Great Tang Idyll - Volume 4 Chapter 204:

Watching the towmen climb cliffs and wade through the torrent, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan could no longer see them as mere commoners from society’s lowest tier. With their strength and hard-earned experience, these men ensured that one vessel after another passed safely through the gorge — they were the true heroes.

“If only we had a camera,” Wang Juan said regretfully. “We could record this moment and show it to Xiaobei and the others when they’re older — let them see that there are people like this in the world.”

“Everyone lives the same,” Zhang Xiaobao replied. “Only the quality of life differs. It’s enough that the towmen know they’re working hard — there’s no need to glorify them too much. Once we’ve set things up, it’ll be fine. They’re paid far too little, though. Once they’re unified, if the merchants still don’t want to spend, let them pull their own boats.”

“You already arranged it? Aren’t you worried the towmen will refuse to work, and others will take their place?” Wang Juan trusted his ability, but she was worried that raising prices might drive the current workers away.

Zhang Xiaobao shook his head. “Hauling boats isn’t just brute force. Even if you bring towmen from the other two gorges, no ship would dare let them pull. They’d crash everything. Listen to their calls — this is an art born of generations of experience.”

“What if someone sends thugs to cause trouble?” Wang Juan asked again.

“No need to worry. We have Grandpa Bi and Grandpa Yao on our side. Anyone who causes problems will be arrested by the local authorities,” Zhang Xiaobao said with a grin.

“What did you offer them in exchange?”

“A meal of wontons. We’ll wrap them later.”

“You always take advantage of people.”

“Advantage? We’re idle anyway. A little give and take — no harm done. We’ve always lived beyond the rules, even if we choose to stay within them. Huh? Xiaozhu and Xiaobei are out. Oh, my heavens, what are they doing?” He turned and saw his younger siblings tugging at a toy boat.

Somehow they had found ribbons to use as tow ropes and were pulling in different directions, tipping the model over and dragging it along while chanting in little voices, imitating the towmen’s work songs.

Zhang Xiaobao rushed over, frowning. “Who told you to pull like that?”

He glanced sharply at the maids and servants watching nearby.

Startled, one brave maid stammered, “Young master, you said the young masters and young ladies could play however they wished…”

“Not like this. You should have told them to pull together. The point of play is to learn, not to exhaust themselves. At this time, you should teach them the rules of teamwork — if four people can’t lift a log, switch to six; if six can’t, switch to eight. Through play, they should slowly learn the importance of unity.”

So that was why he was angry. The maids relaxed at once, realizing he wasn’t forbidding the children to play — they had simply missed a step.

The little ones stopped and turned their wide eyes toward their formidable older brother. 

Wang Juan’s younger sister, Xiaozhu, tugged twice on the tow rope over her shoulder and sang softly, “Heave-ho, heave-ho~”

“Good. Later, we’ll go to the pool on the ship and let you try pulling there,” Zhang Xiaobao said with satisfaction. Words like “teamwork” meant nothing to them now — but a little effort, a little strain, and they would understand.

Xiaobei eagerly tried to hand over his rope to his brother, calling out until Zhang Xiaobao took it. When Zhang pulled the little model ship forward all by himself, the children looked up at him with pure admiration.

Enjoying their worshipful eyes, Zhang Xiaobao told the maids, “Help them a bit. Show them how to use their strength.”

The maids each took a rope in different directions and pulled, but the boat didn’t move.

Wang Juan stepped forward beside Zhang Xiaobao, pulled together with him, and said, “Do as I do.”

“I’ll do as you do,” he replied, matching her tone. The maids, if they still couldn’t follow by now, would have been expelled long ago.

Everyone began walking and pulling together, chanting as they went so the children could learn by example.

The little ones finally understood. After watching their brother and sister circle the deck, they took the ropes and shouted, “Do as I do!” as they pulled the model ship forward again. After a few steps, one of the boys thought of something new.

“Stop, everyone! Let’s pull together!” he said, and began chanting, “Pull the turnip, pull the turnip — heave-ho, heave-ho, pull the turnip…”

“Remember that. Teach them to play like this from now on,” Zhang Xiaobao told the maids with a smile, watching the children’s serious little faces.

The three old men, who had come from the cabin after finishing their wontons, witnessed the whole scene. When Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan left to make more wontons, Old Man Bi said to Old Man Zhang and Old Man Yao,

“See that? That’s real education. Forget the Zhang and Wang academies — they’re fine, but the real skill isn’t in classrooms. With lessons like this, when those children start formal study, every bit of knowledge will connect to real experience.”

Old Man Zhang and Old Man Yao nodded. They couldn’t deny it — the Zhang and Wang method of raising children was indeed different, and formidable.

“You’re right,” Old Man Yao said. “Other families always tell their children what not to do. The Zhang and Wang kids are never told ‘don’t.’ They’re shown how to do it, or when they fail, someone demonstrates. I need to write this down, send it to the palace. From now on, I’ll keep my eyes on the little ones. Everything the Zhang and Wang families give their children is the best — the best beds, the best food, the best toys, the best lessons. Unless a child is truly hopeless, every one of them will become a talent.”

Old Man Zhang and Old Man Bi agreed. Shifting their attention from the two older children to the younger ones would indeed be worthwhile.

And it was. 

After lunch that day, Zhang Xiaobao and Wang Juan gave each child a set of drawing tools — circles within circles that could trace beautiful round and oval patterns no matter how they moved the pen. There were colored wax crayons as well. 

Wang Juan sat nearby sketching with charcoal, while Zhang Xiaobao painted landscapes with a brush. Even the maids changed into plain clothing and joined in — some writing, some grinding ink.

The deck filled with a serene, harmonious atmosphere. The little ones, who had just woken from their naps and planned to play noisily, found everyone calmly at work and soon picked up their own tools to draw.

After a while, Wang Juan’s sister abandoned the drawing toy, holding only a single crayon and imitating her sister — drawing whatever she saw.

No one spoke; everyone quietly focused on their own creation.

When the three elders stepped out after their meal of wontons, they saw a tranquil scene framed by river and mountains — a beauty so complete they dared not disturb it. Just looking filled the heart with peace.

“Why do I feel… a little afraid?” Old Man Zhang whispered. What he saw wasn’t a group of children but a silent battlefield, a thousand riders standing ready with lances — such overwhelming presence.

“This is what Xiaobao and Juanjuan meant when they said environment shapes people,” Old Man Bi said softly.

The three of them crept closer. 

Old Man Bi already knew of Wang Juan’s remarkable skill — her drawings of people and landscapes were lifelike, though he always found them lacking a certain abstract spirit that Zhang Xiaobao often mentioned. Still, she painted with extraordinary precision and talent.

Zhang Xiaobao’s work, compared to hers, fell short — though by ordinary standards he was still far ahead of other children his age.

The maids’ calligraphy and painting were decent enough; for attendants who had other duties, their ability to write and draw at all was rare. Such maids could only be found in the Zhang and Wang households.

The children’s drawing toys worked surprisingly well; no matter how hard they pressed, they always made lovely patterns. But what truly caught Old Man Bi ’s eye was little Xiaozhu. She wasn’t using the toy at all — could she be trying to draw like Juanjuan?

Wait — was that Xiaozhu’s drawing?

He moved closer to examine each child’s work, stopping behind Wang Juan’s little sister. 

She had no tools, just a thick crayon in her hand, and at first he thought she was scribbling nonsense. But when he saw what she’d drawn, he was startled.

If this picture were turned in at an academy, it would earn the lowest score. The forms were crude, the water and trees barely recognizable — the ripples clumsy, the trees rough, only the branches somewhat distinct.

But this was drawn by a child barely past one year old, using a wax crayon — and with roughly matched colors. That made it extraordinary.

At that moment, Xiaozhu was fretting over how to color a rock. It wasn’t quite yellow or green; pale moss tinted it a faint blue-green. None of her crayons matched.

As Old Man Zhang and Old Man Yao gathered behind him, the three elders watched her struggle. Then the little girl picked up a dark blue crayon, shaded in the area, and layered yellow over it — producing a soft bluish-green hue.

Satisfied, she went on to color several more stones the same way. 

Old Man Bi was so astonished he almost shouted aloud: This child — I want her as my student!