Chapter 20: No One Knows a Mother Better Than Her Child

Dong! Dong! The "Unworthy Drum" at both the South and East Gates sounded almost simultaneously, signaling the elimination of two more craftsmen. It was the final day of the first round of examinations, and for the first time, the examiners had split into two groups: one led by the chief examiner with three assistants, the other with five assistant examiners.

Each craftsman was to be graded, and over three hundred would be eliminated, so the "Unworthy Drum" sounded with unusual frequency; sometimes, as now, two drums would sound together.

Examiner Zheng’s group of four walked toward the craftsmen from Bubzhi Village.

"Candidate Zhang Qing?"

"Present," Zhang Qing replied, standing up in apprehension.

"Pass," said Examiner Zheng, uttering a single word. Zhang Qing let out a long sigh of relief, the tension draining from him.

As the examiners continued, it was now Wang Ge's turn to be nervous. The rat trap she had crafted had been taken by an examiner and never returned—she didn't know if it had made an impression. Fortunately, her main piece, a combination measuring vessel, was also complete.

Assistant Examiner Xu picked it up, and the group inspected it closely.

First, they examined its structure: trapezoidal sides, square upper and lower openings, the whole woven from bamboo strips, with scarcely a gap—smooth to the eye and touch alike.

Next, its practical value: with the large opening facing up, it served as a "dou" measure; flipped over, the small opening upward, it became a "sheng" measure.

On each side, a round handle was woven: one, slender, to secure the "he" measure; the other, thicker, with a smaller central opening, to hold the "yue" measure.

The examiners recognized it as an imitation of the "Jialiang," a celebrated invention of the Mang Dynasty. The absence of the largest "hu" measure was probably not due to lack of time, but rather to the girl's caution—fearing that crafting such a national treasure, even in imitation, might be taboo. Her head drooped ever lower as they watched.

Examiner Zheng spoke: "By tradition, Bubzhi Village is allotted only one apprentice spot. Your fundamental skills surpass Zhang Qing’s, but you are older; in a few years, his basic skills may well outstrip yours."

Wang Ge's left pinky was already digging into her palm as she awaited the rest. If the examiner thought her skill threatened Zhang Qing’s chances and intended to eliminate her, he could just say so—no need for a speech.

As expected, he continued, "Your true strength lies in the ingenious device you crafted on the first day, which proves your creative talent. You pass this round, but you must display your unique gifts even more in the next."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

After leaving the area, one assistant examiner remarked, "This candidate’s skills are among the best here; I doubt Zhang Qing will catch up in a few years."

Examiner Zheng thought: Of course! Do I not know? The county magistrate told me to give Miss Wang a scare—what else am I to do?

As dusk fell, the first round ended: 331 craftsmen eliminated, 330 remained. Bubzhi Village, including Wang Ge and Zhang Qing, had twelve candidates pass.

Those who remained had to take their finished products with them; nothing could be left in the arena. They also had to exchange their number tags with their respective village officials. Eliminated candidates kept their tags as proof of experience. Most would never become apprentices, but the tag would make it easier to find work than for ordinary craftsmen.

Finally released from the examination grounds, the wooden village official collected old number tags and distributed new ones. "You mustn't run about tonight. Tomorrow at dawn, enter through the East Gate. The competition area will change, but materials remain the same. Some of you should adjust your materials, lest you run out by the third round."

A chorus of "Yes, sir" followed, and the official smiled warmly. "Don’t stay tense. Take a stroll nearby; just return here after dark. Also, Qinghe Village is buying products—go have a look and broaden your horizons."

The young craftsmen left with their elders, and only then did the village official take out a purse and hand it to Wang Ge. "Be back before dark."

"I don't need money yet, sir. Please hold onto it for me. I’m off to sell this," she answered brightly, hugging her woven measuring vessel and hurrying toward the Qinghe Village buying point.

On her way, Wang Ge noticed that the crowds had only grown. The buying area was surrounded several layers deep, with not only craftsmen haggling but also merchants from distant places negotiating with the buyers from Qinghe Village.

"Wang Sister, over here! Fewer people on this side," Zhang Qing called out. His father followed close, carrying a bamboo mat under one arm and shielding his son with the other.

Wang Ge came over and greeted them politely. "Good day, Uncle. Zhang Brother."

"A young lady brave enough to come to the county town alone—she’s braver than our Qing!" Zhang’s father was in his forties and had a naturally cheerful face. His praise made Wang Ge smile shyly.

She quickly returned the compliment. "Zhang Brother is the most outstanding young man I’ve met!"

Zhang’s father beamed with delight, while Zhang Qing blushed in embarrassment.

Soon it was their turn. Zhang Qing's bamboo mat sold for a hundred coins, and the father and son went off happily to the food stalls.

Wang Ge’s combination measuring vessel fetched one hundred twenty coins—she was overjoyed and quickly handed her earnings to the village official for safekeeping.

The next day dawned gloomy. The twelve craftsmen from Bubzhi Village entered through the East Gate under a sky that was almost unnaturally dark, but thankfully, the rain shelters made for the candidates had been moved with the materials.

The competition area had shrunk; the North and West Gates were closed, leaving only the East and South entrances. As the examination began, the rain started to fall.

At last, Huan Zhen’s wound had scabbed over, but with movement, it split anew. He drew a shallow breath and walked to the window, pushing it open to watch the rain cascade from the eaves.

Could the evils of the world be washed away by mere drizzle? No—they demanded the hand of thunder.

On the low table behind him lay two booklets, written the night before, containing detailed records of Jiangcheng’s matricide. When he had flayed Jiangcheng alive, the blade was rusty, causing the culprit to die in convulsions a day later. The only detailed confession had to be penned by Huan Zhen himself, wounded as he was.

The first booklet described Jiangcheng’s motive for parricide. When the county magistrate forced the degenerate son to recount the events leading to his mother’s death, the man, beside himself with rage, set fire to the cart because Jiangcheng had tampered with it. Soon after, the magistrate regretted this, realizing that burning the cart would only create a bigger flaw in the story.

This, in turn, led to the final act of patricide. If his father had lived, not only would he have taken his anger out on the Chang family, but should the imperial prosecutors arrive and ask why the cart was burned, how would he answer? To save his own life, would he not reveal the truth of the matricide?

The second booklet detailed the circumstances of the mother’s death. Lady Meng, when traveling by cart, had a habit of solitude, never allowing a maid to accompany her. Her couch was padded thickly, but the left side, altered by Jiangcheng, was uneven, making it uncomfortable. Thus, she always sat on the right, beside the window.

She also suffered from motion sickness. To prevent nausea, a box of candied fruit was always kept in the cart—Jiangcheng’s second device, for he had laced the fruit with a sedative.

The third trick, as Huan Zhen and others had suspected, involved the ox. The old ox pulling her cart had bamboo splinters stuck in its right-side legs. The more it walked, the more it favored the right, worsening Lady Meng’s sickness.

So, soon after leaving the city, Lady Meng, feeling ill, ate many of the candied fruits and slipped into unconsciousness. Before that, in her distress, she had leaned against the window for air.

After the two carts—master and servant—entered the road lined with peach blossoms, Jiangcheng’s servant, disguised as a traveler, drove a cart in pursuit.

When Lady Meng’s cart turned onto the flowered path, the servant urged his ox to overtake them, inserting himself between the two carts.

He then cried out, feigning an attempt to pass, but in truth, he kept pace alongside the lead cart, gradually forcing it into the brambles at the roadside.

These country roads were ill-maintained, and the old ox, recognizing the servant’s voice, quickened its pace with each shouted command. The driver could not restrain it.

Lady Meng’s head, lolling at the window, was battered among the thorns, her face shredded. She died without a sound.

After the crime, Jiangcheng and his brothers cut down the thorns, not in grief, but out of fear—his mother’s blood still stained the branches, and one crooked bough even held a gouged-out eye.

Thus, Lady Meng’s death had nothing to do with the peach grove. Her end came because—who knows a mother better than her own son?