Yan Lianke - The Four Books

Just as they were searching for firewood and preparing to light the furnace, the Scholar went up to the Child’s tent and carefully knocked on the screen door. Hearing a sound from inside, he pulled open the screen and went in. The Child’s tent was still full of certificates and red blossoms — so red that you immediately had to shut your eyes. It was very cold outside, but inside this tent it was scalding hot. The Scholar stood in the doorway for a while with his eyes closed, and when he opened them he saw the Child lying facedown on the floor, while the Theologian and two others who had been helping pull the carts were in the process of massaging his legs and back. Someone else was kneeling by the Child’s head and rubbing his shoulders. After the Theologian finished massaging the Child’s thighs and calves, he began removing the Child’s socks. He was just about to start massaging the Child’s feet when he noticed the Scholar had entered. The room had lit up for a moment, then went dark again. The Scholar stood in front of this unexpected scene. The Theologian and the other two men looked at him and nodded, and without saying a word they went back to what they were doing.

The Child now turned away from the Theologian, and peered inquisitively at the Scholar to see what he wanted. The Scholar kneeled down beside the Child, apparently so that the Child could see more clearly the blisters that covered his face.

“Are we, from the ninety-ninth, the only ones representing Re-Ed in delivering steel to the provincial seat?” the Scholar asked, and when he saw the Child hesitate, the Scholar proceeded. “Even if we are the only ones in the entire district, there are still more than a dozen districts in the province, so presumably more than a dozen will be going to the provincial seat. If we use scythe blades to smelt high-quality steel, how can we be sure that none of these other groups haven’t used steel rail tracks, axe-heads, and cleavers, to smelt similarly high-quality steel? We didn’t have many high-quality steel implements available out on the riverbank, but the other delegations will be coming from cities, towns, and factories, and won’t they easily be able to find higher-quality iron resources than ours? For instance, if someone uses sections of iron railroad track and doesn’t burn wood but instead uses coal from their factories to smelt their steel, how can we hope to compete with them?”

As the Scholar was squatting there offering his analysis, the blisters on his face that had frozen began to melt in the warm room, and pus began oozing out, leaving him in unbearable agony. As he spoke, he sucked in air while wiping away the pus that was running down his face.

The Child was surprised by the Scholar’s analysis, and stared intently at him.

“If it is in fact true that we’ll be representing the district in the provincial seat,” the Scholar said, “then there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to earn first place and represent the province in the capital.”

The Child’s expression appeared to soften. He put on his shoes, then asked the Theologian and the other two professors who were giving him massages to stand aside while he scooted over to sit closer to the Scholar.

“Do you have a plan?”

The Scholar reached for a stool and knelt down on it.

The Scholar’s arguments and his general bearing startled the Theologian and the other two professors, and made them green with envy. They wondered how it was that they had gone with the Child to deliver the iron, and yet had no inkling of his larger plans. It was still snowing outside, but inside you couldn’t hear the sound of falling snowflakes. Against the window, the snow immediately melted into water and came dripping down. The Theologian and the professors watched the Scholar’s face, then looked at the streams of water running along the window, noticing that the Scholar’s expression of sorrow was as clear and intricate as the water on the window.

“I’ve analyzed this from every angle,” the Scholar said with a laugh. Because he was in such agony, he had a strangely stiff expression. “The conference they are holding in the provincial seat concerns the black sand steel-smelting technique, and regardless of who attends the meeting, you’ll need to smelt your steel so that it looks as though it has been smelted from black sand. But this black sand steel-smelting technique is something that we in the ninety-ninth developed ourselves. So, it simply wouldn’t do for us to simply smelt the steel into the shape of a pancake or a bun.” At this point, the Scholar paused, then wiped the smile from his face and pushed his stool forward by a couple of inches, so that he was sitting even closer to the Child. “Instead, we have to smelt it into a high-quality pentagonal star,” the Scholar suddenly announced, as though revealing a secret. “This way, even if the others use iron taken from railroad tracks and superhot coke to smelt their steel, we will smelt our own into a pentagonal star that we will paint red and wrap in red paper, and then will wrap again in silk. When we go compete with them, we will unwrap the package one layer at a time, revealing a steel star so hard that it will resound sharply if you strike it — I dare say, our ninety-ninth will definitely place first in the province, and you will definitely represent the entire province in submitting the steel to the capital.”

The Child’s tent suddenly became very quiet.

After the Scholar had finished speaking, he closed his mouth and looked at the Child’s face. The Child initially had a look of confusion and incomprehension, but in the blink of an eye this shifted to an irrepressible excitement. The Child licked his lips and shifted his gaze from the Scholar to the Theologian and the other two professors. In this sudden silence, you could hear the canvas flapping in the wind and the snow falling against the window, like catkins on a hillside. The Theologian understood that the Child was indicating that he should leave, so he stood up and gazed reluctantly at the others, then led the two professors out.

The room once again lit up, as a cold breeze blew in. The Child’s face became a red patchwork of light and shadows. The Child then turned back to the Scholar’s blistered face and said, “You have performed a very good deed.” He then asked, “How many blossoms do you want me to award you?”

“As many as you think appropriate. the Musician and I would be honored to receive whatever you think is appropriate.”

“I know,” the Child laughed. “You plan to give these blossoms to the Musician, so that she can have a hundred and twenty-five and return home.”

The Scholar nodded.

“You have helped me come up with a good idea, so I’ll award you twenty-five more small blossoms. With these additional twenty-five blossoms, you and the Musician will have more than a hundred.”

The Scholar once again opened his eyes wide in surprise. He tried to kneel down and start kowtowing, but appeared concerned that in doing so he might lose his dignity as a scholar. Then he suddenly heard footsteps outside; therefore, rather than kowtowing he bowed slightly and nodded. After softly offering his thanks, he proceeded to leave.

As the Scholar was emerging from the tent, he noticed that a three-foot pit had been dug in the ground behind it. A furnace had been built inside the hole, with the flue oriented in the direction of the Child’s cot. The Scholar realized why the Child’s tent was so warm — it turned out that the Child’s cot was actually heated from the inside, like a traditional kang . A professor was in the process of adding wood to the furnace, and the Scholar asked, “How many blossoms does he give you for doing this all day?” The professor thought that the Scholar was mocking him, so he glared at him. “He gives me one blossom every five days, and only on one occasion has he ever given me two blossoms in a single week.” Without saying another word, he continued feeding kindling into the furnace.