Chapter 59: The Perfect Circle’s “Rule”

Dong! For the first time, the name of "Wang Ge of Bubuzhi Township" was heard clearly by all the examinees in the area. As she hurried back to the spot where she had just chosen her flute mold, some of the candidates looked at her departing figure with envy or jealousy, never expecting Wang Ge to be so young.

Yet most of the candidates paid her no mind, quickly regaining their focus on their own work. This was not their first time participating in the artisan’s exam; they knew that those who gained fame early on often failed to last until the end. Was someone like Zheng Que or Wang Ge truly so skilled in their fundamentals? More likely, it was just luck—they had happened to pick an easy mold. The real contest of the artisan’s exam had yet to truly begin! The difference between the skilled and the unskilled would only start to become apparent tonight.

The two examiners exchanged a smile. One said, “Let’s hope this young artisan Wang is not only clever, but also steadfast.”

“It’s hard to say, especially for a young woman,” the other replied with a sigh. “If she’s especially thin-skinned, the further she gets...”

The two continued their rounds, gradually moving away.

Wang Ge passed by the workbench where she had earlier seen the bamboo brushes. It was now empty, though the two brooms beside it remained. The workbench for the flute molds was empty as well.

Unfortunately, just then, a candidate entered the equipment shed about twenty paces ahead of her. If she followed behind this person, there would be even fewer good molds to choose from. This candidate was walking slowly, so she jogged past him. As they brushed past each other, she caught a glimpse of his mouth and nose wrapped in cloth and immediately caught a strong stench emanating from him!

In that instant, Wang Ge understood why Liu Xiaolang had urged her to bring a headscarf—it could both hide embarrassment and block out the odor.

This candidate had soiled himself! That explained his odd, wide-legged gait, as if he were doing horse stance exercises.

After slowing her pace, she found that there were still quite a few molds left in this section of the equipment shed, but they were just as difficult to choose from: a rattan net, a wooden mortise and tenon, a bamboo bracer... and several strange, unrecognizable objects that were clearly just parts.

Further ahead, by another workbench, stood a boy and a girl, both quite young.

Why were they standing there?

Glancing at the workbench, Wang Ge saw that there was only one mold left, with its materials laid out on the production area’s side.

The mold was roughly square, with a wooden base and wrapped edges. Inside was a clay core, its surface flat. The mold’s sides measured about a foot, with a total thickness of two inches. Three circles—two large, one small—were etched into the clay, the lines extremely fine, with a shallow hole at the center that did not reach the wooden layer.

There were only two materials in the basket: a section of bamboo tube, and the clay-core wooden board with its wrapped edges, indicating to the candidates that no further cutting was necessary.

Such a simple mold was rare, but the hesitation it prompted came from a missing piece at the lower right corner of the clay core, forming a jagged pit. If the pit was part of the mold’s intended design, it would be difficult to replicate.

Wang Ge immediately raised her right hand, searching for an examiner or patrol nearby; she did not want to miss this mold. Just then, an examiner approached. “What is it, candidate?”

“Sir, may I ask, is this mold designed this way, or has the clay core been damaged?” Wang Ge used the opportunity to draw the examiner closer, squeezing between the two other candidates.

At that moment, a patrol officer also arrived.

The examiner, entirely familiar with the design of every type of mold, immediately scolded the patrol, “How did you conduct your rounds? When was this clay mold damaged? Who did it? Haven’t you been told how crucial these molds are? What if a candidate chooses it, puts in all the effort to finish, only to have to deliberately chip off a piece? Could such a thing pass inspection?”

Though the patrol officer might have seemed formidable in front of candidates, in front of the examiner he was no more than a menial and dared not talk back.

After venting his anger, the examiner also understood what a simple mold meant to a candidate. He announced, “This mold is not disqualified. It should be made as though the clay core were intact. I will inform the inspectors.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wang Ge placed her chest onto the basket on the ground and lifted the mold with both hands. It was indeed heavy.

As she walked back to her work area, she kept glancing back to check on her belongings. Once the mold was set down, she hurried back to fetch the materials and tools. It was then she realized just how much her strength had faded; the weight of the chest on top of it all left her panting from exhaustion.

The examiner gave the patrol officer another sharp rebuke—“Do your duty properly!”—then headed off toward the direction of the sounding drum.

The two young candidates went off to seek other molds.

The patrol officer looked up at Wang Ge, his face twisted with rage: Would it kill her to pick a different mold? He knew full well that this scolding was not the end of it; at least three months’ pay would be docked! That meddlesome little girl—he wished he could split her in two!

Crack! Wang Ge picked up her bamboo knife and split the bamboo tube again and again...

On the clay surface of this mold, there were only three circles, the lines as fine as if drawn with a needle. The skill being tested was how to make a compass.

A compass: an instrument for drawing true circles. Its principle was the same as a compass in later generations.

First she shaved the ends of two split strips of green bamboo into sharp points, setting one aside. On the end of the one she held, she bored an oval hole. The other strip’s end she whittled thin so it could fit through the hole she’d just made.

Now the compass’s rough shape was ready. Next came fixing the radius.

She carved a small piece of bamboo and wedged it at the crossing point of the two strips; this bamboo block served as the compass’s “hinge,” and the higher it was placed, the wider the “legs” spread below.

She compared it to the smallest circle on the mold, determined the radius, and once the “hinge block” was set, she did not move it again. She then shaved two equal bamboo chips, placed them above the strips as splints, and bound them tightly with hemp string.

The compass for the small circle was complete.

Before drawing the small circle, she needed to mark the center. This was simple—the intersection of the cross lines in the middle of the clay core marked the exact center.

After drawing the small circle, she measured it with a wooden ruler and found it matched the mold’s diameter exactly.

Then she untied the hemp and, using the same method, made new compasses for the two larger circles. The compass could be fitted with extension rods, but Wang Ge thought that would be more trouble than it was worth; it was easier to make a new compass for each circle.

Just as she was finishing the last step—drawing the largest outer circle—she suddenly sensed movement behind her. She halted at once. The patrol officer from before strode past her, his steps brisk and forceful. As he passed, a corner of his robe whipped up and struck her heavily on the right cheek.

Had she not been alert and closed her eye in time, it would surely have injured her eye.

The patrol officer walked on as if nothing had happened.

Wang Ge was deeply shaken. She knew full well it was intentional, but she had to endure it; she could not allow herself to be distracted by such a petty villain. Unbeknownst to her, her naturally fair skin made her right cheek flush bright red.

For that very reason, though the patrol hated Wang Ge, he did not dare provoke her further for the time being.

Within a few breaths, her task was complete.

But the mold, tools, and everything together were too heavy, and the clay core was fragile. How could she transport them all to the inspector in a single trip? She dared not make two trips—the vengeful patrol officer was watching her like a hawk not far away.

She had it!

First, she packed up her tools and left the scraps on the ground—those were not worth stealing. She placed her chest in the basket, then laid her finished board flat on top of it. Next, she lifted the mold. Just as she would carry her little brother while working, she placed the mold, clay side up, onto her bent back, supporting the base with her left hand behind her and gripping the basket with her right, dragging it along upside down.

The patrol officer knew that if he let this wretched girl reach the inspector’s station, regardless of whether she passed the check, he would lose any further chance for revenge! He had already been scolded; if he didn’t teach her a lesson, the bitterness in his chest would only fester! Clenching his teeth, he strode over, pretending he was going to help Wang Ge, though both he and she knew exactly what he intended!

But Wang Ge could not be the first to shout out or question him!

She knew she could not avoid this. Her eyes burned red as she quickened her pace, dragging her load. After all her hard work, after five moments of acclaim, was it all about to be ruined by this patrol officer?