In Zhou Junwu’s later memory, the spring of the tenth year of the Jinghan era of the Wu Dynasty was, on the whole, a rather rough one. Just as his ambitions for the study of natural philosophy had begun to catch fire, he’d been struck down at the very outset — his research into gunpowder had made no real progress, and had blown up in his face besides; his father, who otherwise rarely bothered with him, had confined him to the estate and forbidden him to leave; a whole chorus of tutors droned on endlessly about how his master’s philosophy of natural inquiry was nothing but the lowly craft of artisans, a base and frivolous pursuit unworthy of real study; even his grandfather-in-law, the consort, hadn’t taken his side this time; and as for his sister, forever pestered by the family about marriage while secretly nursing all manner of unrealistic fantasies of her own, she was even less likely to make common cause with him.
At just thirteen years old, the young prince had, for the first time in his life, found a direction he genuinely wanted to strive toward — only to have the whole world around him pour a merciless bucket of cold water over it. The blow to him was considerable indeed.
Truly exhausting. Felt like he could never fall in love with anything again…
Of course, the young Junwu’s troubles didn’t last very long in the end. The impact this particular spring would have on him, though, would prove enormous across the whole rest of his life. Late in the spring, his master returned from Hangzhou; being confined to the estate, Junwu had no way to go pay him a visit, but not long after — sometime around the middle of the third month — his master came to call at the estate himself. Though he did not sit down for a proper conversation with the King, thanks to his grandfather-in-law’s standing, Junwu was still allowed out temporarily, and his confinement was lifted for the occasion.
Among the scholars of the time, the terms used to address one’s teachers were, in fact, a matter of considerable nuance. Most of those who instructed Zhou Junwu at the estate were great Confucian scholars from around Jiangning, and Junwu addressed all of them respectfully as “teacher.” Ning Yi, however — ever since he’d developed his passion for natural philosophy — he addressed as “master,” and the distinction between the two terms carried real weight. Though Ning Yi had been away from Jiangning for a long stretch, and the title wasn’t one that came up in conversation constantly, the difference showed itself clearly enough in the small details.
The guest scholars retained at the estate were all men of standing and status; deferring to Kang Xian was one thing — after all, he held the rank of consort, and his own learning ran genuinely deep, even if he’d never earned formal examination honors. But Ning Yi was nothing more than a young man barely past twenty; however sharp his mind, however remarkable his talent, even granting him the title of Jiangning’s foremost literary genius, that reputation rested only on the minor art of poetry — when it came to solid, substantive scholarship, none of them believed themselves inferior to him.
Because of this, early the previous year, two of the estate’s guest scholars, Zhang Rui and Li Tong, had once gone to confront Ning Yi over the matter. That particular occasion happened to coincide with the assassination attempt on Qin Siyuan, and Ning Yi’s ruthless handling of the affair had given the two of them quite a fright, after which they’d let the matter drop. But once Ning Yi left Jiangning and the young prince grew ever more infatuated with these artisan crafts, indignation among the estate’s guest scholars swelled up again, and time and again, during lessons, they urged the young prince to turn back from the precipice, to devote himself instead to the teachings of the sages — though Zhou Junwu had no intention of listening to any of it.
Of course, the young prince’s temperament was mild enough at heart — in front of his tutors he would nod along obediently, taking their instruction with feigned humility, only to turn right around and go back to his own pursuits the moment their backs were turned. What he respected was the position his teachers held, not the men themselves. The tutors had, at various points, brought their concerns before King Kang as well, but Zhou Yong, who had spent his whole life as a wealthy, idle prince, understood well enough that even if his son grew to match Kang Xian’s own learning, it wouldn’t amount to much — if his son’s scholarship truly grew deep and he found himself with no outlet to serve the state and put it to use, it would only breed inner frustration. So he let the matter be. Had it not been for the gunpowder incident, he’d have been perfectly content to let his son indulge in some low, frivolous hobby — certainly better, in his view, than nursing grand ambitions the way his daughter did.
This time, word of Ning Yi’s return, along with certain stirrings involving Zhou Pei and Junwu, had already reached the ears of the estate’s guest scholars, who discussed among themselves the idea of challenging him to a contest of classical scholarship the moment he came to call, so that both the King and the young prince might see clearly just how unreliable this young man really was. Of course, by this point none of them could truly afford to underestimate Ning Yi outright — but even granting that he possessed real martial skill, having once cut down an assassin in the open street, and having now returned from Hangzhou after facing death time and again, in the eyes of these scholars, personal prowess in combat still amounted to nothing more than a minor art. A group of middle-aged and elderly scholars remained confident that, in matters of poetry, prose, and the classics, they could run circles around Ning Yi without much difficulty at all.
They had made all their preparations along these lines, and Zhou Junwu, hearing of it, found himself rather looking forward to the spectacle. But once Ning Yi took on Zhou Pei’s request, he simply had Junwu brought out through Kang Xian’s connections, giving the guest scholars no opportunity at all to issue their challenge. Over the following days, master and disciple wandered around the city of Jiangning together several times, with Zhou Pei tagging along under the pretense of accompanying them on their outings. She had originally hoped Ning Yi would talk her brother out of pursuing those dangerous experiments any further, but instead, Ning Yi took Junwu around to piers and workshops, lecturing him on waterwheels, the evolution of the loom, the ingenious design behind various kinds of machinery, and so on, without end — none of it new material, really, since Ning Yi had touched on these things with Junwu before; this time he simply went into far greater detail.
After three days of this, as evening fell and he was seeing the two siblings home, Zhou Pei slipped back out of the estate once they’d gone in and pulled Ning Yi into an alley beside the residence, launching straight into a complaint. “Master, you promised me you’d steer Junwu away from those dangerous pursuits and toward something more productive — why are you telling him all this instead…”
Ning Yi laughed. “I have my reasons, of course.”
“But, Master, going on like this is only going to make Junwu even more infatuated with all that natural philosophy business — who knows, in a few days he might be right back to fiddling with gunpowder again. How could you do this, Master, if Junwu ends up…”
The young woman went on chattering anxiously, brow furrowed, face tight as she rattled on at length. Her usual bearing was elegant and composed enough, but at this moment, taken purely as a young woman’s appearance, her head seemed a touch too large for her frame, her chin sharp and pointed, her figure rather slight — like a little hen clucking away frantically on her own account. Ning Yi tilted his head, watching her for a good while, then flicked a finger against her forehead with a light snap. The girl froze with a startled “eep,” blinked a few times, and fell silent.
“I have my methods. The princess need only watch and see — don’t go doubting the professional.”
Ning Yi waved a hand and turned to walk out of the alley. In truth, unlike her more obedient brother, Zhou Pei had never held an attitude of unconditional trust toward Ning Yi. Of course, that was only on the surface — the young princess was a woman of very strong opinions of her own, and even having already come to acknowledge Ning Yi’s abilities, she would still be the first to speak up whenever she had something to say, ask, or question. Ning Yi genuinely appreciated this attitude in her — a person in a position of authority ought never to defer blindly to teachers or superiors, and in this regard the young princess did rather better than her brother did.
Of course, in the past, on those occasions when Zhou Pei let herself get carried away into outright unreasonable arguing, Ning Yi hadn’t hesitated to give her head a good, unceremonious smack with whatever was on hand. But back then Zhou Pei had still been very much a little girl; a year on, she’d grown into something rather more like a young woman now, and the same gesture carried a certain ambiguous charge to it. Zhou Pei’s face flushed red in the alley for a good while before she finally stamped her foot and headed back inside. Over this past year, she had already stopped her studies, facing instead the mounting pressure of marriage at home; though she’d managed to stall it so far, various forms of pre-marital instruction had already become her main daily occupation. Being flicked on the forehead just now left her retreating to her room, chin propped in her hands, lost in a spell of restless thought.
The next day brought light rain, and Ning Yi spent the whole morning with Junwu and Zhou Pei seated at the Yilan Teahouse. They chose a spot by the window, brought out brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, and with the sound of the rain in the background, had Junwu lay out his various ideas and concepts. The maids and attendants settled themselves idly nearby; Zhou Pei, every bit the proper lady, wore a veil over her face, nibbling daintily on pastries beneath it while her eyes darted this way and that, discreetly taking in whatever was happening elsewhere in the room. The Yilan Teahouse was, in its arrangement, already something rather like a teahouse-restaurant of a later age — each seating area partitioned off with screens and potted plants, no single spot commanding a wide view of the room, which lent the whole place a certain pleasurable thrill of discreetly watching others. With the strains of string-and-flute music drifting through, it gave the sense of a great crowd wandering through a garden together, blending elegance and worldly bustle rather well.
“…Actually, if you want to fly up into the sky, there are several ways to think about it. Starting from what already exists, we can really narrow it down to three: the kite, the double-kick firecracker rocket, and the sky lantern — we can sketch out all three…”
What Ning Yi and her young brother were sketching and discussing off to the side was, naturally, the thing Zhou Pei was most concerned with. They were talking about how one might fly up into the sky — a topic Zhou Pei found rather exasperating. She knew perfectly well that ever since Junwu had taken up natural philosophy, what he wanted most of all, someday, was to fly. That her little brother indulged in such idle fantasies was one thing, but now here was Ning Yi, his so-called teacher, discussing it with him with an air of dead seriousness, which struck her as more than a little absurd.
But the way things developed proved rather strange. Outside, the rain fell on, and amid the faint strains of song drifting through the restaurant, Master Ning genuinely began sketching out a whole series of things. Bit by bit, working through the structure and underlying principles, he laid out the real possibility of flying up into the sky… Flying? How could such a thing even be possible — they weren’t immortals. And yet, under Ning Yi’s detailed yet plainly worded explanation, as Zhou Pei looked over the diagrams, she found herself, almost against her will, beginning to feel that this really might actually be possible.
The most plausible option was, naturally, an oversized sky lantern with a basket suspended beneath it; the other, involving two pairs of wings, was more complicated, though it had evolved from the principles of the kite — and, to Zhou Pei’s own surprise, she found she could follow at least some of the basic reasoning. If kites large and small could fly up into the sky, then this… might it not be possible too?
The thought only flickered through her mind briefly; what left her far more troubled was that, after hearing all this, her little brother would surely become even more infatuated with natural philosophy, more determined than ever to become some kind of artisan-craftsman. This Ning Liheng… this “Master Ning”… had no sense of honoring his word at all!
Then she heard Ning Yi begin telling Junwu about something else entirely.
“…These past few days, I’ve taken you around to see the looms, the pulley-and-winch systems at the docks, the waterwheels, the printing workshops — all of these have been developing continuously. The loom nowadays has over sixteen hundred individual parts, and its efficiency has increased more than fivefold compared with two hundred years ago; compared with the most primitive looms of a thousand years back, the improvement is many dozens of times over. Waterwheels have improved two to threefold, and they’re far more durable now too. In the printing workshops, the woodblocks keep getting finer, the craftsmen keep growing more skilled; the movable type in use today still has a great many problems, but there’s clearly still room to improve — it’s only a matter of finding a more durable material for the type. Given enough time, it should really just be a matter of time before someone does…”
Behind her veil, Zhou Pei pursed her lips, while Junwu nodded along vigorously. Ning Yi smiled. “But… do you have any idea how many people have worked on this over the course of two hundred-odd years?”
He paused. “Just around Jiangnan alone, the people who make their living off the textile trade number at least several hundred thousand. Over these two hundred-odd years, how many generations have come and gone? Everyone depends on weaving to survive — the more they can weave, the more they can earn. Once workshops took root, great households like the Su family, for instance, would keep at least a few craftsmen on hand specifically to work on improving the looms. All these years, all these people, and the efficiency has only increased fivefold. Plenty of men have spent their entire lives just refining a single small component…”
As Junwu frowned in confusion, Ning Yi sighed. “The truth is, the people who actually study and improve the looms are, for the most part, rather plain, unremarkable men. The genuinely brilliant ones, given any opportunity at all, go off to study for the examinations instead. After all, of the hundred professions, none ranks as high as scholarship — anyone with the chance to study would hardly choose to become an artisan instead. But of those who do go into this line of work, even if we assume they’re all rather ordinary, let’s say there are a thousand of them… Junwu, do you think you, all on your own, are more capable than a thousand men combined?”
Junwu hesitated, then shook his head.
“Before, you were still too young. Now you’re thirteen — even if you can’t yet start a household of your own, you can begin setting your ambitions. There are things I can tell you plainly now.” Ning Yi set the sheet with the hot-air balloon sketch in front of Zhou Junwu. “This is the simplest approach we’ve settled on for now, and there are several problems you’d need to solve. What kind of rope to use, what kind of fuel, how to control the size of the flame with the most stability. The flame has to be strong enough, but whatever’s used to fuel it can’t be too heavy. The fabric used for the upper part of the balloon has to be airtight, and has to withstand the heat of the flame without tearing — even a single small hole, and everyone aboard would be doomed. Every single one of these problems requires support from other trades entirely — just producing fabric good enough for the purpose might take you an entire lifetime working within the textile industry alone. And the rope used above — you already know this yourself — even the specific way the hemp rope for the pulley winches at the docks is braided affects the winch’s efficiency; it’s an exacting craft in itself… And this balloon still wouldn’t even let you control the direction you fly in. One man, in one lifetime — can you really accomplish all that?”
“Then… then what am I supposed to do…” Junwu’s face had already crumpled. Beside him, Zhou Pei had gone still for a good while, staring at Ning Yi, blinking — she had, by now, already begun to guess at what he was about to say.
Ning Yi tilted his head, looking at the boy in front of him with a faintly beguiling smile. “You’re still young. At first, you liked this study of natural philosophy simply because you found it interesting — but there’s no such thing, in this world, as accomplishing something worthwhile purely through constant enjoyment. What I’m about to tell you now, you can spend the next few years thinking it over, because I may soon be leaving for the capital, and I won’t have time left to teach you all this…”
“Your sister has always hoped you’ll grow up to be a great man someday, someone who sets his heart on establishing order for heaven and earth and lasting peace for all generations to come — but that’s simply not going to happen, and though you’re still young, you already know that yourself; King Kang understands it too, which is exactly why he’s never bothered managing you closely. But this study of natural philosophy — the study of the artisan’s craft — is something you genuinely could pursue, with no obstacle in your way at all. In the future, you could have wealth, you could have power, you could gather a great many clever men around you and set them to work, each toward a purpose, and so long as you’re the one holding the overall vision, steering the direction, the time it takes to bring these things into being could be shortened tenfold, a hundredfold. But first, you’ll need to learn to be a clever prince — to learn how to get many people working toward the same goal alongside you. You’re a bright boy — if you’re truly interested, there are plenty of people at the estate who could teach you exactly that…”
As Ning Yi spoke of his coming departure for the capital, there was, in his manner, something of the solemn weight of a dying man entrusting his child to another’s care, and in that very same moment, young Junwu felt his heart surge and made up his mind then and there. Over the months and even years that followed, something like a genuine sense of mission would gradually accumulate in his heart, piece by piece, event by event: there were things, perhaps, that even his master couldn’t accomplish — but he himself could.
That, however, is a story for later. At the time, the young princess Zhou Pei beside them was left simply all the more impressed by his silver tongue. This particular day counted, for the moment, as having resolved Zhou Junwu’s troubles. Back at the Su estate that afternoon, though, Xing’er mentioned that a few Confucian scholars had come calling together that morning — men of some renown among Jiangning’s literary circles, one of them a guest scholar from the estate itself — inviting Ning Yi to a literary gathering to be held two days later. This gathering, unlike the sort of poetry salons where young men typically tried to make a name for themselves, was attended entirely by scholars of deep and genuine learning, given over to discussions of poetry, essays, and current affairs. They had waited for Ning Yi the better part of the morning, and finding him absent, had left the invitation behind.
“Not going.”
Ning Yi glanced at the invitation, and finding no line to the effect of “you must attend or your whole family dies,” tossed it aside and put it out of his mind entirely.