Chapter 11: Wang Erlang’s Secret

Wang Erlang’s face flushed red with embarrassment. His niece really knew how to praise herself, always finding new ways to spread her reputation!

“Auntie, I can weave baskets too. You know Zhang Qing the young man, right? The rush baskets he weaves—I can make those as well. Think about it, which is better: weaving a few pairs of straw sandals for free, or making one large basket that lasts a long time? Have you decided to exchange for a basket? Then take your rice straw back and bring rushes instead.”

“Uncle, I can weave grass mats and bamboo mats. The mats I make never curl at the edges. But you’ll have to provide extra materials. It’s only fair—these are big items! Uncle, what are you hesitating for? In two months, I’ll be going to the county for the competition. If you don’t add more materials, I can’t put you at the top of the list. So many people are waiting for me to make their straw sandals.”

“Grandmother wants to switch to a bamboo basket? Then the straw sandals I owe you are off the list. Don’t worry—I promise, before I leave for the county, if I don’t have time to finish, I’ll make your basket right after the exam. I won’t forget—everything’s written down.”

A battered plank, covered with marks for baskets, baskets, and mats, bore record of all these promises. At last, after sending off a crowd of villagers, Wang Erlang felt both relieved and anxious. He originally owed two hundred pairs of straw sandals, but now, though the total number had dropped, the quality and size of the orders had gone up.

“A’Ge, they’ve all switched to big items. How long will it take to finish? Look, it’s all bamboo baskets and bamboo mats!” Wang Erlang’s worry lines deepened, almost etched into his brow permanently. When his niece was home, she’d only woven winnowing baskets from dogwood branches; when had she ever made anything from bamboo?

“Well, if I’m going to work hard, I’d rather let the villagers see that my skills surpass Zhang Qing’s. Don’t worry, Second Uncle. Once you know how to weave with one thing, you can weave with anything. I can make baskets with dogwood, so I can make them with bamboo. In a couple of days, we’ll go back to the village. I’ll learn as I pay off my debts—and then Grandfather and you will have to help me cut bamboo from the wild hills.”

Now that Wang Ge had secured her place as an apprentice craftsman, she could no longer hide her talent. She had to use these two months to let everyone in Jiashu Village know she was born with a gift for weaving!

“Go back to the village? What about the creditors coming here?”

“Don’t we always have ox-carts coming from the village to town? I’ll make some baskets for the drivers, and each time they haul goods, they can bring my orders to the relay station.”

Wang Erlang smacked his lips. Good heavens—she hadn’t even returned to the village and already was tallying up another debt.

Wang Ge tossed the plank aside. “What’s there to be afraid of? If you have a hundred lice, what’s one more? If you owe one debt, a dozen make no difference.”

“Nonsense! The more lice you have, the itchier you get!”

The next day, the uncle and niece, scratching at their lice, went to say farewell to the old man who fed pigs at the relay station. “Grandpa, we’ll have to trouble you again to let the villagers know—we have to go home and farm. The debts on the board, I’ll send the finished goods every few days with the neighbors. When someone picks up their order, Grandpa, you can cross it off.”

“Leave it to me!” the old man replied cheerfully.

Although there was no one else around, Wang Ge lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Don’t forget, Grandpa. In every batch I send, anything tied with hemp rope is set aside specially for you.”

The old man grinned from ear to ear and whispered back, “I won’t forget, I won’t forget!”

Once on the country road, Wang Erlang felt uneasy. “Is it really all right for us to just walk away like this?”

“Isn’t Grandpa standing surety for us?”

Stumbling along, Wang Erlang suddenly felt as though he’d lived two lifetimes for nothing.

But let’s speak of other matters.

Zhang Jiying, Huan Zhen, and their party were pressing on, already out of Yangzhou’s borders.

Black clouds gathered above, and soon rain began to fall.

The scout, Tiewind, reported, “Master Zhang, Young Master Huan, there’s a pavilion ahead where we can take shelter.”

They were traveling on the main road, where every ten li or so there was a pavilion with a relay station; every five li, a shorter shelter was built just for resting or escaping the rain.

“Let’s go!”

“Hyah!”

To keep off the dust, everyone had wrapped their heads in kerchiefs. Once inside the wooden pavilion, Huan Zhen was about to ask Zhang Jiying something, when he saw black water dripping from the edge of his teacher’s kerchief.

Huan Zhen thought—did Teacher dye his hair? He quickly looked away, pretending to gaze at the sky.

Iron Thunder led the two horses inside. Looking up, he was met with Master Zhang’s face, streaked with black lines. Iron Thunder’s mouth twitched; he hurried over to stand with Huan Zhen, also staring upwards.

Tiewind followed, saying, “Ah, it looks like this rain won’t be stopping soon—” He met Master Zhang’s gaze, and immediately his jaw trembled and his nostrils flared.

Plop—a drop of black water fell onto Zhang Jiying’s hand. Ruined, the dye was running.

This pavilion was no place to stay. Tiewind turned and slipped away, “I’ll go scout ahead!”

At that moment, one of the horses snorted loudly.

Zhang Jiying twisted around. “Who’s laughing?!”

“Sir, it was the horse sneezing!” Tiewind rode swiftly away.

Iron Thunder couldn’t hold it in any longer; he rushed out of the pavilion. “Sir, I’ll go scout too—” He couldn’t finish his sentence, laughter written all over his worried face as he mounted up to chase after Tiewind.

At last, Huan Zhen turned around and handed over a small bronze mirror and a handkerchief. “Teacher, perhaps on rainy days, it’s best not to dye your hair.”

Zhang Jiying wiped his face clean with a cold snort.

Huan Zhen said, “It’s all this rain’s fault. If only it would pour harder, or not at all!”

Returning the mirror, Zhang Jiying gazed at the rain streaming from the eaves and sighed deeply.

“What worries you, Teacher?” Huan Zhen asked.

“In the Book of Documents, it is written: ‘The gentleman never rests, for he knows the hardship of the farmer. Only then does he understand the reliance of the common man.’ Farmers depend on the heavens for their livelihood. If the weather is fair, all is well. But in drought or flood, they can’t even pay the land tax.”

What was his teacher getting at? Huan Zhen waited patiently.

Zhang Jiying glanced at his disciple, then sighed again, the note trailing on, his sorrow perhaps a touch theatrical. “That’s why, if a farmer’s daughter can pass the apprentice craftsman exam, at least she can reduce her family’s rent and ease their burdens. With a trade, when she marries, she can find a good family.”

Huan Zhen understood. “I have property in Yangzhou. I’ll write immediately and send a master craftsman—a middle-ranking one!—to Duoyi County to oversee Miss Wang’s apprentice exam.”

“No special treatment. Just ensure fairness and justice.”

“I understand.” Huan Zhen agreed. His teacher had experienced court upheavals in his youth and, after resigning, lived in seclusion in Wu Prefecture, always cautious and prudent. Even now, appointed by His Majesty as Grand Preceptor of the Imperial Academy, overseeing both the National and Imperial Academies, he still made such requests circuitously. It made Huan Zhen feel a pang of sympathy.

As for why his teacher cared so much about the siblings from Jiashu Village, that was not for Huan Zhen to speculate.

Strangely, both teacher and disciple were certain Wang Ge would take the apprentice exam, though they didn’t know that in Duoyi County, before the exam, there was yet another round—the selection of craftsmen.

Meanwhile, Wang Ge, under the rain, was hurrying down a country lane with her second uncle. The main road was hard enough to walk, but the muddy paths? Impossible.

Splat! She fell flat on her back, the grain sack landing in the mud and soaking through at once. She couldn’t just leave it, so she hurried to scoop it back into her basket.

Before long, Wang Erlang also slipped and fell.

Wang Ge helped him up, silently cursing the heavens: Why couldn’t it have rained earlier or later? They’d just stopped at a pavilion for a rest, thinking the sky might be overcast but it would hold off for a while. Yet after walking only two li, the rain had come pouring down.

Even if they turned back, it was too far. They might as well go on.

When they finally made it to the main road and found another shelter, the rain had already stopped.

Infuriating!

Covered in mud like a pair of clay monkeys, the two trudged back and didn’t reach the village until after dark.

During Wang Ge’s absence, her two aunts took turns cooking and fetching water. But that day, because of the weather, Yao took the chance to slack off, leaving only a thin layer of water at the bottom of the jar.

Old Wang flew into a rage, frightening all three branches of the family into hauling water late into the night.

After washing off the mud and returning to his room, Wang Erlang tossed and turned, unable to sleep for a long time.

No one knew—this was his third life!

In his first life, the Emperor Wu grew senile and passed the throne to his foolish son, plunging the realm into chaos as the royal clans fought for power and the people starved. Peasant families like the Wangs were quickly destroyed in war, and Wang Erlang didn’t live to adulthood.

In his second life, the Great Jin rose anew. Emperor Cheng seized the throne, punished treacherous ministers, reduced taxes, and life improved so much that Wang Erlang thought his previous life had been a dream. Yet good times didn’t last, and the Wang family suffered the same fate as in the first life.