Chapter 46: Huan Zhen Invites Himself to Dinner

Before long, Zhang Cang arrived, just in time to witness the basketmaker’s new skill: bending bamboo strips.

Wang Ge demonstrated several times, letting the boy clearly see how much the bamboo could be curved and what shape it might take. She taught him in terms a child could understand: “Think of each time you bend a bamboo strip as being like the repeated tamping of the earth when paving the road west of the village. With every bend, the bamboo becomes more resilient, so it won’t easily break during weaving. If you don’t use enough force, it won’t work. But what if you use too much?”

“It’ll snap,” he replied.

“Exactly. Now you try.”

Zhang Cang thought Sister Ge’s explanation made perfect sense, but he also muttered to himself, bending bamboo—how hard could it be?

He soaked his hands in the basin, gripped both ends of a strip, and began to bend it slowly and deliberately. Yet, though he used little force and bent it gently, right at the base of his right thumb, the bamboo suddenly snapped.

He hadn’t bent it anywhere near as much as Wang Ge had demonstrated!

“Too much force in your right hand. Try again.”

“Why don’t you bend one more for me, Sister Ge? Let me watch again.”

“All right.” Wang Ge picked up a strip, gripped it left and right, and slowly bent it to a certain point. “This one’s good. Now you try.” She set it aside.

Zhang Cang, his pride checked, adjusted the strength in his right hand. But then he found himself hesitating, not daring to use enough force.

“Bend,” Wang Ge urged.

Snap! The bamboo broke again at the base of his right thumb.

Embarrassed by his repeated failures, Zhang Cang couldn’t bear to keep breaking Sister Ge’s carefully prepared strips. He decided to practice more at home.

He hurried away, burdened by a heavy heart. For the past few days, whenever his grandmother returned home, she would say things like “That apprentice is nothing special” or “She only has a reputation, all she can really do is weave baskets.” Zhang Cang resolved to ask his father, once he returned from the fields, to tell Grandmother to stop gossiping about Sister Ge. She was the most capable and honest sister in the village, and when she taught him a craft, she held nothing back.

That’s called kindness! It must be repaid, not met with ingratitude.

The shame written on young Zhang’s face did not escape Wang Ge’s notice. Clearly, old Madam Wei had been speaking ill of her again. Zhang Cang’s grandmother was infamous for her sharp tongue. When Zhang Cai and Zhang Cang were first sent to her for apprenticeship, if she had refused to take them, who knows what stories Madam Wei would have spread!

But what could one do about such a spiteful old woman? Even the irascible Aunt Ge from the west side of the village was no match for her.

Wang Ge shook her head helplessly and continued splitting bamboo. Toward noon, she suddenly remembered she hadn’t gone to the riverbank to pick stones in a long time. Still, it was only a fleeting regret—going to the river meant passing by the west side, where the unkempt bondservants tamping earth were a daunting sight, especially since a felon had been taken away just days before.

But let us turn to another story.

Huan Zhen, having recently solved a case, was granted a half-day’s leave by Ren Suozhi, which he used today. First, he bathed in the clear river, scrubbing off the filth, then returned to Longevity Stone Slope—by then, it was already noon.

He moved around the massive boulder, sometimes standing on tiptoe, sometimes crouching. He observed the “Longevity” character carved on the stone, trying to replicate the trick from the other day: aligning the missing “dot” in the character with a distant, strikingly shaped hill. There were several vantage points from which this worked.

All the while, Tie Lei craned his neck, his head following the young man’s every move. Tie Feng glanced at his foolish brother, not bothering to remind him.

Huan Zhen walked down the slope, hands clasped behind his back, speaking to himself: “Was it just a coincidence that day? Or did she notice the teacher’s disappointment and offer comfort? Such a tiny girl—I doubt it. Tie Feng, did you bring any food?”

“I did.”

“Then you two eat.”

“What about you, Huan Lang?”

“Brother Wang invited me warmly last time. I’ll eat at the Wang house.”

When Huan Zhen called out “Brother Wang” at their gate, Wang Dalang was already coaxing Wang Peng and his sister for a midday nap. Wang Ge was in the kitchen, playing house with her younger brother, pretending to render pork fat. The cauldron could be used as a pot, the long-handled bamboo spatula and chopsticks were freshly carved. She stirred the bottom of the cauldron, fanning herself as if bothered by heat, acting with impressive realism.

Children immerse themselves in play even faster. From time to time, the boy stood on his tiptoes to peek inside, tilting his head and squinting at Wang Ge with a smile. “Sister, how much longer till it’s done?”

“Almost. Can you smell the delicious aroma?”

Wang Xing nodded energetically. “Yes!”

Hearing someone call for “Brother Wang,” the siblings came out.

Wang Xing was stunned for a moment, then delighted. “Brother Huan? Sister, do you remember him? This is Brother Huan. Come on in!” He led their guest to the kitchen.

Wang Ge lagged behind, glanced up the road, saw no one else, and returned to the yard.

“Brother Huan, I thought it sounded like you. You came at the perfect time; my sister is cooking a new dish called pork cracklings. It’s almost ready—can you smell it?”

Huan Zhen...

Wang Ge moved her brother aside and gave a polite bow from a distance. “Greetings, Huan Lang. I was just playing with my brother, pretending to render lard with a piece of cake.”

Huan Zhen peered into the cauldron—inside was nothing but a fingernail-sized square of cake.

Wang Xing smiled sheepishly. Oh right, he’d forgotten they were only playing.

But though the food was imaginary, the method was real, as his sister had explained. So he earnestly declared, “Cooking pork cracklings is easy: cut pork fat into small pieces, heat them to render out the oil, and the leftover bits are good enough to eat as meat. Brother Huan, remember this—next time, you can buy pork fat and enjoy yourself a good meal.”

“Thank you, Brother Wang, for the tip. I’ll be sure to try it.” And he meant it; the meals at the riverside pavilion were so poor that even when there was meat, it was fatty, gamey lamb or pork, turning his stomach. He’d rather eat plain wheat cakes.

“Hee! We’ve already had lunch, but if you have no plans, why not stay for supper, Brother Huan?”

Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle—Huan Zhen’s stomach growled.

The three of them stared at one another in sudden embarrassment.

Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle...

Huan Zhen’s “I’ll come another day” was drowned out by the rumbling from his belly. Flustered, he left the courtyard. Tie Feng and Tie Lei came forward to meet him; Tie Lei asked, “Huan Lang, you finished eating so quickly?”

Gurgle, gurgle...

“Ahem!” Tie Lei didn’t know where to look.

Thoughtful as always, Tie Feng produced a wheat cake from his cloth pouch.

Back in the courtyard, it took a long moment for the blush on Wang Xing’s cheeks to fade. He was mortified—it was more embarrassing than if he’d made a fool of himself. “Brother Huan must have been starving to come to our house for food. If I’d known, I’d have saved him a couple of bites from lunch.”

“Even if you’d saved two bites, it wouldn’t have been enough to fill him. It’s fine; he’s clever enough to manage on his own.” Wang Ge, though she didn’t know the young man well, didn’t think he was the type to come cadging meals. “Come on, let’s keep cooking cracklings.” Whatever his motive, he’d left already. She gripped her bamboo spatula and returned to the kitchen with renewed energy.

“Okay, okay!” Wang Xing’s spirits rebounded, and he skipped after her.

After supper, Wang Erlang and Wang Ge sneaked back into the kitchen, one tending the fire, one rendering the fat, and one keeping watch.

Soon, a pungent mix of greasy, savory, and scorched smells drifted through the yard. The aroma outside was unpleasant; inside the kitchen, it was overpowering.

“Oh no, oh no!” Wang Ge wiped sweat from her brow in distress. Afraid the pork fat wouldn’t cook through, she’d cut it into tiny pieces, but as soon as they hit the bottom of the cauldron, they stuck fast. No amount of stirring or flipping with the bamboo spatula helped—they quickly began to burn.

The burnt and gamey smell grew stronger and stronger. Wang Erlang was near tears—he’d spent his own money on that half a pint of pork fat!

Madam Jia and her son emerged from the house. Without hesitation, Aunt Jia strode into the kitchen, snatched the bamboo spatula, and the three cousins bolted outside.

Black smoke began to billow from the cauldron. Seeing the remaining pork fat on the stove, Aunt Jia immediately understood and exploded in anger. “Heavens! You three little spendthrifts, what won’t you waste?”

“Second Uncle, save me!” Wang Ge, realizing she was in trouble, hid behind her uncle with her brother, clutching the back of his clothes.

“Spendthrifts! Tell me, whose idea was this?” Aunt Jia stormed out, waving the bamboo spatula, ready to chase after them.