring my own timing. This month-long accumulation of chapters was perfectly timed, allowing me to fully grasp the entire unfolding of an event. Naturally, if I had waited another week to see the dust settle—Su Tan’er’s ultimate success, Xi Junyu’s stunned reaction, the Zhou siblings’ admiration, the public’s uproar, and the Prince Consort and Prince’s renewed praise—my sense of satisfaction would have been even greater. All these developments should conclude within five chapters. This realization, however, made me feel angry at Banana again. If he had maintained his updates, my plan would have been even more ideal.

To be honest, I had already started feeling a bit of reading fatigue. I'd lost my passion for novels on Qidian, and unfortunately, Banana's work wasn't exempt. The book had accumulated many chapters, yet I found I had no appetite for it. I'd experienced similar situations before; Jingguan's 'Beast Blood' was one such novel I let "fatten" up. When I eventually remembered it, I simply skipped a million words in the middle, read the ending, and that was that.