Chapter 9: Learning a Lesson

This matter is, in fact, easy to understand. Since everyone knows that obtaining the artisan rank leads to reduced taxes and fewer labor obligations, ordinary families naturally desire to qualify, so they cultivate craft skills from an early age. Thus, the most basic "apprentice" level is not called "child" without reason—most apprentices are indeed young! To put it bluntly, if someone older tries for the apprentice rank, neither the people casting flowers nor the examiners will select them, for those who come to take the exam at an advanced age are almost certainly lacking in talent.

At noon, the uncle and niece returned to the inn. An old man was mixing pig feed, and Wang Ge noticed he was chopping rice straw, so she asked, "Grandpa, I can weave straw sandals, and they’re very sturdy. If you give me an extra bundle of rice straw, I'll make you a pair of sandals for free. How about it?"

Wang Erlang leaned against the door, hand on his forehead; his niece was trying to make a profit without investment—her skin was so thick!

The old man replied, "Won’t you lose out?"

Wang Erlang nearly slipped from the door.

Wang Ge smiled, saying, "A loss is a blessing."

Early the next morning, the old man cheerfully lent the uncle and niece a small cart, loaded it with rice straw, and brought it to the artisan competition grounds.

The fence gate opened; each artisan was allowed to bring one relative inside, and everyone took their places within the marked squares. If the relative left, they could not re-enter.

There were certainly better and worse exam spots. Those awaiting the test had queued outside the fence all night. She and her uncle were almost last, so their spot was the most remote.

From the first drumbeat, time was measured by a copper water clock, its steady, ear-splitting rhythm exactly as Liu Xiaolang had said: five beats per quarter hour.

Meanwhile, the townsfolk entered bearing flowers; each household could only send one person to carry flowers, with no repeats or re-entries allowed, or they’d be severely punished. The spectators wandered through the zones; many were drawn by the displays at the front, and by the time they reached the back, their flowers had already been thrown.

This wouldn’t do!

"Uncle, you need to…" Wang Ge whispered a few instructions to Wang Erlang, who quickly left the field.

The drumbeats continued. The man beating the drum had once been an executioner, and his old habits showed; every so often he would burst into manic laughter, making the young contestants even more nervous.

Wang Ge glanced around and found herself among the oldest competitors.

There were many examiners patrolling, their identity badges hanging from their belts. Some looked like local officials, others like artisans.

Two examiners walked over, shoulder to shoulder, clicking their tongues and whispering, "Her craftsmanship is good, but she’s too old. Likely not much talent."

"True," the other replied, and they walked off, still clicking their tongues.

Birdbrains! She was only ten, yet they spoke of her as if she were ancient! Wang Ge was frustrated, forcing herself to suppress her irritation and focus on the competition.

This selection for artisan quotas had taught her lesson after lesson.

The first lesson: relying on subjective assumptions, taking things for granted! Her original project was a peddler’s rack adorned with a woven "animal world"—eye-catching and displaying extraordinary skill. She had neglected the fact that, since artisans were chosen locally, the needs of the common folk would dominate, and practical skills would be valued above all.

The second lesson: she underestimated the disadvantages of Jia She village’s remoteness and slow communication! She had believed herself to be the youngest contestant, only to find she was the oldest, marked as lacking in talent.

The third lesson: she hadn’t prepared extra materials! Changing her weaving project last minute left her almost unprepared. To earn the old man’s rice straw, she had spent the past two days weaving straw sandals, her hands rubbed raw.

The fourth lesson: the order of entry! Without any official arrangement, she thought entry would be by queue, but still underestimated the locals, who knew to queue overnight. Entering last was even worse than her earlier mistakes, making her seem both foolish and lazy.

Gradually, more townsfolk with flowers reached the rear of the grounds, and Wang Ge stopped being distracted, weaving straw sandals swiftly. In her previous life, when she first learned straw weaving, making sandals was a basic skill. In the southern region, rice straw was commonly used; in the north, bulrush was the material of choice.

Simple straw sandals, familiar in the south, consisted only of a sole and straps, and farmers wore them in the paddies.

The northern region, colder, featured sandals with inner and outer layers, sole and vamp integrated, woven in steps: sole, vamp, straps, and sealing the base.

Bou Zhi village belonged to the southern region, so all the children weaving sandals used the sole-and-strap style.

Wang Ge dared not deviate, but at the heel she added a unique touch—a half-arc rear, with two straps extending from either side to bind the ankle, making them sturdier and more secure. Since she’d switched to sandals at the last moment, she had no auxiliary tools like the shoe form—a device for anchoring the straw cord—so she sat cross-legged, using her own feet instead.

Liu Xiaolang, who had come to supervise, paused at a distance, his brow furrowed: so unladylike, hardly fitting for a young woman.

Wang Ge was wholly absorbed in weaving, unaware of his gaze, nor did she see the examiner’s badge hanging at his waist.

Boom, boom, boom!

The drum in the center of the grounds cracked like a whip, lashing time forward, almost seeming to accelerate its flow.

An hour later, outside the fenced exam field—

"Desperate times, desperate measures! Give me rice straw and I’ll weave sandals! Starting tomorrow, a bundle of rice straw earns a pair of sandals—only two hundred pairs will be given! Pass this village and you won’t find this shop again! If you doubt my niece’s skill, come and try them for yourself!" Wang Erlang’s face was flushed red, awkwardly repeating his niece’s instructions.

Beside him stood the old man from the inn, responsible for feeding pigs, who had been rewarded with a bag of grain and was happy to be enlisted as an advertiser: "I vouch for him—it’s all true. Look, I’m wearing a pair made by that little girl. Good, aren’t they? That’s her, the one furthest away!"

The two advertised outside, and the examiners who had been disturbed could only shrug.

Most of the people outside the grounds were relatives of contestants; some, angry, complained, "Examiner, isn’t this cheating?"

"They’re not asking for flowers directly! Besides, you could shout the same thing, couldn’t you? If you can’t, that’s your own fault," the examiner rebuked the complainers, then glared at Wang Erlang and the pig-feeding old man, before walking away with a sigh.

The other relatives felt humiliated—they weren’t so desperate as to trade sandals for straw! A bundle could make two pairs, hardly worth it.

And two hundred pairs? Even if one worked all day and night without rest, how many could be made? So after their children won the artisan quota, they’d do nothing but weave sandals for others? In two months, the official apprentice exam would be held!

"Shameless!"

"Never seen anyone so shameless!"

"Forget it, there are twenty spots—let’s pretend there are only nineteen! Don’t stoop to their level!"

"Twenty artisans will represent Bou Zhi village at the county exam, and our reputation will be ruined by this one! Shame!"

A chorus of scornful spits made Wang Erlang shudder again and again. Oh, how he wished he could go weave sandals and let his niece take the insults!

Boom!

Boom!

The drums continued, and someone mischievously, after a beat, handed the drummer a bowl of strong liquor, reminding him of his glorious executioner days. He spat the liquor skyward and struck the drum three times in succession: splendid, splendid, splendid! He was not beating a drum, but counting down a condemned man’s final moments!

For a moment, every child except Wang Ge stopped in confusion, stunned. Why three beats? Did it count against the competition time?