Chapter 97: Wang Erlang Shows His Might

“‘Er’ means ‘near,’ just like ‘Er.’ But what is ‘Ya’? Here, ‘Ya’ refers to refined speech, elegant pronunciation.”

“The sound of writing is the branches and leaves of characters, and philology is the foundation.”

“We study to enlighten our minds, to correct our deficiencies, to cultivate ourselves and benefit our actions, to pursue the Way and benefit the world!”

“If, because we read and recognize characters, we become presumptuous, disrespect our elders, belittle our peers, only seek advancement and flaunt ourselves—then it would be better not to have learned at all!”

Master Zuo’s resonant teachings rang like the beat of golden drums, stirring the disciples to preserve their pure nature, to approach language with the utmost caution, reverence, humility, and solemnity, to read, to learn! When grown, with the same pure heart, they should be filial to elders and support the weak.

“Yes, Master!” This time, Wang Ge shouted with all her strength.

All the disciples did the same.

Bouzhi Township, Jia House Village.

Jia Qin’s winter clothes were stuffed with last year’s reed down, her lips frozen into an unsightly deep purple, yet she tirelessly explained characters and principles to Wang Zhu. The chill and gloom seeped into Wang Zhu with every word, until she shivered and grew as cold as Jia Qin.

“What does ‘mute’ mean?”

“It means you have a mouth but cannot speak, dare not speak. Zhu, I know you’re dissatisfied, but think—these days, besides me, who else is willing to talk to you? If this goes on for a year, three years, five years… ah… ten years, Zhu, if I no longer live here, if the old widower is gone, who will you speak to? How is that different from being mute?”

“Zhu, your family is truly harsh—why did they name you ‘Zhu’? What is bamboo? It’s knowing you are transparent, but blocked below by earth, above by sky! Unless someone cuts you down, splits you into sections, your clarity will never be known! But then… haha, so what’s the difference between ‘bamboo’ and ‘mute’? You have a mouth, but cannot speak!”

“Zhu, if you don’t believe your family treats you coldly, try telling your father next time he comes. Tell him you miss your cousins or siblings, ask them to come see you. Sigh… New Year is coming. If none of them are willing to come, are they still your kin? Are they still your brothers and sisters?”

Nanshan Pavilion.

Wang Ge finished her lunch in three bites, filled her bamboo tube with hot water, and hurried back to her seat to quickly carve out everything she could remember from the morning’s lesson. After she finished one bamboo slip, the other disciples were only just done eating.

Huzi frowned and burped quietly. No, he had to change seats; Wang Ge ate too fast, and he couldn’t help but imitate her, ending up choking.

From afternoon onwards, snow began to fall again.

At dusk, after class ended, the disciples bowed to Master Zuo and exchanged early New Year’s greetings. Huzi was the first to leave the waterside pavilion, hands folded, frowning and looking up like an old man. White snowflakes drifted sparsely and randomly, and he watched as one was about to land on his face.

He waited calmly.

Suddenly, a silk umbrella blocked the snow. Its hue was green-blue, the kind used by the chief manager of the Heavenly Chariot workshop, Xie Tangzhou. With a sycophantic smile and hunched shoulders, he said, “Yesterday, it was my fault. The workshop mistress told me on her return that she had offended Mr. Xie. My uncle meant no harm, just wanted to ask who taught Wang Ge the craft of making bamboo chariots. He knows her method well, but hoped to trace the origin and learn more advanced techniques. If so, our Xie family craftsmen might shorten the time needed to make a real bamboo chariot, perhaps even in time for spring plowing.”

“It’s hard for you to explain so much, but it seems you still don’t understand me. I sent the workshop mistress to tell you—the first to make bamboo chariots was Wang Ge herself. Please move aside, don’t delay my enjoyment of the snow.”

“Alright.” Xie Tangzhou, knowing his place, walked away to a deserted spot, his sycophantic smile unchanged.

Huzi looked around the pavilion for Wang Ge, but couldn’t find her, not in the kitchen nor her room. When he returned to her room, two young servants stood outside, one named Jiumu, the other Fuyi.

Jiumu said, “Young master, the banquet hour approaches. The elders sent us to fetch you.”

Huzi sighed; he’d wanted to speak to Wang Ge, but in such a short time, who knew where she’d gone?

Wang Ge had gone to the carpenter’s workshop, found the manager she’d met before, bargained to rent carving tools for five coins, then shamelessly made two wooden rulers, using up the five coins she’d just paid.

Low-level craftsmen earned one coin per wooden ruler. Thus, the manager still owed her three coins. Wang Ge waved it off, saying she was learning to carve, and asked for a pile of pearwood scraps to make up for the extra coins, then happily went home.

The manager wondered if Miss Wang had come just to ask for waste materials? But those scraps could only be cut into small, square blocks, barely an inch in size—what could she carve?

Wang Ge hurried to the kitchen, but the stove was extinguished, everyone gone, even the kitchenware cleared away.

She’d just have to go hungry! What was there to fear!

Jia House Village.

Wang Erlang, in three generations, had never fought anyone except wild tigers. But today, with New Year’s Day only a day away, he beat his younger brother.

One punch split Wang Sanlang’s lip and left his left cheek in pain.

Why?

It started when, that afternoon, Wang Sanlang visited the widower to see his eldest son. Wang Zhu cried, saying he missed his siblings.

“Father, do they dislike me? How much? Except for He, who came to fetch water, the others… even Apeng and A’ai—I can barely remember what they look like. Father, am I different from them? Because I made one mistake, am I no longer a child of the Wang family? Only they are? Sob… Father, New Year is coming, and I feel more and more that no one wants me to return home. I’m afraid, Father. Just because I made one mistake, all my siblings hate me. I’ve changed, I’ve already changed! If they don’t see me, how do they know I’ve changed?”

Wang Sanlang, heartbroken, hugged his son and cried. When he got home, he thought about who could visit Zhu and comfort him. He couldn’t ask He; Zhu had already seen him. Apeng and A’ai wouldn’t do either—it was cold, they always stayed in the main house, and if he brought anyone out, their parents would ask why.

Only Ashu was left.

Ashu was good; soft-tempered, and if asked, would surely agree and comfort Zhu as well.

But he miscalculated.

If it were the old Ashu, with her third uncle asking for such a small favor, she would have agreed, even if she was scared of the well, and hurried over.

But before Wang Jie left, she had specially told Ashu: “Ashu, I’ll be gone for a long time, and I worry most about you. Remember, no matter who asks you for help, if the favor means leaving our yard—even for small things—you must tell your father or grandparents first. Report to your elders before helping others. By ‘others,’ I mean anyone except your grandparents and father. Do you understand? Anyone!”

Wang Ge’s advice was meant to guard against Jia’s wife using He to approach Ashu, but unexpectedly it worked against Wang Sanlang and his son.

Ashu said, “Alright, third uncle, I’ll tell my father first and then go.”

“Eh? No, don’t…” Wang Sanlang squatted down in frustration. He felt chilled—such a small matter, he could just accompany her, why bother telling his second brother? By now, they had already reached the well.

“Wang San!” Wang Erlang came out, furious.

Wang Sanlang had just stood up when he was punched in the cheek and knocked down.

The old Wang couple rushed over, shocked!

He tried to pull his father away, but was shrugged off.

“Wang San! Now I know why that heartless brat turned so bad—it’s your teaching! A pair of heartless thieves! Useless outside, only good at harming your own family! Your niece fears the well, everyone knows, even A’ai knows! You didn’t know? Dare you say you didn’t? If you didn’t, why not tell me first and let me take her? You, an uncle, go straight to a child, deceive a child—are you even human? She’s only seven! You knew she feared the well, yet asked her to go there to talk to your heartless son? What’s your intention? Huh? The villagers don’t know why that brat went to the widower, but you do! Huh? If you dare say you don’t, I’ll go door to door and tell everyone!”

Wang Erlang used all his eloquence accumulated over three generations, scolding furiously. The old couple and Jia’s wife understood everything.

The old man Wang scanned for a broom, Jia’s wife grabbed it and shouted, “Let me! I’ll beat this beast to death!”

Just as the broom was raised to its highest, a pavilion guard with a snow-dusted horse called from the gate, “Is this the house of the Wang craftsman?”

The author’s skill is limited; most of Master Zuo’s words are from “Yan’s Family Instructions.” Friends, please be tolerant and don’t scrutinize.

Blue umbrella, green lining: In ancient times, different classes used different umbrella colors. Blue umbrella with green lining was used by lower officials or common scholars.

Jiumu: A drooping, bent tree mentioned in the “Book of Songs,” specifically in “Zhounan Jiumu.”

Fuyi: From the “Book of Songs.” A wild plant that alleviates hunger. In “Erya,” it is interpreted as plantain.

(End of this chapter)