Li Yuangui suddenly stood and strode to the middle hall, first checking the dining table, then going to the door to lift the wooden cover of the water vat. Wei Shubin walked to the wall opening and saw Li Yuangui sigh, bend down, and reach into the vat for the water dipper. He lifted a scoop, looked at it, and shook his head, pouring it outside.
The vat was nearly empty, with too much sediment at the bottom to drink. The stove pot was dry, though wooden buckets sat outside. Li Yuangui stepped out, started to call “Yang—” then quickly swallowed his words.
Wei Shubin looked out to see why. Early that morning after gruel, the two old women had called Yang Xinzhi to the garden – he got along best with them among the three newcomers – and hadn’t returned. Li Yuangui had meant to send his guard to draw well water.
Following his gaze, she understood his silence. Yang Xinzhi’s large form was busy with the two women by the… manure pit. Though unclear what exactly they were doing, any water he brought back would be undrinkable.
The Tang prince sighed heavily again and grabbed the shoulder pole leaning against the wall, hooking on two wooden buckets. Wei Shubin uncertainly asked, “Fourteenth Young Lord?”
Did he mean to draw water himself from the well outside? Though not far, just past a few vegetable plots, Wei Shubin doubted Li Yuangui had even seen servants draw water more than a handful of times in his life, let alone done such menial work himself.
But with only the two of them inside, he clearly couldn’t expect a minister’s daughter to do it, especially injured. If thirsty, there was no other choice.
Wei Shubin leaned in the doorway, watching his tall, thin figure wobble unsteadily along the field ridges carrying the water buckets. The wide stone-lined well had a windlass. Li Yuangui set down the pole, took a bucket, and hooked it to the hemp rope hanging from the windlass, turning the wooden handle to lower it.
Not bad, quite skillful, Wei Shubin assessed. After all, working on his property wasn’t so unfair.
Then things went wrong at the well… Several plots away, Wei Shubin couldn’t see clearly, but Li Yuangui seemed to struggle with the windlass handle, then let go to grab the rope hanging into the well, swaying back and forth doing something unclear.
His gaze fixed downward, body leaning forward, tilting further and further until Wei Shubin grew alarmed. Just as she was about to warn him, he cried out as his thin frame plunged headfirst into the well.
“Ah! Help!”
Wei Shubin screamed and ran toward the well. Heedless of her shoes in the mud, she lifted her skirts and struggled to the well’s edge to see Li Yuangui had surfaced, one hand on the bucket, the other clutching the rope trying to climb. But the hemp rope wound many times around the windlass – when he pulled down, more rope followed.
Though little rope remained on the windlass, Wei Shubin anxiously reached to pull him up herself. Much shorter than Li Yuangui with shorter arms, she struggled to reach the rope from the well’s edge, leaning forward slightly—
“Back away!”
The shout echoed up from the well. Wei Shubin looked down, realizing she too was about to fall in, and quickly stepped back to steady herself. Falling in now would only make things worse – in this cold weather, staying in the water too long would make them both seriously ill.
“Get Yang Da!” Li Yuangui called from below. Wei Shubin realized he was right and ran toward the manure pit. Rounding the house, she saw Yang Xinzhi already running over, having heard her earlier scream. She yelled with all her might:
“Fourteenth Young Lord fell in the well!”
…
“You couldn’t shout any louder…”
After Yang Xinzhi and the others pulled Li Yuangui from the well, they stripped his wet outer robe, and helped him back to the kang, where one old woman found a tattered felt blanket to wrap him in while the other said “Must boil water quickly for washing.” The three left – some to draw water, others to gather firewood. Left to care for him, Wei Shubin watched Li Yuangui collapse on the kang, coughing up water. When he finally caught his breath, he weakly mumbled:
“Louder, so Taiji Hall could hear…”
Still concerned with dignity despite everything. Wei Shubin glared as he quietly explained falling in – the bucket wouldn’t fill properly, floating on the surface. After shaking the rope, the hook detached from the bucket handle and started slipping upward. In his panic, he tried to hook it back… his foot slipped on the wet stone well edge, and… achoo!
Not good. He needed a hot bath quickly.
Wei Shubin checked outside – Yang Xinzhi and one woman worked by the well, the other hadn’t reached the woodshed. The main stove was cold, though flint, steel striker, and dry tinder sat atop it.
I should start the fire first, add some water to the pot, then add more when they return with wood and water, she thought. Stuffing straw and chaff from behind the door into the stove, she crouched, ignoring her left arm’s pain to strike the flint.
She’d learned fire-starting with her brother during family outings and successfully lit a flame. But the stove didn’t draw well – the flame weakly licked the straw without catching the wood, growing dimmer.
Getting anxious, Wei Shubin copied the kitchen maids, lying down to blow into the stove mouth.
A cloud of ash exploded in her face.
What now? As she coughed and rubbed her eyes in frustration, she noticed a small clay pot by the stove, its rim oily. Leaning in, she smelled sesame oil. Well, just this once – a Tang prince’s life was worth more than a pot of oil…
The minister’s daughter justified herself, lifted the pot, and crouched to splash oil into the stove, leaning in to blow again.
“Whoosh!” Bright flames filled her vision as they burst from the stove’s mouth.
Note: Regarding ancient fire-starting tools, before packaged matches or lighters, the most common worldwide was metal + flint + tinder. In recent Chinese history, these were called “fire sickle,” “firestone,” and “fire fluff.” The fire sickle became a commonly carried item – a small curved steel strip struck against flint to create sparks caught by dry artemisia fluff or sulfur-coated wood strips or paper.
This set’s later popularity was directly related to tobacco’s spread after the Ming Dynasty. Smokers needed frequent light sources but couldn’t carry burning candles, so fire-starting tools became portable. Non-smokers didn’t need constant fire – home cooking stoves preserved embers long-term, and borrowing fire from neighbors was easier than striking new flames.
Tang Dynasty mainly used “strike fire” from metal striking stone. Early Tang court ordered some officials to wear wilderness survival belts called “diexie dai” with seven items including a “fire stone” and a small knife for various uses like cutting grass/meat and striking flint. Figure 1 shows a partial Xinhua News Agency photo of an unearthed diexie belt.
Tang poet Cui Xuanliang’s “Deathbed Poem” uses struck sparks as a metaphor for transience. Bai Juyi’s “North Pavilion Inviting Guests” describes striking fire to boil tea while drinking with friends.