Chapter 96: The Vexing White Crane

Le... slash...
Le... slash...
The wood fibers curled, layer after layer sliced away from the block.
The sound of carving this light wood echoed not only in Wang Ge’s ears, but seemed to carry a peculiar rhythm, soothing the heart of every woodcarver.
“Phew!” She blew away the shavings, gripped her carving knife tightly, and focused on chiseling along the reverse edges of the character “Urgency” on the woodblock, leaving only its strokes raised above the surface.
The wood was wild pear, a few pieces Wang Ge had purposely picked out from the carpenter’s shop when buying materials for a waterwheel two days prior—scraps discarded by the craftsmen. Because she only chose a handful, the shop foreman didn’t bother to argue with her.
Wild pear trees grew in the hills outside Jia She village. Their trunks were hard and difficult to fell, so villagers mostly cut their thorny branches to lay atop their walls.
After the “Urgency” character was finished, the knuckles of her right hand ached. She switched to a new block and used her left hand to carve the second character, “Immediate.”
In her previous life, Wang Nanxing’s family had a branch that inherited only the traditional woodcarving movable-type printing technique, as well as its intangible cultural heritage. The hardest part of woodblock movable-type printing was mastering the skill of writing Song-style script and reverse characters. Even those younger members of the Wang family who didn’t inherit the printing craft, like Wang Nanxing, were required to practice Song-style script from a young age, lest the craft be lost over time.
Song-style script was also called Ming-style. It wasn’t invented in the Song dynasty but was created during the mid-Ming, as woodblock printing developed, to better suit the needs of carving characters. Since it mimicked Song dynasty printed texts, later generations named it both “Song-style” and “Ming-style.”
Wang Ge had no intention of inventing movable-type printing centuries ahead of its time. What good would it do? The paper-making technology in Great Jin was still backward. Even the powerful Xie clan, at Feiliu Peak’s papermaker shop, used paper made from bamboo, which, like straw and hemp paper, was called “native paper” and couldn’t be used for writing.
So her current endeavor was purely taking advantage of her proximity to the carpentry shop in the southern hills, where expensive wild pear wood and all kinds of carving tools were available, to quickly carve a set of movable-type blocks for “The Urgency Primer” and “Guangya” for her own use—two family heirlooms for her future generations.
Le... slash...
Le... slash...
The sound of carving wood was, to a woodcarver, far more moving than music.
Song-style script was characterized by thin horizontal strokes, thick verticals, and strong, powerful feet.
Wild pear wood was best suited for carving Song-style characters: hard, fine-grained, and straight in texture, requiring the carver’s fingers to constantly adjust their force while following the grain.
“Phew!” During carving, Wang Ge repeatedly pulled away from the candlelight to blow away the shavings, then leaned back in. If she couldn’t see clearly and made a single mistake, the entire block would be ruined. Sometimes, as she drew closer and closer, she’d catch a whiff of burning hair—only then realizing stray strands had been singed.
Tap, tap.
White Crane was at the door again.
Wang Ge had just finished carving the character “Goblet,” put down her knife, and opened the door. White Crane tilted its head at her—such pure elegance!

She smiled, her eyes bending with delight.
Then she scolded: “You beast!”
No matter how intelligent or graceful, it couldn’t just snatch the freshly carved woodblock and fly off!
She had carved a total of four characters: “Urgency,” “Immediate,” “Rare,” and “Goblet”—the last being the most complex!
“I—I... sigh!” It was late; she couldn’t even shout.
A thief! All her work for over half an hour wasted.
Not long after Wang Ge returned, frustrated, to her room, the crafty White Crane, riding the starlit night, came back to the lodge’s roof. It spiraled elegantly, then dove, landing in a fenced courtyard.
There were not one, but three such courtyards, arranged in a “pin” shape about a hundred paces from the music pavilion.
Each yard contained three bamboo dwellings in the same “pin” pattern. From the outside, the huts seemed simple bamboo-wood constructions, but in truth they were rammed earth structures: double-walled bamboo with packed earth between.
White Crane approached a door, lifted its claw, and pushed it open—unlatched—then entered to find its master, Xie Youru.
Xie Youru, Guo Master, Zuo Master, and Bian Wangzhi—four rarely gathered together—were deep in animated conversation. White Crane loosened its grip and dropped the stolen block in their midst.
“Chixiao...” Xie Youru’s voice drew out the name, and White Crane knew it had erred, immediately fleeing the room. “This little devil,” he muttered, rising to close the door.
Guo Master picked up the block. At first, he examined the smooth reverse side. Sensing something odd under his thumb, he flipped it over and softly exclaimed. It wasn’t the reversed character that surprised him—who among them hadn’t made rubbings of inscriptions? What startled him was that, after mentally reversing the character, he found its script square yet sharp, a style he’d never seen before.
When Xie Youru returned, Guo Master had already smeared the raised “Goblet” character with ashes from the brazier and pressed it onto white hemp paper. Four men, each over forty, learned in the classics and history, now crowded together, heads nearly touching, gazing at the inch-sized woodblock with rare fascination.
“Youru, Chixiao... does it obey?” Guo Master asked.
Zuo Master: “Feed it two pieces of meat tomorrow—if it won’t listen, three!”
Bian Wangzhi protested, “Nonsense! Chixiao only eats fish and shrimp.”
“You’re all frantic—I haven’t even seen what it is yet...” Xie Youru said as he reached out, only to grab at empty air.
Guo Master had already tucked the block into his sleeve pocket. “It’s late, and I have classes tomorrow. I’ll be off now, ha ha.”
Zuo Master pointed at his retreating back and laughed, “That man, always so stingy! Hmm? Eh? Guo Jia’ao! Isn’t it my turn to teach tomorrow?”
The next morning, a thin layer of snow covered the ground, though no one knew when it had fallen or stopped.

The wind was fierce.
At the music pavilion, behind and to the sides of Zuo Master’s seat, pages wrapped thick felt around the pillars to block the cold wind, ensuring the master remained untouched by drafts.
Wang Ge and the other disciples were fine too, since the crowd of auditors outside effectively shielded them from the cold. Despite the weather, the number of listeners had not dwindled—in fact, it had grown. Most likely, everyone thought harsh conditions meant a chance for a better seat.
Such scenes showed the fervor and sincerity with which the ancients pursued learning. Even those auditors standing far away, unable to clearly hear the master’s teaching, could at least catch the eleven disciples reciting in unison.
“First, then, beginning, foundation, origin, ancestor, root, embryo, commencement, descent, initial, inception...”
Zuo Master began his lecture by stating that to understand “Guangya,” one must first read “Erya,” so Wang Ge and the other disciples stretched their necks and bellowed out the first chapter of “Erya”—“Explaining Words.”
“Xun” and “Gu” together form philology.
To explain the meaning of a word in plain language is “Xun.”
To use contemporary language to interpret ancient speech is “Gu.”
From the Han dynasty onward, the two fields were linked together.
Zuo Master raised his hand: “Stop. Now, I will explain the characters ‘Er’ and ‘Ya’ to you. The character ‘Er’ can be traced back to the oracle bones of Yinxu.” He tapped his bamboo ruler three times.
Three pages stepped forward to the left side of the table, each raising their arms horizontally, with the one in the middle holding a triangular spear upright. The three also raised their legs, performing a most peculiar pose.
Zuo Master explained: “What they are forming is the character ‘Er’ from the oracle bones of Yinxu. We can only use this structure to define the origin of ‘Er’—but what does it mean...”
This teaching method took Wang Ge completely by surprise—it was unforgettable! She hurried to record the structure and posture of the three pages onto her bamboo slips.
The pages had it tough, too; right in the front row, a three-year-old disciple suddenly stood up and tickled one of them under the arm.
“Pfft!” And it was the girl in the second row—in red dress and skirt—who burst out laughing first, clutching her belly and slapping the table.
Zuo Master waved his bamboo ruler to send the smallest disciple back to his seat. The three pages bowed and withdrew.
Wild pear wood: The character “Du” originally referred to wild pear (also called tang pear). The tree’s branches are thorny; ancient people used them for fencing, barring strangers from entry. The “Book of Han” contains the phrase “shut oneself within the gates.”
(End of chapter)