Zhenniang paid no attention to her grandmother and mother’s words outside. She was focused on the wooden box before her.
The box was decorated with red lacquer and silver lines, looking quite exquisite. However, judging from the somewhat mottled lacquer, it had some age to it.
The box wasn’t locked, merely secured with a brass ring. Zhenniang carefully pulled open the ring and opened the box to find it divided into several compartments, each neatly containing several ink sticks.
Looking at these ink sticks, Zhenniang was stunned. These were all made by her hands. She was certain these were the ones Sister Ma had bought from her.
Zhenniang picked up one ink stick and discovered a piece of paper underneath. The paper was folded to about the width of three ink sticks laid side by side.
The paper was covered in dense characters written in a small plum-blossom script.
The city gate area was quite dim, especially with Zhenniang now hiding in her room. Although it was just past noon, the room was as dark as dusk, making the characters on the paper hard to read.
Zhenniang got up to light an oil lamp, then brought the paper close to it.
The dense text was all about ink evaluation and analysis – pointing out deficiencies in various aspects from soot to ingredients, to firing temperature, to grinding, and more, along with suggestions for solving these issues.
From these analyses, Zhenniang saw many shortcomings in her ink-making technique.
Her lips pressed tightly together as she picked up other ink sticks to examine them. Sure enough, each had a similar evaluation sheet beneath it.
Reading through them all, Zhenniang realized these evaluations and suggestions could help her ink-making skills advance to another level.
Suddenly, she recalled that her grandfather had mentioned many of these issues to her recently, and she had corrected them, though not as comprehensively.
With this thought, she snapped the box shut and rushed out of her room.
“Grandfather, were the suggestions you gave me about my ink-making from Seventh Grandmother?”
Old Master Li was sitting on a wooden chair in the courtyard, occasionally scattering grains of rice that drew a crowd of chicks around his feet.
Zhenniang approached and asked him directly.
“Come, sit.” Old Master Li patted a small stool beside him.
Zhenniang sat down.
“Indeed. Your Seventh Grandmother was first-rate at evaluating ink. Ever since you discovered that Tang Dynasty Longbin ink at your Sixth Uncle’s house, she said you had a talent for ink appreciation. Originally, when you produced that soot formula, she wanted to bring you into the workshop to mentor you. But given the workshop’s complex situation, and with your Ninth Grand-uncle always being wary of me, she feared you might be constrained there, limited to one area instead of developing comprehensively. So she abandoned that idea and instead had me teach you while she passed on knowledge through me. She thought very highly of you.”
Old Master Li paused before continuing: “All my ink-making skills came from the workshop, and since I’d retired from the trade, I couldn’t teach you certain formula-related matters without your Seventh Grandmother’s permission. Those ink molds and carving boards I gave you were all from her – the ones I had from back then were all burned by your grandmother in a fit of anger.”
“Seventh Grandmother put so much thought into helping me.” Hearing her grandfather’s words, Zhenniang felt deeply moved. What had she done to deserve such careful attention from Seventh Grandmother?
“It’s good that you understand,” Old Master Li said.
“But I still don’t understand why Seventh Grandmother would do this now. Though I have some talent for ink making, managing a workshop requires more than just that – connections, leadership ability, authority, and so on – I have none of these. And I’m a woman…”
Though Zhenniang never believed women were inherently incapable, this was the Ming Dynasty. This was the reality of the era, which couldn’t be ignored.
“Not only will Uncle Jingdong and Manager Shao not accept me, but even the workers below won’t follow me. Won’t this cause the workshop to fall apart?”
“You only see the disadvantages of inheriting the workshop. Why not consider the advantages?” Old Master Li asked.
“Hmm? Advantages?” Zhenniang rubbed her forehead, unable to think of any.
“First, with your Seventh Grandmother’s condition, Manager Shao and your Uncle Jingdong no longer have room for compromise. Their conflict will end either with Manager Shao leaving the workshop or your Uncle Jingdong starting his own business. That’s not even the worst of it – what’s truly concerning is that the widows and orphans of the main branch might become casualties in their fight. How could your Seventh Grandmother rest easy with that?” Old Master Li coughed.
Zhenniang quickly offered him a cup of water, which he drank.
Zhenniang thought about how the clan records described exactly this situation, though more complicated, with her Sixth Uncle’s husband also getting involved. In the end, neither Manager Shao nor Uncle Jingdong benefited – instead, Sixth Uncle’s husband came out ahead.
And indeed, no one from the main seventh branch had a good outcome.
In other words, Seventh Grandmother hoped she would be the buffer between these parties.
“Secondly, do you remember that iron pot repairman at the city gate?” Old Master Li asked.
Hearing his words, Zhenniang’s mind flashed to the “iron pot theory” often discussed in her previous life.
“That fellow Tietou wasn’t honest in his work. When people brought pots for repair, he would hammer them carelessly, making small cracks much worse until they were beyond repair. Then people had no choice but to buy new pots from him. That’s why his new pots sold so well. His approach wasn’t right but remember – in some cases, when a pot is already unusable but the problem remains hidden, his method becomes necessary,” Old Master Li explained.
“Grandfather means that Old Grandmother passed the workshop to me to be that pot-striker?” Zhenniang asked. Precisely because no one would accept her, hidden conflicts would more easily surface.
For instance, Sixth Uncle’s husband – Zhenniang believed that once news of her inheritance spread, he would certainly cause trouble.
“You’re not just the pot-striker, you need to forge a new pot altogether. Let the waves wash away the sand, and break down to build anew. Your Seventh Grandmother’s faith in you is beyond measure, but this path will be very difficult,” Old Master Li sighed.
Zhenniang pressed her lips together in deep thought. She certainly understood how difficult this path would be. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so hesitant.
As grandfather and granddaughter were lost in their thoughts, the courtyard gate suddenly burst open.
Zhenniang quickly stood up to look – it was her eldest brother who had crashed through the door.
Li Zhengliang’s face was pale, his eyes bloodshot.
“Big Brother, what are you doing? Did you see a ghost?” Zhenniang asked puzzled.
“Really, how old are you to be so reckless? Who’s going to pay to fix the door if you break it?” Madam Zhao said irritably.
“Dalong, what happened?” Madam Du asked gently from the side.
“My… my father… he…” Li Zhengliang mumbled, each word seeming extremely difficult to get out.
“What about your father? Has he been gambling again?” Hearing Li Zhengliang mention his father, Madam Zhao grew anxious. Jingfu had never been reliable – could it be that just when things were getting better, he had relapsed into his old ways and started gambling again? Had debt collectors come to their door?
Madam Zhao’s heart was racing with worry and anger.
“No, Uncle Huaide has returned with news. During New Year’s, when Father went with the merchant caravan beyond the passes to collect furs and ginseng, they encountered Tartars on their way back. The entire caravan was killed by the Tartars.” Li Zhengliang choked out these words, then crouched down, held his head, and began sobbing.
Zhenniang’s mind went blank. Regarding Li Jingfu, she initially had no father-daughter feelings and was even angry with him. But after he left for work, whenever anyone returned from Huizhou, he would send messages and small gifts through them, even if just some candy or hair accessories with beads and flowers.
Though not valuable items, everyone could feel the sentiment behind them. Gradually, she had come to accept him as her father. Now hearing of Li Jingfu’s fate, her heart felt as if it had lost something.
Her nose began to sting.
Beside her, Old Master Li’s teacup fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.
“You’re talking nonsense! They say good people die young while troublemakers live a thousand years. Your father was a troublemaker – how could the Tartars have killed him? You’re lying, aren’t you? You unfilial son, making up stories about your father’s death. I’ll beat you to death…” Madam Zhao raged through gritted teeth, grabbed a wooden rod, and began beating Li Zhengliang.
Li Zhengliang didn’t dodge, accepting the blows.
“Mother, stop hitting him, please stop!” Madam Du cried out in distress, quickly pulling at Madam Zhao, with Madam Zheng helping to restrain her.
Just then, Uncle Huaide appeared at the door holding a package, his face filled with sorrow.
“Huaide, tell Sister Wu that Jingfu is fine, right?” By now, Madam Wu had rushed out of the house, her eyes red, clutching Fang Huaide’s hand desperately.
“Aunt Wu, please accept my condolences. These are Brother Jingfu’s belongings that I’ve brought back,” Fang Huaide said, his eyes red-rimmed.
“No, I don’t believe it. My son Jingfu…” Madam Wu collapsed to the ground.
Zhenniang quickly moved to support her, but Madam Wu remained firmly seated on the ground. Unable to move her, Zhenniang crouched down and held her shoulders tightly. Madam Wu could no longer hold back and began wailing in Zhenniang’s embrace.
Old Master Li stood up trembling and walked forward to take the package from Fang Huaide: “Huaide, thank you for your trouble.”
“Don’t mention it, Uncle Li.” Fang Huaide said with reddened eyes, then pulled out two fifty-tael silver ingots from his chest and handed them to Old Master Li: “Uncle Li, this is what Brother Jingfu’s employer asked me to bring you. The employer asks you not to think it too little – they really couldn’t offer more.”
Fang Huaide continued to explain: “The employer suffered heavy losses this time. They had to sell their warehouse just to gather this compensation for everyone.”
This wasn’t just one death – the entire caravan was lost, along with all the mountain goods. Li Jingfu’s employer was bankrupt.
“All right, we understand. The employer is a righteous person,” Old Master Li said as he accepted the silver.
“Uncle Huaide, what about my father’s body?” Zhenniang asked while supporting Madam Wu.
“Yes, where is Jingfu’s body?” By now, Madam Zhao had calmed down. Having lived a life of hardship, after her initial outburst, she had regained her composure.
Fang Huaide shook his head helplessly. The caravan was attacked beyond the passes, in Tartar territory – how could they recover any bodies? By now they had likely become food for wild dogs.
Then Fang Huaide took his leave.
Zhenniang raised her tear-filled eyes to the sky.
Around her, Madam Zhao wailed to heaven and earth, while the rest of the family was immersed in deep sorrow.