Chapter 50: Where the Heart Leads

With a mind set on repaying a favor, she spoke without reservation; while the other, ever ready to seize an opportunity, pursued questions that touched upon the craftsman’s examination—there was no issue Wang Ge could not conceive of, and none she would hesitate to voice.

Roughly half an hour later, she saw Liu Bo out.

She moved her work stool back, evened out her blade, and began splitting bamboo. As she busied herself, Wang Ge mulled over the examination rules Liu Bo had explained. In a single phrase: “Craft is the art of refinement; before achieving skill, one must first observe rules and order.”

It turned out that the term “craftsman” was not a random designation, but one that emphasized “craft” above all.

Since the decree of Emperor Wu to “let all craftsmen contend,” the only rule of the grading examinations that was never to be changed by later generations was that of the craftsman’s rank—an indication of its importance.

For each broad category, whether heavenly crafts or exceptional skills, there was but one craftsman’s examination. No matter how many apprentices competed, only the number of examination sites would increase; all would begin at the same hour, at the first hour of the morning on the twenty-fifth day of the ninth month, with none permitted to start late.

There was no time limit for the examination, but no eating, drinking, or leaving for the privy was allowed during the process.

According to Liu Xiaolang, in years past a candidate had once persisted until the third day, only to be carried out of the hall, his body swollen from restraint. When Liu Xiaolang finished recounting this anecdote, it drew such laughter from Wang Peng that he could not contain himself, dragging his little sister out to nestle against their uncle with their cousin.

Never had the county of Duoyi required an extra venue; the craftsman’s hall was always spacious enough, with frameworks erected inside, and beneath them, tables laden with objects—these were the candidates’ examination topics: models.

Within the woodworking category, models were divided by material: woodware, bamboo ware, straw ware, and objects of bramble and vine.

All tools for making items were distributed before candidates entered the hall; once inside, each was free to select a model for replication.

The requirements for replication: size, length, and breadth must match exactly.

Liu Bo passed on all he had learned from his own experience: the models were diverse—ranging from small bamboo nails, bamboo slips, or straw butterflies, to large items like carrying poles, brooms, and wooden basins, as well as those of middling size such as straw sandals, rulers, and bamboo brushes—there was truly everything.

There were many duplicates among the models, but once selected, a model could not be returned to the table.

Upon entering, one must not think to walk the hall once around before choosing; rather, the moment an easily made model catches your eye, select it at once. The crafting area was set up on either side of the model tables; only after completing and passing inspection for one model could the next be chosen.

As he concluded, Liu Bo added, almost inexplicably, “When you take the exam, be sure to wear a headscarf.”

Successful candidates were ranked: those who could replicate nine items according to their models were deemed junior craftsmen; nineteen, intermediate; twenty-nine, senior. Those who could replicate more than fifty—excluding exactly fifty—would be first-class craftsmen.

By last year, only nine senior craftsmen had ever appeared in Great Jin, including that unfortunate soul who was carried out.

A first-class craftsman had never appeared.

Even a certain master once sighed that perhaps the rank of first-class craftsman existed only as an aspiration set by Emperor Cheng, a goal toward which all craftsmen might direct their resolve.

“The direction of one’s resolve…” Wang Ge repeated the words, her hands stilled.

“Cousin, cousin, look at me!” Wang Peng puffed out his cheeks and stretched his arms round, then quickly returned to normal and asked, “Do I look like that candidate who was carried out?” Then he puffed his cheeks again, turning his small face from side to side.

Wang Ge had just been amused, when she heard Wang Ai, in her childish voice, say, “Brother looks like a fat millet grain.”

Wang Xing burst out laughing and collapsed against their father.

“Tsk, these children!” Wang Dalang didn’t know whom he should scold.

Wang Peng dared not retort, his ears still sore from earlier. He called out to Wang Xing, “Come on, Tiger Head, let’s feed the chickens.” It was his favorite chore.

Wang Xing, ever considerate, took Wang Ai’s hand. “Father, I’ll watch over our cousin.”

Children are like this, boisterous one moment, affectionate the next.

Wang Ge looked down at the bamboo strip in her hands. The phrase “the direction of one’s resolve” that Liu Xiaolang had left her with had struck a chord. Though her eyes were fixed on the green bamboo being split, passed through the knife’s gate, and pared into threads, her mind wandered. As a result, she made several extra passes in the final step.

This bamboo strip was pared thin as a cicada’s wing. A gentle puff, and its long, trailing tip fluttered as if lifted by the wind; wherever the light touched, it responded in full brilliance.

In her previous life, Wang Ge’s skill at splitting bamboo had not reached this level. She had not expected to break through so naturally today.

Now that she knew the rules of the craftsman’s examination, she was all the more determined to finish her current tasks quickly, then practice the foundational skills of crafting various objects, honing her speed further.

Four days later.

Two tenant farmers from the Jia landlord’s estate arrived, the headman among them the same man who had delivered bamboo before. The other was nearly fifty, clad in a patched jacket, his body bent from years of toil.

This time, they came pushing a wheelbarrow, with an empty wooden box tied atop it.

Wang Grandfather called them into the courtyard.

Wang Dalang and the children remained inside; only Wang Ge stood before the main house, on a large grass mat covered with an old quilt. Laid atop the quilt were dense bundles of bamboo strips—ten to a bundle, fifty bundles in all.

Wang Grandfather said, “It’s good there’s no wind today. Here, five hundred bamboo strips, not one more, not one less.”

The box for the bamboo samples was on the ground, but Wang Grandfather would not touch it, gesturing for them to open it themselves. “Examine them carefully, every single strip; so you can report back to Master Jia without worry.” Better that than having them blame her later for any problem.

The older tenant was a bamboo craftsman and knew what to look for without opening the box. He squatted at the edge of the mat, examining each strip meticulously, front and back, tip and tail, holding them up to the light. His hands, calloused from years of work, could not easily test for splinters—but there was no need, for a craftsman’s eye was sharp: a single glance sufficed to judge the quality.

“Box,” he called, not turning his head, instructing the other tenant to bring it over.

The other grumbled, “Tch, isn’t the box already on the ground?”

“That’s for the samples, they mustn’t be mixed.”

The headman shot the old craftsman a sidelong glance, cursing under his breath: Useless old man, only at times like this do you dare order me about—may you eat coarse chaff your whole life. But curse as he might, with nothing better to do, he fetched the box.

The box they brought was much larger than the sample box, lined with less cloth. The bamboo strips, being flat and thin, could be packed in great number. The old craftsman inspected each one before placing them carefully inside. The process was slow; Wang Ge would not waste daylight, so with green and yellow bamboo already prepared, she began weaving a window mat before the main house.

The courtyard was silent. Occasionally, a magpie would fly overhead, pausing longer than usual before flitting away.

The headman sat at the wheelbarrow and gradually dozed off. He woke only when a foot nudged him—it was the craftsman, finished with his inspection. “You checked them all, right? If anything’s wrong, it’s not on me.”

“All done.” The old man had already moved the boxes to the barrow, the headman secured them with rope.

The three hundred coins owed had been brought earlier in the afternoon. With a smile meant to curry favor, the headman asked, “Master Jia sent me to ask, would Young Craftsman Wang like to take on more work? If you’re willing, I’ll bring fresh bamboo in the morning.”

Grandfather Wang waved him off, “No, my granddaughter’s preparing for the craftsman’s exam—she has no time.”

“Craftsman’s exam? What’s that?”

“It’s for craftsmen, higher than an apprentice.”

“Oh,” the tenant replied, walking away. But after a few steps, he spat back, “Boasting, are you? Who could be more skilled than Master Jia? A little girl… Wait, a little girl? Ah, how could I forget!”