Chapter Fifty-Five: The Master of Artifacts

Chapter Fifty-Five: Masters of Craft

Copying three hundred large characters from model scripts was an exceedingly harsh punishment. Thus, while Zhang Fatty and the others had already left for home, Tie Xinyuan was still at his desk, writing. He discovered that this truly tested one’s patience; at first, he carefully imitated the handwriting of a child, but after completing a hundred or so characters, his patience flagged and he began to write faster. When he noticed that everyone else had finished, his pace quickened even more.

Mr. Guo stood behind Tie Xinyuan, watching him, and sighed, “That will do for today. I punished you with writing not for the sake of the words themselves, but to calm your mind. Yet you are too restless—so the punishment loses its meaning. Go now.”

With that, Mr. Guo gathered his books and went to the back hall, where his wife had already laid out dinner—a simple meal: two vegetarian dishes, one pickled vegetable, and a large bowl of rice.

After sitting, his wife poured him a cup of wine. Seeing him take a sip, she laughed, “Today you finally punished your favorite pupil?”

Mr. Guo replied calmly, “The boy is too clever. Clever children are rarely patient; he needs more tempering of his nature.”

His wife smiled, “Aren’t you afraid he’ll run off? The scholar at Tuqiao has already said that if Yuan comes, he won’t charge any tuition.”

Mr. Guo looked up at her and grinned, “Do you think that child cares about a bit of tuition? He’s like a tiger—how could he follow a pig to learn how to eat?”

His wife laughed heartily, “Are you saying you’re a tiger then?”

The smile faded from Mr. Guo’s face. He knocked on the table and said, “I’m nothing more than a mastiff.”

Tie Xinyuan glanced back at his teacher, feeling a bit embarrassed as he tidied up the messy characters on the table. After bowing to the back hall, he hurried out.

Today was the moving day for Xiaoqiao and the others, so he had to rush over. Though they had little to move, it was still a day worth remembering—the beginning of their new lives.

Shuizhu’er had waited so long for Tie Xinyuan that her neck seemed stretched. She clutched the fox and stood on tiptoe, wanting to enter the school, but dared not—inside was a very large black dog.

When Tie Xinyuan came out, he quickly pulled Shuizhu’er along and sped off to the abandoned garden.

There, little had changed. Yang Huaiyu now spent his days wielding a knife, hacking wildly and shouting like a madman. He’d charge at a tree, hack away until it crashed to the ground, then exhale as if he were a great swordsman, slowly sheathing his blade.

Xiaoqiao and the others were wielding wooden swords—their third set already—each heavier than the last. This current blade was carved from the hardest wood, only a bit lighter than a steel blade.

The young girls had already moved their belongings out, sitting together on their luggage, watching their brothers practice swordplay, bored.

The Yang family’s servants had prepared lunch, waiting only for Yang Huaiyu to finish his practice.

Tie Xinyuan searched around but didn’t see the three old soldiers. Just as he wondered, Yang Huaiyu said, “Mother called the three grandfathers back home. My second brother needs masters.”

“You sound like you don’t mind,” Tie Xinyuan remarked.

Yang Huaiyu wiped his glossy chest with linen, laughing as he did, “Why would I? Mother thinks the Yang family needs my brother to bring honor, so naturally all efforts are focused on him.”

Tie Xinyuan smiled, “You don’t think you’ll amount to much?”

Yang Huaiyu picked up his steel blade, flicked it with his finger, and laughed, “I’ll make my living with this from now on. By the way, save me a room in your new house. I don’t really want to go home.”

Tie Xinyuan studied him, realizing this fellow truly lacked disappointment or resentment. He nodded, “Of course, but you’ll have to take care of meals.”

Yang Huaiyu grinned, “Don’t worry, I still have an estate and two shops. I won’t be rich, but feeding a few people is no problem.”

“You’ve split from the family?” Tie Xinyuan’s voice rose, drawing the attention of Xiaoqiao and the others.

“The Yangs won’t keep a useless son in the main house. Mother means well—if I stayed, trouble would brew. For everyone’s sake, leaving and setting up my own household is best.”

Tie Xinyuan wrinkled his nose and laughed, “Just seems a bit miserable.”

“Miserable?” Yang Huaiyu laughed loudly. “Of all my twenty-odd years, this is my happiest moment. No more buzzing in my ears about how to bring glory to the clan or rise to high office. You wouldn’t believe it—even as a child, mother insisted I sit upright on the chamber pot, maintaining dignity.”

“You’re not sad about losing Sumei, the great beauty?”

“What’s the point of grieving for what I can’t have? I’ve been training hard, and without her, it turns out nothing much has changed.”

Tie Xinyuan didn’t want to comment. After all, someone drained daily by three old soldiers’ brutal training would fall asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow—no time for sentimental thoughts.

Sumei was none of his concern, so he just asked and then set about helping them move.

Zhongren had arrived long ago and kindly hired a cart for Xiaoqiao and the others—he assumed a big family would have much to move.

He soon realized he was mistaken. Thirteen children, each carrying a small cloth bundle, and their bedding slung over their shoulders—that was the entirety of the move.

The house Zhongren had purchased wasn’t large, just two courtyards front and back. The boys lived in the front, the girls in the rear—a standard Tokyo residence.

A tall mulberry tree stood in the courtyard, its branches reaching far above. The once-green leaves now fell steadily with the autumn wind, carpeting the well platform.

The tree had not been chopped down, meaning the family’s daughter had not yet married. Judging by its thickness, Tie Xinyuan worried for her—it had grown for at least twenty years. How long would the daughter remain?

Ling’er, Fuer, and Huor—those three monkeys—had not sat still since entering. Climbing railings, leaping up and down, fiercely claiming their favorite rooms.

After a scolding from Xiaoqiao, they obediently moved their bedding to the attic. The street-facing rooms would be used as workshops.

The workshop occupied the first floor, and the remaining rooms were more than enough for thirteen children. To have their own business in Tokyo, where land was precious, meant they were already a prosperous household.

“What do you plan to do with the first floor? Surely you’re not going to manufacture crossbows outright?” After seeing Zhongren off, Tie Xinyuan sat beside Xiaoqiao on the second-floor boards, legs dangling as they gazed at the empty storefront below.

“Why not? In fact, I’ve received my first order: I’m to make a one-handed crossbow for Yang Huaiyu. I think the handle you devised last time—so it can be gripped with one hand—is brilliant. We can experiment with it.”

“You have only one customer; that won’t support everyone.”

“Once Yang Huaiyu wins the martial champion’s title, we’ll have all the customers we want.”

Tie Xinyuan stared at Xiaoqiao, surprised. “You truly plan to turn Yang Huaiyu into a walking fortress? I’ve heard the Song dynasty’s infantry armor is already unmatched.”

“Unmatched? If you use the repeating crossbow at close range, you could shoot right through it. Personally, I favor chainmail: it’s light, highly protective, and—most importantly—it can be worn next to the skin. Whether for foot soldiers or cavalry, chainmail is like a second life. If you can create a wire-drawing machine, I’ll make chainmail armor affordable and widespread.”

“Steel-making is a headache. Your family’s method—hammering the steel by hand—if I build the machine, you’ll be worked to death. Who could supply enough hand-forged steel for a wire-drawing device?”

“You’re overthinking. I only want to make a few dozen pounds of iron and steel wire at a time, not thousands. Don’t fret for me.”

“Didn’t you say you’d make it widespread?”

“Are you a fool? If full-body chainmail is manufactured at only one set per year, it’s a unique treasure. If ten sets appear annually, it’s a rare heirloom. If ten thousand sets are made, it becomes worthless—it’s what you call junk.”

“How many do you plan to make this year?”

“One set. For Yang Huaiyu.”

Tie Xinyuan, seeing Xiaoqiao had no intention of becoming an arms tycoon, felt relieved. After a quick housewarming meal in their new home, he prepared to take the fox and head back.

Leaning on the railing, Xiaoqiao watched Tie Xinyuan and called, “My family comes from a long line of master craftsmen. Does yours hail from blacksmiths too? I heard Aunt Wang brought you out of the flood with nothing—so where did you learn all those secret methods?”

Tie Xinyuan turned to her, “Do you enjoy hearing me lie?”

Xiaoqiao shook her head, “Every time you lie, it makes me uncomfortable.”

Tie Xinyuan nodded, “That’s true. Don’t force me to lie again.”

“I won’t ask anymore. Whatever you say, I’ll choose to believe you. Only then will my heart be at ease.”