Chapter 89: Entering the Mountains

The entire ferry crossing at Duyi River was blanketed in thick snow, and the surface of the river was shrouded in misty vapor. Only the boarding passage had been cleared and sprinkled with loose earth, so there was no worry of slipping when walking across. This was Wang Ge’s first time seeing an ancient ferry crossing; aside from the fenced barriers and the level ground, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. If not for a few fellow travelers chatting as they waited for the boat, or the county clerk personally escorting her here, she would have thought it an abandoned livestock market.

Her face veil hung loosely, her cheeks purple from the cold and aching at the slightest touch. Even so, she’d applied the face cream given by Lord Huan; without it, her skin might have cracked for sure. Yet her heart was brimming with joy, delighted by the beauty of the snow and the grandeur of the river’s waves. Who could have guessed? The number of wooden compasses Lord Huan had ordered to be replicated was a full hundred! He’d said that, once the county’s craftsmen had inspected them, the payment would be delivered to her family in Jia’s Village by the relay station.

Wang Ge was confident that all her replicas met the required standards. When she calculated the total, she realized she’d earned more than four strings of cash! She shivered—not from the cold, but from the thrill of sudden wealth.

“The Xie family’s boat is here!” someone among the waiting travelers called. A three-story riverboat approached from a distance, each deck ringed with defensive parapets—far more imposing than what Wang Ge had glimpsed during the craftsmen’s examination. Long oars jutted from the sides, each spanning over ten feet to the water, rowing in unison and propelling the boat at remarkable speed.

As the boat docked, the figures on the deck were all Xie family retainers—robust and formidable men, their winter clothing surprisingly thin, as if impervious to the cold. The Jin dynasty had strict rules: no noble retainers were allowed to wear armor, not even bamboo armor.

A long gangplank was set up, and four strong young men descended in order. To board, each passenger had to present their travel pass for inspection. When it was Wang Ge’s turn, she handed over her pass, removing her veil to reveal her flushed, purplish face, explaining through frosty breath, “Sir, my face is frozen from the journey.”

The bamboo pass described Wang Ge as “fair-faced and delicate.” The leader among the four men laughed heartily. “My surname is Li, but I dare not be called ‘sir.’ Artisan Wang, there’s no need to worry—your enrollment has already been arranged by the mountain villa. Please come with me.” He personally led her aboard, a courtesy Wang Ge had not expected, and she wore an expression of startled gratitude.

Li guided her to the second deck, saying, “This floor is the warmest. When we reach Nanshan Villa, a drum will sound from the top deck. After you disembark, attendants from the ferry will greet you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Li,” Wang Ge replied.

Li paused mid-step on the ladder, thinking that he’d best shave his beard when he returned—did he really look so old?

Soon, more travelers boarded, but none were allowed to ascend further. Perhaps because the New Year was nearing, there were very few passengers; the spacious second deck held fewer than ten people. The boat turned and began to glide downstream, quickly gaining speed. The wind whistled through every window lattice, and the hemp curtains offered little protection.

Despite the drafts, some passengers still descended to the first deck to admire the river view. Wang Ge wasn’t interested. She found a sheltered corner, sat down, and wrapped herself in her bedding. The colder it got, the more she longed for a latrine.

She tried to distract herself with other thoughts: Would her family receive the four strings of cash before the year’s end? How delighted they would be, surely praising their Tiger Treasure’s talents over and over. Had Master Zhang received her younger brother’s letter? The floating compass would surely please him. What exactly did philology entail? Was it, as Lord Huan said, just learning to read? Then why was it mandatory to study philology after becoming a certified artisan? Could one not become a master craftsman without literacy?

Half an hour later, the drum sounded. The rhythm of the oars changed, and the splashing of water shifted. Wang Ge folded her bedding, stowed it in the bottom of her basket, and prepared to disembark.

When her feet first touched solid ground, she felt as if she were still on the boat, slightly unsteady, but after waving goodbye to “Uncle Li” on deck, she quickly adjusted.

As expected, two child attendants approached—a boy and a girl, both in green garments and about Wang Ge’s age. “Are you Artisan Wang?” they asked.

“I am Wang Ge.”

“We are attendants from ‘Flying Stream Peak’ at Nanshan Villa. Your quarters are ready; please come with us.”

“Um… may I ask, is there a latrine nearby?”

The girl hid a smile and replied, “Come with me.” As soon as they left the landing area, she stopped, hands on hips, and said, “Just here—I’ll stand guard for you.”

So be it.

As they continued up the mountain path, the girl introduced herself and the boy: Jingnu and Gufeng.

No surnames? Wang Ge wondered, but didn’t ask.

Jingnu eagerly described the slanting peaks, rocky ridges, bamboo groves, and streams they passed. Wang Ge listened intently, asking questions now and then. Jingnu, delighted by her warmth, became all the more forthcoming, thinking to herself that Artisan Wang was much friendlier than many of the villa’s family members, who, regardless of rank, always seemed so cold.

In truth, the mountain scenery was far less impressive up close than it was from afar. Still, several hidden waterfalls and the endless stretches of bamboo were indeed alluring.

The stone steps up the mountain were narrow—each step the length of a stride but just wide enough for a single foot, with no railing. Fortunately, all the snow had been cleared and the ground sprinkled with earth. Gradually, Jingnu grew too tired to speak, while Gufeng continued to lead the way in silence, matching pace with Wang Ge—faster when she was quick, slower when she lagged behind.

After passing seven forks in the path, they finally stopped climbing. After walking up a gently sloping path for over thirty yards, the walls of the “Jingshe”—nestled among dense bamboo—came into view.

As soon as Wang Ge relaxed, she realized how weak her legs had become.

Once through the main gate, they entered a covered walkway. On one side, rows of houses stretched into the distance; on the other, stone sculptures, a canal, and a mortise-and-tenon bridge could be seen.

On the residential side, every door was flanked by windows with large diamond-shaped lattices. Gufeng stopped in front of the first room, whose door, like those in ordinary farmhouses, had no lock outside, only a bolt inside.

Gufeng opened the door and said, “All the other rooms are full; only this one is available. Artisan Wang, please put your things inside—we’ll take you to the lecture hall next.”

A faint zither melody drifted through the air, its source unknown. Wang Ge paid it no mind—she couldn’t tell a wrong note from a right one anyway.

The room was small, the floor covered with mats, and under the window stood a lacquered desk that made her eyes light up. On it were brushes, ink, a stone, and two long wooden boxes.

She set down her basket and closed the door, then followed the two attendants out.

Jingnu explained, “There are two masters teaching philology: Master Guo and Master Zuo. They alternate each day. Morning lectures start at dawn and break at noon; afternoon lectures begin at the start of the eighth hour and end at dusk. As a full student, you may take lunch at the ‘Qinquan Waterside Pavilion’ where lessons are held. Breakfast and supper must be collected with the other students at the kitchen in the northwest corner.”

She pointed out the locations of the kitchens, archery range, and music room. “Oh, and we have a carpentry workshop, but you’ll have to exit by the north gate, follow the bamboo path east, and you’ll see it near Flying Stream Peak.”

This truly delighted Wang Ge, her eyes crinkling into a smile despite the sting in her cold cheeks.

The zither’s notes suddenly turned urgent and wild, like a thousand horses galloping madly.

“Practice is over!” a child cried joyfully, dashing out of a house and, seeing Wang Ge’s radiant smile, asked, “Miss, doesn’t your face hurt, smiling like that?”

Jingshe: A Confucian academy for scholarly learning.

(End of chapter)