Chapter 72: The Artisan as Creator

After the false alarm, from that night onward, Wang Ge and Wang Shu, like Wang Ai, stayed in the main house to sleep with the matriarch. In poor households, this was customary in winter; relying solely on reed quilts was not enough, so they huddled together for warmth.

Little Jia could never have predicted that her sulking return home would mean her daughter Wang Shu would spend the entire winter sleeping in the main house, and because of this, she grew more respectful and tender toward Wang Ge, never again confiding in her mother.

Outside the courtyard, Ren Suozhi and other night patrolmen, having heard the commotion in the Wang household, relaxed and departed once things quieted down.

Huan Zhen asked curiously, "The captain seems particularly attentive to this family?"

"Yes. Abo is acquainted with the Wang artisan and asked me to keep an extra eye on them for a while."

Liu Bo knows the young lady of the Wang family? Huan Zhen’s interest was piqued; he and Liu Bo had hit it off at first meeting, both able to see through each other’s character.

Liu Bo, despite his gentle and refined appearance, was inwardly proud and solitary, a keen observer of people, and held deep contempt for the wicked, the vulgar, and the foolish! If he had entrusted his uncle to watch over the Wangs, he must value the young lady highly. How intriguing—he would have to probe subtly the next time he met Liu Bo.

Ren Suozhi could not stand youths like his own nephew: quiet, prematurely solemn. He grabbed Huan Zhen’s shoulder and strode forward, making Huan Zhen stumble wretchedly, anger flaring, until Ren Suozhi finally released him with a laugh. “By the way, that bonded maid—if she’s marched to the county in this weather, she’ll freeze to death before any trial, won’t she?”

“Freezing to death would be best! That criminal woman is cunning; she despises both her foreign husband and the murderer, incited the latter to hatred against the former, yet never stained her own hands with blood. So, it’s best to hand her over to the county for judgment. If we dealt with her ourselves, wouldn’t we become the second fools?” Speaking of the case, Huan Zhen became eloquent, discussing the maid’s malice as he and Ren Suozhi patrolled. “Of course, if she dies of cold on the way, that’s none of our concern.”

At dawn, Wang Ge’s face was solemn as she opened her chest. The various measuring tools given by Magistrate Huan, along with his thoughtful instructions, filled her with gratitude. If she were a thoroughbred, he was her discerning patron.

“A master craftsman instructs with rules and standards.”

“To transcend the tools, and place measure and precision within the artisan’s heart.”

Magistrate Huan’s guidance was clear: rules constrain the craftsman. Craftsmen must constantly use rules and standards to ensure precision, but a master cannot be bound thus!

A master is a creator; their foundation must surpass the craftsman’s! Only when rules, measures, divisions, and precision are thoroughly ingrained in mind, etched in sight, and fixed in hand, is one qualified to create. Otherwise, how could one stand out from among three hundred artisans?

Thus, this set of measuring tools must be the most precise, the least prone to error, perhaps specially procured by Magistrate Huan for her.

Wang Ge’s guess was right. Ever since she produced the fire striker and the fire extinguisher in the apprentice competition, Magistrate Huan had recognized her talent, and through connections, finally obtained this set of tools from the Imperial Works in the capital.

The measuring rules, squares, and rulers on the market were made by veteran artisans themselves. Their calibration was generally correct. The smallest unit, the “division,” was defined by the average size of millet grains—a single vertical grain equaled one division, a hundred grains equaled one ruler. Yet, slight discrepancies among grains meant every ruler carried minute errors.

Where were the most standardized measuring tools, recognized by the Imperial Works? Only those produced by the Imperial Works themselves! But they were never sold publicly.

Wang Ge began with the wooden ruler, an excruciatingly tedious process—using a stone knife to carve “divisions” onto bamboo slats, again and again, carving, carving, carving...

After hours, the monotony made her nauseous, but after retching and splashing cold water on her face, she continued. There is no shortcut for an artisan—only mastery through repetition, perseverance through hardship, and endurance through toil produce greatness!

Great Jin was not her former world. In her previous life, Wang Nanxing stood out as a traditional craftsman because those skills were rapidly vanishing, with few successors.

But in the Jin Dynasty, artisans flourished in abundance, their talents dazzling as stars. If she wished to leap like a carp in water, she had to endure the bitterest of hardships!

While Wang Ge focused on honing her craft, Mistress Sun arrived with her son Zhang Cai.

Old Jia, despite her age, could see through a young man’s heart. Zhang Cai, turning thirteen after the new year, was at the age for matchmaking—it seemed he still favored their own Ge.

Mistress Sun laughed before speaking, “Grandmother, when I was washing clothes this morning, I saw Second Son’s wife. Sigh, I don’t know what quarrel she had with him; she wouldn’t say a word, just wiped her tears—looked so pitiful.”

Old Jia retorted, “What? My gate is wide open, outsiders can come in, but she can’t? Who’s stopping her from coming back?”

“Exactly!” Mistress Sun agreed. “I told her the same. Oh, but I’m not here for Jia’s troubles—I’m here because little Zhu caught cold again, and he wants to know when his father will return to Shatun.”

“Return to Shatun? Is my third son a servant or a son-in-law there? Why should he go back?”

“Tut!” Mistress Sun was about to get annoyed, but Zhang Cai tugged her arm, making her smile again. “I’m just passing on a message. If your third son wants to... go to Shatun, he’d better go soon. Winter’s deepening, and my two oxen can’t travel far in the cold.”

Mistress Sun was right—oxen fear the cold. Old Jia went into the storeroom, fetched the basket woven by her eldest, and handed it to Mistress Sun. “Take this. You’ve helped us enough. Tell your husband and uncle—when you go to the wild hills, don’t forget to call our second and third sons along.”

Mistress Sun’s uncle was Zhang Cang’s father, Zhang Wulang.

Mistress Sun, greedy for small favors, was delighted to get the basket, forgetting any unpleasantness. She asked, “Where’s Ge?”

“In the house, practicing her craft—she’s preparing for the master’s exam. From today, we must keep quiet and only call her at mealtimes.”

“Master’s exam?” Mistress Sun’s voice shot up, and Zhang Cai’s mouth hung open, disbelief and a hint of panic on their faces. Mistress Sun hurriedly asked, “So it’s true that Ge has passed the first-class artisan exam?”

“How can you say that?” Old Jia snatched the basket back.

Mistress Sun, grinning sheepishly, grabbed it again. “My mistake, who would dare lie about such a thing? Ge really is... truly remarkable.”

Zhang Cai tugged her arm again, and Mistress Sun stood up. “I’ll be off, Grandmother, don’t worry. If my husband or uncle go to the wild hills, they’ll surely call your boys. No need to see me out—I’m no stranger. Oh, if I see Second Son’s wife again, I’ll persuade her to return.”

Once outside, Zhang Cai blushed and stamped his foot in frustration. “Mother! Didn’t you promise to let me see Ge? I haven’t seen her in ages, why didn’t you mention it?”

“Give up! To be blunt, we can’t even match an artisan, let alone a master. If she really becomes a master, she won’t stay in this village—how could she marry you?”

“I don’t care! If it’s not Ge, I won’t take anyone else. Hmph!” With that, he ran home ahead.

Mistress Sun was dispirited—Ge was no basket to be taken at will. Her own Cai was lazy and gluttonous; if not for their two oxen and extra labor, which girl would want to match with him?

Mistress Sun looked back at the Wang household, suddenly feeling her visit today was unnecessary. Little Jia—hmph, truly ungrateful. Married into the Wang family, with sensible in-laws and a handsome, honest husband; who wouldn’t envy her? Yet she made a fuss for days, as if trying to force her in-laws to bow and coax her back. Clearly, her usual virtue was just a façade.

Bah! Who was she fooling? Anyone could see through it.

Let her keep it up—better if she stirs things until they fall apart. Mistress Sun wouldn’t be the one to persuade her!

Grandmother: pronounced 'mu', previously explained, same as 'mother'. In ancient times, this was a respectful title for elderly women, as there were no terms like 'aunt' or 'elder lady' yet. If unfamiliar, simply skip it.

(End of chapter)