Yan Lianke - The Four Books

The Scholar stood there in front of the door and peered out at a distant point in the snow. After stretching his back, he didn’t head to the furnaces, but rather returned to his tent. When he reemerged, he was wearing the tall dunce cap with all of his crimes written on it, together with the placard full of shocking labels. He would wear the dunce cap and placard while penitently kneeling next to the furnace while adding kindling, building the fire, smelting the iron, extinguishing the fire, airing it out, adding water, then removing the steel. He would then paint this pentagonal star red, wrap it in silk, and carry it to the cart. The Scholar figured that if he atoned for his crimes like this, the Child would surely award him at least ten more small blossoms. With ten more blossoms, he would have earned a total of eighty for the Musician and, together with the thirty-four she already had, they would then have a hundred and fourteen. If the Child turned out to be in a good mood and awarded him twenty blossoms rather than ten, then they would have a hundred and twenty-four, leaving them just one short of what they would need for the Musician to return home. As long as they behaved well and the Child was in a good mood, they should be able to secure that final blossom.

The snowstorm continued to grow. In the wind, the rushing water of the Yellow River sounded like a cacophony of flutes, periodically intermixed with the sound of a high melody and the steady rhythm of waves pounding the sand. Under these frigid conditions, the Scholar suddenly felt a surge of warmth, as he proceeded quickly toward the southernmost furnace. Because the furnace was small and they were smelting high-quality steel, they only needed the handful of professors who were already assigned to work the furnace. And yet, the Scholar, kneeling there with his dunce cap and his placard with all of his crimes written on it, would certainly not be unwanted. He looked somewhat contented as he walked into the wind, but by the time he reached the large fourth furnace, he noticed a group of people kneeling next to the small fifth furnace. There were almost a hundred professors, all wearing handmade dunce caps and cardboard placards. The caps were made from either white paper, newspaper, or brown packing paper, and on each of the caps and placards was written a list of crimes and sins. The Scholar was startled by the sight, and he stared at that crowd kneeling in the snow like so many snow-white chrysalises. It occurred to him that he might never succeed in earning a blossom from the Child, as he also realized that if he didn’t kneel down with everyone else the Child might not only refuse to give him any more blossoms, but also might even dock him an additional dozen or two.

The Scholar proceeded to kneel down in a location to the southeast of the furnace, where he would be shielded from the wind. Gazing out over the forest of dunce caps, he saw several professors talking to the Child in the snow in front of the furnaces, discussing how to make a star-shaped mold in the same furnaces that had previously been used to smelt the black-sand steel, so that when the molten steel from the scythe blades was poured in, it would congeal into a pentagonal star. Using pens and paper, and even sticks to write in the snow, they were in the process of furiously calculating the weight and volume of the five scythe blades, together with the requisite size and depth of the star molds, so that when they poured the molten steel into the molds they would produce a star of the desired size and thickness.

It seemed as though the Scholar really wanted to join in their planning, regardless of whether it involved contributing to their attempt to make steel stars, or to come up with new methods of smelting high-quality steel. It occurred to him that they should inscribe the district’s number and the Child’s name and the date on the inside of the mold. This way, even if the steel was sent to the provincial or national capital, any higher-up who looked at it, even the highest of the nation’s higher-ups, would know that on this particular date the Child led a group of men from the ninety-ninth to smelt this star. This way, any higher-up or national leader who saw this star would remember the Child’s name and this black sand steel-smelting technology.

Upon thinking that they should inscribe the time, date, and name on the bottom of the molds, the Scholar suddenly felt superior to these other professors kneeling before him. He stood up and waded through a sea of dunce caps, proceeding toward the furnace where the Child and the professors were standing.

3. Heaven’s Child , pp. 275–81.

So it came to pass.

They smelted a pentagonal star, which was one foot, eight and a half inches in diameter, and two-point-three inches thick. It was so heavy that two grown men could barely lift it. When the Child and the Theologian went into town, they first would have the star inspected by the people at the headquarters, and then they would send it to the train station in the city. From there it would be shipped to the provincial seat, to be entered into the competition. Afterward, there was a possibility that it might be selected to represent the entire province, and be sent to the highest, highest capital, where the highest, highest higher-ups would come to observe, enjoy, and evaluate it.

The Child was confident that this steel star would definitely be selected to represent the province at the nation’s capital.

The weather that day was unusually mild. When they were smelting the iron, the wind was still blowing and the snow was still coming down, but by the time they brought the steel out of the furnace the sky was already clear. The surface of the steel was shiny and bright. It was painted with blindingly red paint and wrapped in blindingly red paper. It was then wrapped in blindingly red silk, after which they used an even more blindingly red quilt to wrap up the red silk, red paper, and the red star. The cotton quilt was soft and would protect the star’s shiny surface.

Everyone came to see them off, standing in a huge crowd along the riverbank. They all waved, congratulated them, and said auspicious things. Everyone was confident that this piece of steel would surely win first place at the provincial competition, and that the following spring it would represent the province in the national capital. They were confident that when the Child returned from the provincial seat, a large group from Re-Ed would be permitted to return home. They all went to see them off, waving and saying auspicious things. After the sun came up, the sunlight shone down upon the earth. Thousands upon thousands of specks of light danced in the brightness. The Child and the Theologian set off, trudging through the snow. The cart wheels ran through the drifts, making a crackling sound. Everything was extremely desolate. The trees had been chopped down to fuel the furnaces, and consequently the landscape was completely white, like an enormous sheet of white paper. The sparrows had almost nowhere to land, and when they got tired they would alight on one of the few remaining thornbushes or wormwood trees, their weight bending the branch almost double.

The Child and the Theologian proceeded down the road, with the Theologian pulling the cart and the Child following along behind. To break the silence, they started chatting.

“How many blossoms do you have?” the Child asked.

The Theologian turned around to answer, his forehead covered in sweat. “Ninety-two.”

When the Child saw this sweat, he said excitedly, “In recognition of your having pulled my cart, I’ll award you ten more.”

The Theologian suddenly stopped and stared in surprise. His face lit up and he said, “Why don’t you ride in the cart? Otherwise you’ll be exposed to the wet snow and warm sun, and your shoes could easily be ruined.”