Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 202:

Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan slept until noon. Each ate a large steamed bun and drank a bowl of soup, then lost their appetites. 

After half an hour spent playing games with the little ones, they returned to their tasks.

By evening they reached Jiangxia. As soon as the boats moored, five men from Zero Team dashed ashore and vanished in an instant; apart from those five and Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan, no one knew where they had gone.

Both Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan were exhausted. Even steamed Wuchang fish at dinner barely registered; they each ate only a few bites and instead drank half a jin of grape wine apiece, then crawled back into the cabin and slept.

After leaving Jiangxia, the flotilla moved faster. They did not stop for supplies at Dongting Lake and pressed on for over half a month until they arrived at a perilous place: Xiling Gorge.

Standing at the prow and watching through the long-distance spyglass, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan exchanged looks of alarm. They had never seen anything like this. Previous journeys had been calm; this was chilling.

Within moments they watched a sizable vessel strike a shoal because of the turbulent current. Fortunately it had only just touched bottom and, moving against the current, the ship forced itself off and grounded on the bank before sinking; the crew leapt clear as only a mast remained above water.

“I still think building a dam isn’t a bad idea,” one of them said. “Although it would put pressure on the local crust, like an earthquake you can’t easily prove broad harm. At least navigation would be easier — nothing so terrifying.”

Zhang Xiaobao focused only on getting his flotilla through safely and put other matters aside.

Wang Juan, shaken by the current and hidden dangers, watched the waves slapping the green hills and said, “How are we supposed to get through? Our vessels draw a lot of water. We can’t send people to scout below; if one goes in, he won’t come back. Rely on luck?”

“Use the steamship to push forward, drive an iron probe down at an angle and test the channel. I don’t want to spend three days and nights here only to look back and still see Huangniu Rock.” Zhang Xiaobao had no time to waste. He ordered the steamship to go first: a steamer would be steadier and less likely to be swept off line by a sudden rush.

At that moment someone on board pointed to the mountains on either side. “Young master, look — signs are hung up on the hills, with writing.”

Zhang Xiaobao peered and indeed saw placards. The script was too small to read, so they used a spyglass.

The steamer probed ahead and read the sign aloud: “At this marker proceed one hundred and twenty-one meters; left bank forty-five meters; submerged reef six point seven meters below the surface; detour five meters to avoid.”

“Well done — this is what a vanguard ought to do. Read the markers and follow them. Tell the fleet to keep close; ignore groundings,” Zhang Xiaobao cried, punching the air in delight.

The Zhang and Wang households had planned ahead and left markers to guide the following vessels. The warning was also meant for anyone stubborn enough to challenge the Zhang and Wang flotilla: military transport or not, who dared test their convoy?

With the markers, the fleet did not need to slow much; as long as they kept the line, they were fine. 

One boat after another threaded the passage smoothly. More markers appeared ahead, again indicating submerged hazards.

Other craft trailing behind benefited. Seeing the big-ship convoy sail through unimpeded, they followed the same trail.

The three old men sat with Li Xun. They had intended to wait patiently, but the flotilla had dashed forward, especially the Zhang and Wang and Li Xun vessels, which took advantage of their agility and pushed ahead, breaking the way for the rest.

Old Man Bi raised a spyglass to study the markers. He understood the measurements and converted them into chi and zhang without difficulty. He handed another spyglass to Old Man Yao and explained the conversion formula.

“This is Zhang’s family skill. Their inner household scouted ahead, anticipated the difficulty for following boats, and posted data on both banks. Given the Zhang fleet’s performance, there is no need to worry about delay. It’s lineage — real clan capability. In Sanshui County we never saw their inner household so formidable.”

Old Man Yao, who had gone to Shuzhou later and only heard of the Zhangs’ affairs secondhand, had never witnessed a seafaring fleet like this. Today opened his eyes.

Other ships took the route with extreme caution, sometimes slowing as if nearly stopped, fearful the current would crush them. The Zhang family’s convoy, though, ran the line smoothly on its first attempt; even skeptics had to admit it.

“Why post measurements like that? Wouldn’t writing zhang directly be better?” Old Man Yao asked.

“Not precise enough,” Old Man Bi explained. “The Zhangs’ measuring tools are precise to the millimeter. Converting to Tang measures would be messy. When the Ministry of Works made instruments, they sometimes used half-cun; what distance does that equal? Every place used slightly different measures. Better unify it. Back in Qin times weapon parts could be interchanged when damaged; we need that standard again.”

Li Xun, proud, interjected: “What’s this danger compared to the open sea? There you can’t probe the channel at all; you rely entirely on experience. That’s true peril.”

He felt justified: his flotilla and the Zhang and Wang boats were both of good build. Only by braving danger could superiority be shown.

Old Man Yao had never seen the ocean, but this was no time to discuss it. He looked at the markers and said, “When we pass, arrange for larger signs with big characters converting the measures into chi and zhang for others.”

“No use. River levels rise and fall; short-term guidance might help, but running this channel truly depends on boatmen’s experience. Pity they can’t read. If they could, they could write down their knowledge, tidy it up, and it might be useful.” Old Man Bi sighed. 

He had once wondered why Zhang and Wang household retainers were taught literacy back in Sanshui. Now he saw the reason: where literate villagers faced such conditions, results differed.

Li Xun’s household had taken note and began to teach literacy too. He said, “From now on everyone must learn to read, like in Sanshui, Huayuan, and Luzhou. Any household with children — boys or girls — must send them to school. When they grow and have children, the school will teach, and then they can teach their own.”

“And where will the money come from?” Old Man Yao asked. He liked the idea of universal literacy but doubted funds would be available.

Li Xun was not worried about money. According to Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan, poverty remained only in name.

“Lord Yao, don’t worry about educational funding. I will contribute part, and the Zhang and Wang households will put in another share. They love this work. They invest annually in education and medicine. Since I knew Xiaobao and Juanjuan, they always set aside money for education;Lord Bi should know this.”

“I know. But the  Jianjia Academy in Sanshui didn’t seem funded directly by them. The academy organizes one or two competitions yearly and the funds come out then. Their sponsored students write poems and assignments that are copied and sold. That money pays for things.”

Old Man Bi grew hot with irritation at the thought. The Zhang and Wang clans had earned a reputation and their students remembered their kindness, so others donated. Even the academy’s walls ended up plastered with commercial ads; tailors embroidered small names of cloth shops on garments. 

Only families like theirs could pull off such things: a cultured academy that smelled, oddly, of money — but it worked. The poorest students who were willing to study ate well each day and competed twice a year; the rest of life was looked after. Who could argue with that?

While other vessels took days to pass, the Zhang and Wang convoy crossed in slightly more than half a day.

As the weather warmed and idleness set in, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan each wrote one petition daily and presented it to their fathers. After paternal approval they revised and submitted it to Old Man Bi and Old Man Yao. When all three elders approved, they compiled the drafts, annotated them, and prepared them for printing and sale.

They combined study with earning. Any spare time they used to train with Old Man Zhang and Old Man Yao: Old Man Zhang taught close combat techniques derived from contemporary practices, while Old Man Yao handled a wide range of weapons — a literary-and-martial master. Not to fully exploit such teachers would be a shame.

The three elders enjoyed teaching, especially Old Man Yao who had come later and relished instructing Xiaobao and Juanjuan.

Days passed productively. 

One day the flotilla could no longer progress under its own power. The Zhang and Wang boats might barely fight the current, but military transports could not. They had reached Qutang Gorge where the water struck with such force that even the best swimmers gone in would never reappear.

They had no choice but to use towmen.

Seeing the towmen wearing only a strip of cloth and no shoes, Wang Juan closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and began to call for clothing and shoes. 

Before anyone could fetch them, Zhang Xiaobao spoke. “Bring good hemp ropes and sailcloth for them. Tell them not to worry. Feed them a proper meal and let them rest, then continue. Tell the following boats to wait.”

When Wang Juan heard Zhang Xiaobao’s plan she fell silent. She realized clothing and shoes would be pointless for men who had to feel the riverbed; garments would quickly rot and footwear would hinder footing. What they needed most were sturdy ropes and tarpaulin.

Still, she was reluctant and tugged Zhang Xiaobao. “Think of something for them.”

“Take out five thousand guan,” Zhang Xiaobao said briskly, “and drive iron stakes and make handgrips along this route so they won’t have to dig at stones and grasp at the ground. Generations of towmen will benefit.” Zhang Xiaobao’s answer was decisive.