Chapter Fourteen: The World of the Young Beasts

There was once a swindler who, knowing your family was well-off, buried some unsavory items beneath the eastern wall of your home ten years ago. Then he crouched in a corner and waited patiently. This wait might last three or five years, perhaps even ten. When misfortune finally befalls you, the swindler appears, assuming the air of a sage. As he unearths those tainted things from the dust-laden earth beneath your eastern wall, what would run through your mind?

He waited all those years for this very moment—just this one scheme would sustain him for another decade. But a foreign monk would never wait out ten years; in truth, this is just another ruse, a crack in the door for deception. After ten years, people would have forgotten what the monk even looked like. Who would care about your resurrection then?

Tie Xinyuan believed that this fellow would show up soon—or perhaps on a special day. For now, all he could do was wait.

Tongzi, unable to resist the lure of delicious food, brought Tie Xinyuan seven or eight badly worn wooden movable type blocks. Still, they were recognizable, and Tie Xinyuan was very satisfied. Without a second thought, he handed Tongzi a bag of walnuts.

From then on, every few days, Tie Xinyuan would receive a handful of wooden type blocks, gradually amassing a small sackful. These were all common characters, as only frequently used ones would be so worn. Tie Xinyuan organized the blocks by their radicals, returning any duplicates or rare characters to Tongzi. He worried that if Tongzi kept on stealing like this, his parents would eventually discover it.

Tongzi’s family mostly printed Buddhist scriptures. Many devout men and women practicing at home required a great number of scriptures to recite, which had given rise to small printing workshops like the Tong family’s.

The major printing houses still used beautiful woodblocks. Books printed this way were not only attractive but the characters themselves were elegant. Even if one couldn't read, gazing at them was a pleasure. The Song edition books, so expensive in later times, referred to these woodblock-printed volumes.

Those dark, smudgy books produced by movable type sold in large quantities but were of far less value than their woodblock counterparts. Bi Sheng, who invented movable type, inadvertently dragged the entire printing industry into an abyss, bringing disaster upon himself.

The great carving families, whose homes were filled with countless woodblocks, not only wished to destroy Bi Sheng’s reputation but also physically persecuted him. Even now, Bi Sheng remained imprisoned in the Cangzhou labor camp.

“He’s just a fool!” When Tongzi mimicked his father’s scornful tone and uttered those words, Tie Xinyuan felt a pang in his heart. He resolved that, should he ever invent or improve anything, he would hide it away for his own family’s use. As for benefiting society—having never done so in his past life, he was even less inclined to do so now.

Others used movable type in orderly rows, but Tie Xinyuan used them one by one like stamps—a great step backward.

Hearing Tongzi’s piercing cries from across the street, Tie Xinyuan sighed, picked up a large piece of date cake, and left the house.

His mother had set it aside for him, to be eaten when hungry. Now that she no longer took him to the shop, for she had discovered her son was truly obedient—if forbidden to leave the house, he would not take a single step outside.

As a young creature, Tie Xinyuan was acutely aware of how he ought to behave.

But now he had no choice; Tongzi’s endurance was directly proportional to the quantity and type of food available. If Tie Xinyuan didn’t bring out the date cake quickly, that fellow would have no qualms about betraying him.

Sure enough, the moment Tongzi saw the date cake, his cries diminished. No matter how hard his father thrashed him with the sole of his shoe, Tongzi uttered not a sound.

This puzzled Old Tongban. There were still plenty of type blocks left at home. As a printing shop, it was impossible to operate without a dozen or so full sets of type. The ones missing this time were old and nearly discarded—hardly of any use. Had he wrongly accused his son?

Still, upholding his paternal dignity, he landed two more blows for good measure before tossing Tongzi at the door and heading back inside.

Finding no one around, Tie Xinyuan slipped out and made his way to the big tree nearby. Tongzi, sniffling, soon arrived as well, holding out his hand for food as if it were his due.

“Don’t take any more type blocks next time. Remember to bring some prepared ink,” Tie Xinyuan whispered, handing over the date cake.

Tongzi nodded as he devoured the cake, no longer surprised that Tie Xinyuan, though a child, spoke so fluently.

A ragged man approached from afar. With a sigh, Tie Xinyuan left the tree and returned home, sitting just inside the door, watching the beggar coldly.

The man stood on the street, glancing frequently at the Tie family courtyard.

The fox lay at the threshold, a heap of snow. Were it not known to be a male, Tie Xinyuan would have believed it destined to become a spirit. It seemed to sense someone eyeing it, so it deliberately paced away, only to stop and return before straying too far.

Had the ragged man not been alert and ceased his lunge at the fox, the city guards, ever watchful on the walls, would have loosed their crossbows. To them, killing a thief trespassing in the imperial city would have been handsomely rewarded.

The angry guards cursed at the beggar to be gone. With a fearful glance at the Tie family’s courtyard and its occupants, the beggar vanished without a trace.

The fox, having failed in its aim, yawned and settled at Tie Xinyuan’s feet, basking in the guards’ flattery as though it were its due.

Since they’d taken on help at the family shop, Tie Xinyuan’s mother had been coming home often. From afar, she would see her son and the fox playing obediently in the courtyard and feel a surge of happiness. Perhaps it was the profits from the shop—her hair now adorned with a gleaming silver hairpin, strikingly conspicuous against her dark locks.

As usual, she scooped up her son for a kiss, then gave the fox a kick, and strode into the house, rummaging through boxes and drawers to gather every coin, counting them out in strings.

When she finished, her smile faded. Clearly, it was not enough. She muttered to herself, “Can’t secure the shop on Mahang Street after all.”

Tie Xinyuan retrieved an exquisite set of silver ornaments—a lock and two bracelets—his mother had commissioned at great expense for his first birthday.

Wang Rouhua glanced at her son, then promptly returned the lock and bracelets to the little chest, tapping his forehead. “These mustn’t be touched. Go play, I’m busy.”

Tie Xinyuan then dug up a silver ingot from the fox’s den and laid it before his mother.

Wang Rouhua took one look, noticed the official seal on the bottom, sighed, and tossed it back to him. “Go play with it. It bears the government’s mark—who knows who planted it to cause trouble? Use that, and your life won’t be worth a thing if you’re caught.”

Tie Xinyuan stashed the ingot back in the fox’s den.

Among the three members of the household, the fox held the highest status. Around its neck hung a pendant carved from Shoushan stone. Wang Rouhua had specially gone to the county office to register the fox, for the seal read, “Our Nation, Our People,” and was signed by the Imperial Household.

Since it had ties to the emperor, the county clerks had no choice but to process the registration, noses pinched in reluctance. Thus, the Tie family, with Tie Xinyuan as head of household, gained another official resident—or rather, a fox. When it came to naming him, Wang Rouhua pondered for a long time before settling on Huli, meaning “Fox.”

Tie Xinyuan, however, called him Iron Fox, believing it a far better name than his mother’s pun.

His mother never permitted the authorities to take advantage of her. Now that the household had another official resident, their grain stipend increased accordingly. Wang Rouhua didn’t care about the small sums Huli brought in from gathering firewood; what mattered was the fox’s imperial aura.

A widow and her orphan needed some backing to survive in the capital.

Tie Xinyuan discovered his mother had a keen business mind. The Seventh Brother’s Noodle Shop now sold not only noodles but a variety of side dishes. Though those were inexpensive, the real profit was in the braised meat.

Now, anyone with a bit of money would order a bowl of noodles, a couple of side dishes, and a small plate of braised meat, savoring their meal at their leisure. Men of status like Yang Huaiyu would bring their own wine, drinking alone or with friends for a lively gathering.

Thus, his mother’s shop began serving wine from the official supplier.

With the family business on steady footing, she was already eyeing the next shop. At this rate, the first noodle shop chain in the Song dynasty would soon appear before the citizens of Bianjing.

Before long, the Double Fifth Festival arrived. The emperor decreed that this year, the military review would be held at Jinming Pool.

Tie Xinyuan imagined it would be a grand parade like those in modern times and was eager to see it. But after hearing his mother’s explanation, he realized it was less a review of the city’s troops and more a showcase for the capital’s courtesans.

While the main event, the dragon boat races, featured the city’s forces, the evening’s entertainments were hosted by the major brothels and guilds, with the city’s top courtesan to be selected during the festivities.

Watching his mother excitedly prepare her finest dress, Tie Xinyuan realized he was about to witness the liveliest performance in the Song capital. Judging by his mother’s elaborate makeup, it seemed he might even have to participate alongside her. It was said that the “fish-dragon dance” was open to all, regardless of status.

“Mother, I don’t want to go!”

“Go? Of course you’ll go! I’ve already applied my face paint, and once you change into your floral jacket, you’ll outshine all those ragged children.”

Tie Xinyuan turned his head, unwilling to see himself made up like the god Erlang. He tried once more: “I don’t want to go. I want to play with the fox…”

“You must go! I’ve even hired a decorated carriage. Tomorrow, the entire capital will be at Jinming Pool—why wouldn’t you go?”

PS: Still seeking your support and recommendations—my deepest thanks.