Chapter 9: The First Yellow in a Gray Town
The cloth had already been folded twice before Khun Ming paused and decided, with quiet certainty, that he did not like the result at all, not because it was untidy, but because it introduced a problem that would only reveal itself later in a way he would find difficult to ignore.
He stood by the wooden table and looked down at the neat rectangle resting in his hands, then tilted it slightly toward the window where the morning light slipped through the narrow gaps between the bamboo slats, letting thin beams fall across the surface of the fabric.
The light revealed faint pressure lines where the folds had pressed into the fibers.
Khun Ming exhaled softly.
"That will not do," he said to himself in a calm, mildly dissatisfied tone, the kind one might use when correcting a small but irritating oversight. "If I carry it like this, the folds will settle into the cloth, and the first thing the merchant notices will not be the color, but the fact that I transported it poorly. That would be a very unimpressive introduction."
He unfolded the cloth again with deliberate care.
The bolt opened slowly across the table, golden threads catching the light as the surface flattened, revealing the full spread of color without interruption.
Khun Ming placed both palms against the fabric and smoothed outward along the weave, pressing gently but evenly, as though encouraging the fibers to relax back into their natural alignment.
"There," he murmured, his tone softening slightly. "That is much better. Cloth prefers to lie flat whenever possible, and while folding is convenient for storage, it is unnecessarily harsh if the intention is to transport something that required an entire day of careful work."
He adjusted his grip and began rolling the fabric instead, guiding it into a smooth cylinder with slow, controlled movements that avoided unnecessary tension.
The golden cloth wrapped neatly beneath his hands.
"Yes," he said after a moment, lifting it slightly and turning it to inspect the shape. "That is significantly more civilized and far less likely to create problems later."
Beside the rolled cloth sat several skeins of yarn, each one wrapped loosely in plain cotton to prevent dust from settling between the threads, their soft yellow tones muted slightly by the covering.
Khun Ming reached down and picked one up, turning it slowly in the light as he examined the surface and the inner structure at the same time.
The color remained even.
There were no dull streaks, no patchy sections, and no areas where the fiber had resisted the dye bath in quiet defiance.
He narrowed his eyes slightly and shifted the yarn to catch the light at a different angle, studying the twist more carefully.
Each strand carried the color fully through its depth.
That detail mattered.
Surface dye faded quickly.
Properly mordanted fiber held pigment within the structure itself, where time and washing could not easily remove it.
Khun Ming rubbed the threads gently between his fingers, testing the texture rather than just observing the appearance.
The yarn remained soft.
There was no mineral stiffness, no faint roughness from poorly rinsed mordant, and no resistance when the fibers moved against each other.
He nodded slowly.
"That is encouraging," he said, his tone calm but quietly approving. "If the yarn had stiffened even slightly, I would have needed to rinse it again, which would have been extremely inconvenient considering how long it already took to reach this point."
He lifted the skein once more and gave it one final look.
"Yes," he added. "This is acceptable."
The dog sat near the doorway, watching the entire preparation process with the kind of quiet attention that suggested either deep interest or a strong desire to be included in whatever activity came next.
Khun Ming glanced over at it.
"You are observing this very carefully," he said. "I assume that means you intend to accompany me again."
The dog's tail moved once in confirmation.
Khun Ming gave a small nod.
"Yes, that seems consistent with your behavior so far," he said calmly. "You appear to have taken on the role of supervising every activity that occurs within a reasonable distance of this cottage."
He returned his attention to the cloth and paused mid-motion, lifting the edge slightly so he could inspect the inner layers of the roll.
Sometimes uneven heat during the dye process caused faint banding where sections of fabric overlapped during immersion, a mistake that often went unnoticed until the cloth was unrolled later.
Khun Ming examined the inner layers carefully.
Nothing.
The yellow remained consistent from edge to edge, without any visible shift in tone.
He nodded once.
"That is reassuring," he murmured. "Uneven dye would suggest that either the temperature fluctuated or the cloth was not moved frequently enough during immersion, and neither of those explanations would reflect well on the process."
Satisfied, he secured both the yarn and the rolled cloth together using a simple length of hemp cord, tying it in a way that held firmly without compressing the fibers.
The finished bundle looked entirely ordinary.
Plain wrapping.
Plain materials.
No decoration.
Khun Ming studied it briefly.
"Not particularly impressive at first glance," he said quietly. "Which is perfectly acceptable, because I am not attempting to sell jewelry. This is cloth, and cloth should not require dramatic presentation to justify its existence."
He lifted the bundle and slung it over his shoulder, adjusting the weight slightly so it rested comfortably.
Then he stepped outside.
The morning wind moved lightly across the cliff, carrying the scent of damp stone, fresh leaves, and the faint lingering trace of yesterday's dye work that still clung to the courtyard.
Near the stream, the marigold patch had shifted subtly overnight.
Several new blossoms had opened, their bright yellow-orange petals catching the sunlight in a way that made them stand out vividly against the surrounding green.
Khun Ming paused when he noticed.
He stepped closer and crouched beside the plants, his attention shifting immediately from travel preparation to observation.
The petals felt slightly resinous when pressed between his fingers, releasing a faint, earthy scent that hinted at the pigment contained within.
"Good density," he murmured, rolling a petal slowly between his thumb and forefinger.
He studied the plant for a moment longer.
"However," he added thoughtfully, "harvesting too aggressively would weaken the growth, which would be an extremely short-sighted approach if I intend to continue using this species regularly."
He reached out and pinched a wilted flower head instead, turning it gently in his hand.
"Next batch will require more material," he said. "But that can be managed without damaging the plants if handled properly."
The dog leaned closer and sniffed the flowers with obvious curiosity.
Khun Ming raised one finger without looking at it.
"You may observe the flowers," he said calmly, "but you may not eat them. That restriction exists because if you eat the flowers, I will have fewer flowers available for dye, which creates unnecessary complications for both of us."
The dog withdrew immediately.
Khun Ming nodded once in approval.
"Good," he said. "That level of cooperation is very helpful."
He stood again and looked across the courtyard, taking in the quiet arrangement of everything around him.
Cherry petals rested lightly along the stone path.
The ginkgo leaves shimmered faintly gold in the morning light.
The drying racks beneath the bamboo roof stood ready, empty rods waiting for the next batch of work.
Khun Ming folded his arms.
Everything felt orderly.
Functional.
Efficient.
There was no excess.
Nothing out of place.
He nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said quietly. "This is a very respectable beginning for a dye workshop that has only been operating for a few days."
Then he adjusted the bundle on his shoulder and shifted his weight slightly toward the path leading down the mountain.
"Alright," he said, his tone calm but resolved.
And without hesitation, he began walking downhill.
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The path leading toward the town had grown slightly more familiar than before, though Khun Ming would not yet describe it as comfortable, because familiarity did not always mean ease, especially on a trail that still demanded attention with every step.
Pressed grass and worn soil marked the passage of carts and travelers, though not frequently enough to form a proper road, and the route curved gently through the forest as if it had been shaped by practical use rather than careful planning.
Small stones shifted beneath his feet as he walked, forcing him to adjust his balance subtly with each step.
The dog moved beside him without making a sound, neither walking ahead with excitement nor falling behind lazily, but maintaining a steady pace that suggested a long and quiet familiarity with traveling alongside humans.
Khun Ming noticed this after several minutes and glanced sideways.
"You walk as though this path belongs to you," he said eventually, his tone calm but thoughtful, as if the observation had been forming gradually.
The dog blinked.
"Yes, that is exactly the kind of behavior that makes a person suspicious," Khun Ming continued, his expression unchanged. "Most animals either rush ahead as if everything is new or fall behind as if nothing is urgent, but you walk with the quiet confidence of something that has used this road for far longer than it should reasonably remember."
The dog offered no response.
Khun Ming nodded slightly to himself.
"Very well," he said. "I will not ask further questions for now, because everyone is entitled to maintain a few personal mysteries without being interrogated during a morning walk."
The forest around them remained calm and undisturbed.
Birds moved through the branches overhead, occasionally releasing short bursts of song that echoed softly between the trees, while insects hummed quietly in the undergrowth, their steady vibrations blending into the natural rhythm of the place.
Patches of mist lingered in the lower areas where sunlight had not yet reached, drifting slowly as the air warmed.
Khun Ming adjusted the bundle on his shoulder, shifting the weight slightly so it rested more comfortably against his back.
The cloth itself weighed almost nothing.
Yet what it represented felt significant.
Not because it was rare.
But because it was unusual.
He had already noticed that clearly during his previous visit to Yunshan Town.
People wore gray.
Undyed hemp.
Faded cotton.
Dull brown tones that had long since lost whatever color they might once have carried.
Occasionally, there were hints of charcoal or washed-out dark cloth, but rarely anything that could be called truly vibrant.
Which meant color was not absent.
It was controlled.
And anything controlled tended to become expensive.
He glanced briefly at the bundle resting against his shoulder.
"Flowers," he murmured quietly.
The dog looked up at him.
"Yes," Khun Ming continued, his tone shifting slightly toward mild amusement. "It is a little amusing when considered from a broader perspective. Somewhere in this world, there are likely people mining pigment stones, refining them carefully, and guarding trade routes to ensure stable supply, while I am currently walking downhill with a bundle of cloth dyed using nothing more complicated than boiled garden flowers."
The dog's tail moved once.
Khun Ming gave a small nod.
"Yes," he added. "I also find that mildly entertaining."
After about half an hour, they reached the wider cart road, where the path opened enough to allow wagons to pass.
Wheel ruts cut shallow lines through the dry soil, and faint hoofprints marked where animals had traveled earlier in the day.
A few travelers passed them moving in the opposite direction, most offering only brief glances before continuing on.
Almost all of them looked at the dog twice.
One man carrying a bundle of firewood slowed slightly as he approached, his gaze lingering with visible caution.
"That dog yours?" the man asked.
Khun Ming nodded without hesitation.
"Yes."
The man studied the dog again, his expression tightening slightly.
"That is a very large animal."
Khun Ming considered this carefully, as if evaluating the accuracy of the statement.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "He is quite large, but fortunately he has a very calm personality and a surprisingly strong preference for vegetables."
The man blinked.
"Vegetables?"
"Yes," Khun Ming replied with complete seriousness. "Leafy greens seem to be his preferred choice."
The man stared at the dog again, clearly uncertain how to process that information.
After a few seconds, he nodded slowly and continued walking without asking further questions.
Khun Ming watched him go, then turned slightly toward the dog.
"That worked better than expected," he said thoughtfully.
The dog wagged its tail once.
"Yes," Khun Ming added. "I have noticed that if something unusual is stated with enough confidence, most people decide it is not worth investigating further."
The road curved gradually, and the trees began thinning as the forest opened toward the town.
Soon, Yunshan appeared between the trunks.
Stone walls.
Wooden rooftops.
Thin lines of smoke drifting upward from chimneys.
And gray.
Always gray.
The people moving through the streets wore muted tones, layers of faded cloth that blended into the surroundings so completely that nothing stood out.
No yellow.
Khun Ming noticed it immediately.
He slowed slightly as he entered.
"Still gray," he said quietly.
The dog glanced up at him.
"Yes," Khun Ming continued, his tone dry but calm. "It appears that the entire town has collectively agreed that color is an unnecessary risk."
He resumed walking.
The textile merchant's shop stood exactly where he remembered, unchanged in both appearance and atmosphere, with its wooden door, narrow windows, and interior that carried the familiar scent of fabric, dust, and aged wood.
Inside, the merchant stood behind the counter, moving the beads of an abacus with steady, practiced motions.
The soft clicking filled the quiet space.
Khun Ming stepped inside.
The merchant looked up.
Recognition appeared almost immediately.
"You returned," the merchant said.
Khun Ming nodded and placed the bundle on the counter.
"Yes," he replied calmly. "I brought the cloth I mentioned earlier."
The merchant's gaze shifted to the wrapped fabric.
"More supplies?" he asked.
"Finished cloth."
Khun Ming untied the hemp cord slowly, allowing the bundle to open with deliberate care.
The cloth unfolded across the counter.
Golden yellow spread outward.
The merchant stopped moving.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
"Is that the same undyed cloth you purchased here a few days ago?" he asked.
"Yes."
The merchant reached out at last, pressing his fingers lightly against the surface as he tested the weave, then lifting one edge toward the window.
Sunlight passed through the fabric.
The yellow deepened.
His brow furrowed.
"This is not pigment-stone dye."
"No."
"What did you use?"
"Flowers."
The merchant looked at him again.
"Flowers."
"Marigold," Khun Ming said calmly. "Tagetes erecta, from the Asteraceae family."
The merchant blinked once, as though trying to reorganize his expectations.
Khun Ming continued speaking in the same practical tone.
"The primary pigments are lutein and quercetagetin," he explained. "They are flavonoid-based compounds that bind effectively when the fiber has been properly prepared with tannin and alum."
The merchant lowered his gaze back to the cloth.
"You extracted color from a plant," he said slowly.
"Yes."
He rubbed the fabric between his fingers.
The cloth remained soft.
"Pigment-stone dye usually stiffens the fiber slightly," the merchant said.
Khun Ming nodded.
"That is because mineral pigments sit mostly on the surface," he replied. "Plant dyes interact more directly with the fiber structure, especially when proper preparation layers are used."
The merchant lifted the cloth again and examined the edges.
"No uneven dye."
"Proper scouring," Khun Ming said.
The merchant glanced at him.
"You dyed this yourself."
"Yes."
"Recently?"
"Two days ago."
The merchant paused, then looked down again.
"That is fast."
Khun Ming shrugged lightly.
"Preparation determines most of the outcome," he said. "If the foundation is correct, the dyeing process does not need to be excessively long."
The merchant's attention shifted to the yarn.
"And this?"
Khun Ming unwrapped it and placed it beside the cloth.
Golden threads spread across the counter.
The merchant picked it up immediately and carried it to a basin, dipping part of the skein into water before squeezing it gently.
The water remained clear.
"Stable," he murmured.
"Yes," Khun Ming said. "It was rinsed thoroughly after dyeing."
The merchant returned to the counter and performed another test, rubbing a damp piece of linen against the cloth.
No color transferred.
He leaned back slightly.
"Interesting," he said.
He studied the cloth again, then finally asked, "How much?"
Khun Ming named a modest price.
The merchant did not argue.
Instead, he counted silver coins onto the counter with precise movements.
Khun Ming counted them once and placed them into his pouch.
But the merchant did not immediately wrap the cloth.
He continued looking at it.
"Yellow sells well," he said after a moment.
Khun Ming tilted his head slightly.
"Does it?"
"Yes," the merchant replied. "Festival clothing, children's garments, temple offerings."
He lifted the cloth again.
"The Pigment Guild controls mineral dyes," he added. "That makes color expensive."
Khun Ming nodded.
"I noticed."
The merchant looked at the cloth once more.
"This color is not expensive."
"No."
He placed the cloth down carefully.
"How many can you produce?"
Khun Ming considered briefly.
"That depends on how many flowers I can gather."
The merchant nodded.
"And how many flowers would that require?"
Khun Ming thought for a moment.
"Many."
The merchant stood quietly, then nodded again.
"I will begin with five bolts."
Khun Ming raised an eyebrow slightly.
"That seems reasonable."
"When can you deliver?"
"Six days."
The merchant nodded.
"Six days."
Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "And the same shade."
"Yes."
At last, the merchant wrapped the cloth and yarn carefully.
"Bring samples if the color changes," he said.
"Of course."
Khun Ming turned to leave.
Just before he stepped outside, the merchant spoke again, his voice quieter this time.
"Flowers," he muttered.
Khun Ming paused and looked back.
"Yes?"
The merchant shook his head slowly.
"Nothing."
But his eyes remained fixed on the golden cloth.
Outside, Yunshan Town continued moving through its quiet gray morning, unaware that something small, simple, and entirely ordinary had just begun to change the color of its world.
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Chapter 9 complete.