Chapter 14: There Is a Mountain
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Shen Qingyue put down his pen, thinking to himself, "Are you kidding me?" Unable to hold back, he complained, “You have a whole mountain and yet you dress like this?!”
Jiang Zhu was bewildered: “???”
Shen Qingyue found it both frustrating and amusing. He had never met anyone so clueless about managing life; even if it was a barren mountain, selling stones or grass should bring in some income—no one would be so poor they had to patch their clothes all over, right?
“I want to take back my previous comment. If you were my father’s son, my dad would have to donate two temples and ask all the gods to open your mind.”
Jiang Zhu: “...?”
Was that an insult or an insult? Why did Shen Qingyue suddenly want to scold him?
Seeing Jiang Zhu’s confused and helpless look, Shen Qingyue silently thanked his lucky stars that Jiang Zhu was quick to realize things. If it were any later, he feared his own fragile mind, unused to hardship, would be corrupted by Jiang Zhu. He almost shouted, “I want to upgrade the standard of offerings; I want to eat rice, noodles, meat, and eggs every day.”
But on reflection, he couldn’t really blame Jiang Zhu.
People are shaped by their environment, especially children who grow up by imitating adults. The smaller the world they see, the less they know, and the more monotonous their lives become.
Jiang Zhu lived on this mountain. Just managing to eat enough and stay warm without starving, paying so much tax, and still making money was already a tough life. There was no energy left to think about enjoying life.
Thinking about this, Shen Qingyue paused.
In theory, people live to pursue happiness and joy. But in reality, most sacrifice, consume, and waste the bulk of their time just to make ends meet. Even with enough material wealth and money to support life, they still have no leisure.
Busyness becomes inertia.
Some people even regard busyness itself as a pursuit and something noble.
Take his father, for example. He couldn’t understand why his dad had to be so busy. His dad couldn’t stand him either—how could a person be so lazy?
Sometimes, Shen Qingyue maliciously wondered if his father was busy with work because he had no time to come home, or if he was deliberately busy to avoid coming home.
As a result, his father’s career flourished.
But clearly, Jiang Zhu was not heading in that direction.
Jiang Zhu was somewhat like his grandfather, a traditional old teacher who once regarded computers and the internet as terrifying monsters. Only after he started surfing the web did he realize how vast the world was, how many exam papers there were, and how convenient shopping could be.
Jiang Zhu was in that state—he hadn’t seen or tried, so he didn’t know how to live well.
A child who has never heard of the sea never knows that people can eat seafood.
How pure and unspoiled he was, untainted by indulgence.
Let him be this bad mentor!
Shen Qingyue’s gaze toward Jiang Zhu shifted gradually from disdain and speechlessness to kindness. With a very gentle tone, he asked, “Your family has such a big mountain. Besides bamboo, doesn’t it produce anything else of value?”
“Trees,” Jiang Zhu replied. “I sell them, every year.”
“And anything else?”
“...Hunting in autumn, selling pelts.”
“Anything more?”
Jiang Zhu couldn’t answer.
Shen Qingyue: “No mushrooms, fruits, or anything like that?”
“Oh!” Jiang Zhu began listing: “There are mushrooms, wild vegetables, wild pears, persimmons, walnuts, wood ear mushrooms...”
After naming a bunch of mountain products, Jiang Zhu added, “But none of them are very valuable.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are mountains everywhere.”
Shen Qingyue fell silent again.
Indeed.
In big cities without mountains, mountain goods are valuable; in mountain areas, these things can’t be sold for money and require hard physical labor.
Trees are valuable, but without machinery, cutting them down is tough and dangerous. Getting the trees down the mountain is another big problem.
Moreover, the mountain isn’t flat terrain. If you slip and get hurt, there’s no one to rescue you.
He’s alone. Selling bamboo weaving might actually be the most suitable and cost-effective option.
But on the other hand, Jiang Zhu’s mountain has everything except grain. If it weren’t for the heavy taxes, they could barter mountain goods for essentials in the valley and live quite comfortably and abundantly.
Unfortunately, he has to earn money.
To earn money, he has to get the mountain goods down the mountain.
No matter how cheap, sold goods become money; unsold goods, even the best, are worthless.
Circling back to the beginning, Shen Qingyue asked, “Do you have ten taels of silver now?”
Jiang Zhu nodded slowly.
He doesn’t have that much spare money.
But combined with what his father left him, money he was told not to spend lightly, he has it.
Shen Qingyue: “Good, then tomorrow we’ll go down the mountain to buy a donkey.”
“Buy a donkey?” Jiang Zhu hesitated, showing some resistance, “Why buy a donkey?”
Although he asked why, Shen Qingyue keenly sensed that Jiang Zhu’s resistance was not to the reason but to the act of buying a donkey itself.
Shen Qingyue countered, “Why don’t you want to buy a donkey? With a donkey, you won’t have to carry heavy loads up and down the mountain yourself, and you can transport more goods to sell. In the short term, buying a donkey costs seven or eight taels of silver, which is a lot, but in the long run, with a donkey, you can earn more, maybe recoup the cost in a year or two.”
Trying to see things from Jiang Zhu’s perspective, he asked, “If you buy a donkey, will you not have enough money to pay taxes?”
Jiang Zhu nodded then shook his head. Taxes are paid in autumn, starting in August and no later than September. Autumn brings good earning opportunities, and he can save more. He hasn’t sold much bamboo to the paper mill this year, so he can save some more.
If he really can’t make enough, he can dig into the silver his father left for emergencies.
But...
“Buying livestock must be registered with the government office.”
“So?”
“I don’t know if buying livestock will upgrade my household’s tax bracket.”
“...”
Shen Qingyue had forgotten about that.
In theory, since tax brackets are based on total property, higher brackets should have larger intervals between them.
A donkey and a mountain are not comparable in scale.
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However, Jiang Zhu’s family used backdoor connections, so they had to be cautious. They needed to confirm whether buying the donkey would push them into a higher tax bracket, and if so, whether it would be more cost-effective to buy or not.
Jiang Zhu couldn’t clarify this; he only knew about his own and other villagers’ brackets. Beyond that was a complete blind spot.
“I have to ask my uncle.”
“Okay, no rush. Later, we can ask your village head or once my leg is better, we can inquire in the county seat.”
“Hmm...”
Jiang Zhu didn’t really like going to the county seat.
It was too big.
Besides, regarding these matters, he felt his uncle might not know much either. To find out, they’d have to talk to scholars or government officials.
He didn’t like dealing with those people; it felt too formal and stiff.
Also... Jiang Zhu quietly added his father’s last instruction: “My dad said, don’t let anyone know I have money.”
“Huh?” Shen Qingyue was stunned for a moment, then thought better of saying anything.
Of course—this was ancient times, no heavenly eyes, not safe enough, and the law probably couldn’t guarantee the safety of a wealthy orphan.
“Possessing riches brings trouble.”
Jiang Zhu was poorly fed and clothed because a group of kids came to steal his vegetables.
If he lived well, thieves or bandits might come.
Shen Qingyue sighed, “Your dad was right.”
Jiang Zhu nodded.
But Shen Qingyue felt even more sorry for him.
Clearly, he could live well. Why must he live poorly?
Poor food and clothing might be bearable, but carrying so many things back and forth alone was too exhausting.
Was there no other way?
Shen Qingyue fell into deep thought.
Seeing him frozen, Jiang Zhu put down his chopsticks and, from a distance, waved his hand in front of Shen Qingyue’s face. Shen Qingyue didn’t notice.
Jiang Zhu found it amusing and touching.
Besides his father, Shen Qingyue was the first to think so hard and care so much about him, even daydreaming about him at the dinner table.
Jiang Zhu quietly cleared the dishes and went to chop wood to make a mortar and pestle for pounding new rice.
Shen Qingyue sat in the house, pondering for a long time but couldn’t come up with a feasible plan.
His first thought was to hire bodyguards.
But never mind whether there were professional bodyguards around here, how many would Jiang Zhu need? To protect the whole mountain, or just the house? Who would they hire? If the hired men knew he was an orphan, would they harbor ill intentions?
If he hired many people, would he also have to hire cooks, laundry workers, and housekeepers?
Could the mountain support that many people?
Besides, if he wanted loyal people, he’d have to buy them.
Putting aside morality, under the tax system, household servants and maids were considered assets, like livestock, houses, fields, and utensils.
And morality couldn’t be ignored.
Hiring is one thing; buying people is another.
As a modern person, he would never encourage Jiang Zhu to do that.
The most reliable idea he could think of was to hire local people for long- or short-term labor on the mountain.
But he didn’t know the village situation well.
Hiring the right people was a problem—he couldn’t afford to bring in troublemakers for Jiang Zhu.
Other options were even less reliable.
Shen Qingyue began to regret not learning more from his parents.
He thought he would never have to worry about making a living—he was so wrong, and yet he hadn’t died.
Now, he even depended on others’ kindness to get his medicine.
Leaning on his crutch, he moved to the yard and watched Jiang Zhu chopping trees in the distance. With a loud crack, a tree fell. The boy, six years younger than him, worked hard wielding the axe, chopping without a break.
Shen Qingyue couldn’t help but think how lucky he was.
His parents’ charitable donations were not in vain, and his grandmother’s prayers were not wasted.
When Jiang Zhu sawed the cedar into suitable logs, peeled the bark, trimmed the branches, and tied the bundles to drag back, Shen Qingyue was sitting in the living room weaving fan frames.
But he didn’t know how to finish the edges, so he just made squares a little bigger than fans, waiting for Jiang Zhu to tidy up and finish them later.
After thinking it over, since the current problem was the weight and the difficulty, he concluded: sell lighter things!
Sell fans!
Summer was coming anyway.
After weaving three, Shen Qingyue thought it was enough for a trial. He put down the fan frames and picked up his travel watercolor set.
He only brought twelve colors in half pans and two small brushes, and a small watercolor sketchbook—enough for sketching and many small paintings. But...
Why didn’t he bring full pans?
Why not a 24- or 48-color set?
How heavy would that be?
Once used up, where could he replenish supplies?
For the first time in his life, Shen Qingyue felt reluctant to use paint.
“Help me pour some water.”
“Oh!”
Jiang Zhu brought a basin of water, and Shen Qingyue filled two bamboo cups with a little water.
He was about to paint.
Jiang Zhu had seen him do quick sketches but never watercolors.
He didn’t know this was called watercolor painting, just saw Shen Qingyue pick up a brush and obediently squatted beside him, curious.
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Shen Qingyue painted directly on the fan frames.
Watercolor paper was more precious than paint, and his sketchbook had only twenty sheets.
The paper was barely bigger than a palm and not enough to cover a fan surface. Since it couldn’t be replenished once used, he had to be frugal.
Bamboo strips were not like watercolor paper and weren’t friendly to watercolor paints.
Especially transparent watercolors—they have weak coverage, need thicker paint, and each brushstroke pained Shen Qingyue.
He didn’t draw anything complicated—just a small patch of bamboo forest as a test.
The result?
Not great.
Shen Qingyue was very dissatisfied, but Jiang Zhu was amazed, instinctively leaning closer and praising, “It looks like it!”
Shen Qingyue thought, not really. The bamboo strips couldn’t hold water, colors bled, and transparency didn’t show. With the small brush compared to the fan size, it was too little.
Oh well.
If it doesn’t fit, no forcing it.
He wanted to wash the paint off the brush but hesitated after lifting the bamboo cup.
Instead, he added some water to dilute the color, picked up a pencil, roughly sketched on the watercolor book, and began painting a bamboo forest from life.
Jiang Zhu was completely spellbound.
His mouth slightly open, he watched Shen Qingyue’s brush fly between water and the little white palette, dipping into one color then another. On the white palette, he painted a few strokes, and the colors transformed!
Then on the snowy white paper, a few strokes made sky; a few more, a bamboo stalk; a gentle stroke made a rock or grass...
The mixed colors became more and more, looking dirty, but Shen Qingyue added and dabbed colors, and gradually, the bamboo forest on the page seemed to come alive.
Colors deepened and lightened; it looked like bamboo but not exactly—but the colors were mysteriously wonderful, as if he had painted light into it.
Yes!
Light!
Even more vivid than the bamboo forest outside his window.
Jiang Zhu was stunned.
He had never seen such a painting before.
He had seen the decorations and hanging paintings purchased by the local lord when delivering things to his uncle. They were beautiful and impressive, but he didn’t understand them.
Shen Qingyue’s painting was different—beautiful in a way he could understand.
Shen Qingyue reluctantly washed his brush, and Jiang Zhu casually picked up the painting and looked at it.
“Do you like it?”
“Hmm.”
Jiang Zhu smiled shyly, reluctantly handing it back to Shen Qingyue.
Shen Qingyue also quite liked it.
Painting skills were one thing, but the feeling was another.
His hands felt good, and he was satisfied with the shape, color, composition, light, and shadow—most satisfied with the rhythm in the painting, the liveliness and vitality that sometimes even he failed to achieve after many paintings.
Clearly, he needed to go out for sketching.
Painting from life and painting from photographs were two different feelings.
After finishing, Shen Qingyue tore off the painting.
“I’m giving this to you. Let’s make a small frame for it.”
“A frame?” Jiang Zhu was delighted, carefully holding it.
“A flat base, with sides to hold the painting in place. Like this.” Shen Qingyue roughly sketched it on paper.
Jiang Zhu understood, put the painting down, and went to split bamboo to make a frame.
Shen Qingyue didn’t mention that frames were usually wooden.
Never mind, as long as it made him happy.
He picked up the fan fragment he had just painted and asked Jiang Zhu, “You said you deliver bamboo to the paper mill, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Is the paper expensive?”
Jiang Zhu wasn’t sure.
The rough toilet paper at home was scraps from the paper mill, free of charge.
The white paper for window screens was not good quality—last time they bought it for three copper coins a sheet. He didn’t know about other papers.
He still had some white paper left and went to the storage cupboard to find some for Shen Qingyue.
Shen Qingyue touched it; it was rough but even, with decent thickness. The watermark of the papermaking screen was clear, but the paper wasn’t white enough. He tested some leftover paint on his palette.
The water immediately seeped and spread.
He tried to make the paint drier; it worked but didn’t layer well. Flat washes were okay, but layering more caused the paper to tear. The color performance was poor, and the painting looked dull.
He could manage with one layer drying before another, but many watercolor techniques would be lost.
No, this paper wouldn’t work for watercolor.
“No good?”
“Yeah...”
He wanted to ask if the town or county had better paper, but Jiang Zhu might not even recognize suitable art paper if he saw it. After thinking, Shen Qingyue asked instead, “Are brushes and ink expensive?”
With his basic traditional painting skills, he could paint bamboo or lotus with ink.
Line drawings would work too.
Or use the brush as an outlining pen to paint small animals.
“If I paint some black-and-white designs on the fans, would that count as a specialty? Would they sell better?”