Chapter 77: Beholding the Paper

The rough bamboo boat crafted by Wange was merely a starting point for the shipwrights, introducing them to the principle of compartmentalization for preventing sinking. When it came to applying this concept to larger vessels, the craftsmen still faced a long journey of trial and error. Not only did they need to ensure the watertight seal of the bulkheads, but also consider how best to reinforce the keel. At present, the largest warships could have at most several compartments—how many, exactly, was still uncertain. Under varying load conditions, how many compartments could be flooded before the ship was lost? Was it truly possible to sail on with only a single compartment flooded, repairing as they went?

Master Yao, pressed for time, could not afford to test all these questions. He simply had to construct the most basic eight-compartment warship; if it passed the trial in the Southern River without sinking, the credit would belong to Duyi County—and to himself. Whether Wange’s name would be recorded in the shipbuilding annals of Jin depended not on the magistrate of Huan, but on what the prefecture reported to the imperial court.

Jia She Village.

Huan Zhen had assumed that the steamed sesame cakes were a token of gratitude from the Wang household. He was surprised when, two days later, Elder Wang arrived at the militia camp with Wang Erlang and Wang Xing, bringing winter garments.

The clothes were wide and generously cut, clearly made with plenty of fabric. The material was not the coarsest hemp, but a sturdier, thicker grade, and the reed padding was packed densely, the stitches close and neat. Huan Zhen received two sets each of jacket and trousers; Yuan Yanshu, Tie Feng, and Tie Lei each got one set.

Huan Zhen was no longer the person he used to be. For wealthy families, these coarse winter clothes would seem insignificant, but for self-sufficient small farmers, they represented years of savings, worth half the price of a cow. If the gift were solely for saving Wang Erlang days ago, there would not have been time to sew them.

Ten tubes of face cream! Huan Zhen suddenly remembered. He solemnly bowed, “Thank you, Elder; these winter clothes are just what we need. When you return, please thank the matriarch on my behalf.”

Elder Wang had been worried that the clothes would be looked down upon; now he could relax.

Huan Zhen noticed Wang Xing’s tense little face, full of anticipation, and asked, “Well, have you memorized the multiplication table?”

“Yes. Brother Huan, may I recite it for you now?”

“You may. If you recite it correctly, there will be a reward.”

“Thank you, Brother Huan.” Wang Xing, remembering his sister’s instructions, clasped his hands behind his back, stood solemnly, and confidently recited aloud. He continued smoothly past “two times seven is fourteen,” all the way to the end of the table, “half of two is one.”

Huan Zhen secretly praised him! No wonder the scholar valued this child’s potential. For a village child who had never studied arithmetic before, to finish his regular lessons and memorize the multiplication table in three days was indeed a sign of natural talent.

He produced the reward: several pairs of magnets. Having taken the bamboo figurines days earlier, he now returned the favor with magnets. After explaining the magnets’ use to Wang Xing, Tie Feng brought over a small chest and handed it to Elder Wang.

Huan Zhen instructed Wang Xing seriously, “This was just sent by the master via the courier station. Inside are new brushes, ink, and paper. The courier leaves tomorrow; after you return home, write down all your insights from your studies on the paper, and bring it to me before dawn. I’ve taught you for a while now; it’s only right that the master sees your progress.”

At the mention of the master, Wang Xing’s eyes brimmed with tears and his chin quivered with guilt. “Brother Huan, I’m at fault. The master has been so good to me, yet I can’t recall his face clearly.”

Huan Zhen crouched before the child, gently patting his shoulder. “When you meet again, you’ll recognize him naturally.”

“Will we truly meet again?”

“The master is a learned scholar; he would not speak lightly. If he says there will be another meeting, then there will be. Besides, you have me.”

“Mm. Should my sister also write her reflections for the master?”

“Of course. But… you mustn’t write for her.”

“Mm!” Wang Xing realized he might have spoken out of turn.

On their way home, Wang Erlang asked, “Why do I feel Mother made Brother Huan’s winter clothes too big?”

Elder Wang replied, “What do you know? Brother Huan is at the age for a growth spurt; by next year, they’ll fit him just right.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, he’s not a reed—how can he grow so fast?”

“You’re quick with words now. But just a moment ago, you stood there silent as a post. I think you’re the reed! Next time, I’ll bring all three… Oh!” One worse than the next! Elder Wang shook his head.

“Father, has there been news from Sha Tun?”

“No. Zhang Hu’s ox cart doesn’t travel far anymore; it’ll have to wait until after the New Year. Sigh, what worries me most… never mind, I won’t talk about this in front of Tigerhead.”

Wang Xing grabbed his grandfather’s hand, sensibly saying, “Grandfather, let me warm your hand. When your hand is warm, you won’t be upset.”

He actually knew his grandparents’ worries; he’d heard it from his cousin Peng, who had overheard it himself. The neighbors kept proposing matches for his father, but never for his third uncle. The child his grandparents deemed obedient and honest was, in the villagers’ eyes, less desirable than his ailing father.

The three soon returned, placed the chest in the secondary house, and Elder Wang and Erlang went back to the main house. Young Jia, depressed, closed the door; today she’d specially used wood ash to darken her brows, but her husband still did not come home, leaving her no chance to apologize. The room was growing colder by the day.

“It truly is getting colder,” Wange said, rubbing her brother’s small hands—though hers were no warmer than Wang Xing’s.

Wang Xing repeated Huan Zhen’s instructions, then took out two pairs of magnets, explaining, “Brother Huan gave six pairs of magnets, just enough for each child in the family to have one pair.”

The siblings exchanged a tacit smile; Wang Zhu, that troublemaker, didn’t count as a Wang child.

Opening the chest, they found, besides brush and ink, two neat stacks of long paper. One was pristine white and smooth; the other yellowed and somewhat rough. The difference must have been in the materials used.

This was the first time in ten years since Wange’s arrival in this world that she had seen paper!

Wang Xing touched the paper with his fingertip, marveling at the sensation. He stared at it in fascination and said, “Brother Huan says the white is called white hemp paper, the yellow is rattan paper—both for writing. Sister, it’s so thin, I hardly dare touch it; how do you write on it?”

Wange realized she had truly become a person of this era. Something as common as paper in her previous life was now handled as cautiously as her brother.

Master Huan wanted her to write on precious paper? What a waste of good things!

“I have an idea. Tigerhead, think carefully about what you want to say to the master—write it on bamboo slips first, revise it, then copy it onto the paper.” She gently lifted a sheet of white hemp paper, noting the difference in texture front and back; the reverse was rougher than rattan paper, with sparse bits of bark clinging to it.

Wang Xing imitated her, taking out a sheet of rattan paper and sniffing it.

Wange sniffed the white hemp paper too.

They looked at each other and laughed; neither could detect any scent.

Wang Xing asked, “Can I write about everyday family things for the master?”

“Of course.”

“Hehe.” Wang Xing was delighted. He wouldn’t dare ask Brother Huan such questions, but if his sister said yes, it must be fine. “How will you write, Sister? I have an idea. You could copy the multiplication table; those numbers are… good for learning.”

The little fellow was afraid of hurting her pride. Wange tugged his lamb-horn hair and said, “When you write about family matters to the master, mention that your sister won first place among apprentice craftsmen and workers. As for me, I need to think—I might just draw for the master, all the rulers and compasses I’ve learned to use.”

Actually, when she saw the magnets, Wange had already thought of making a simple compass. In her previous life, compasses and direction-finding vehicles existed in the Jin dynasty, but they were the unwieldy spoon-shaped south-pointing devices. The floating magnet needle was first recorded in “Dream Pool Essays.”

But drawing a magnetic compass required a pretext. Tsk tsk tsk… The eight-compartment ship was only finished days ago, and now she would have to “invent” something again.

(End of chapter)