The Ship (Part One)

There was finally a real prospect for a ship — Kong Tie had only just gotten word of it himself. “A four-hundred-liao zuanfeng haiqiu — a wind-piercing sea-loach grain boat — built of fir, and not too old a hull, about twenty years,” he said. “It’s already changed hands three times. If you buy it, you’d be the fourth owner.” Damn. Shao Shuyi was left momentarily speechless. Twenty years old and already on its fourth owner — just how ‘formidable’ is that! “Can she still sail?” he couldn’t help asking. Kong Tie didn’t hesitate. He nodded. “Of course she can. In the tribute grain transport, boats thirty or forty years old are everywhere — brand-new ones are the rare exception.” Shit. Shao Shuyi was even more at a loss. What did that tell him? That the boat households had no money to invest in new ships — and probably no wish to, either. “How much cargo can she carry?” Shao Shuyi asked. “That’s hard to say.” Kong Tie hesitated, then said after a moment’s thought, “This boat was built for hauling grain above all. She can carry other cargo too, but she can’t carry as much of anything else as she can of grain.” “How much, exactly?” “Something over four hundred dan, I think. She’s a shallow-draft boat, though — she can’t go out into the deep sea, only along the coast. But she can enter the Yangtze, the Lou River, or other big rivers.” “How big is she?” Kong Tie drew a sheet of yellow paper from his robe and handed it to Shao Shuyi. “On my way here I stopped by Zheng’s Shipyard and had Master Li, the shipwright, write down a few things. Have a look for yourself.” Shao Shuyi regarded him with new respect. But when he unfolded the yellow paper, he found several crooked, uneven lines of writing — “Holds 320 dan of principal grain and 132 dan of consumption grain, 452 dan in all. Length of the bottom, 5 zhang 2 chi; planking 2 cun thick; bow 9 chi 5 cun and stern 9 chi 5 cun, 71 chi in all (about 22 meters). Fourteen beam-heads, and therefore fifteen bulkhead compartments. The mast beam is 1 zhang 4 chi (4.35 meters) wide and 3 chi 8 cun (1.18 meters) deep.” These were the basic figures for the common zuanfeng haiqiu. True, because the various shipyards didn’t build to any standard, individual zuanfeng haiqiu varied somewhat — but not by much. Their grain capacity generally fell somewhere between 420 and 450 dan. Working from a block coefficient of 0.7, a zuanfeng haiqiu displaced about 38 tons, with a deadweight capacity of 25 to 27 tons. Shao Shuyi put the yellow paper away, his brow furrowed in thought. Honestly, the boat wasn’t bad at all. She could hold 452 dan of grain — weight dan, at 120 jin each, not volume dan — and could just as well be turned to trade, carrying other goods. “Baijianu, how many men does it take to run a ship like this?” Shao Shuyi asked. “Depends how you run her,” Kong Tie replied. “If you’re only following the grain fleet, ten or twenty men will do. If you want her nimble as a dragon in the open sea, you’ll need to double that — thirty or forty. And if it’s for fighting and killing other men —” Here Kong Tie gave Shao Shuyi a long, deep look. “The more men you bring, the better.” Shao Shuyi grunted in acknowledgment. “Brother Shao, stop picking and choosing,” Wang Huadu cut in suddenly. “I know she’s a good deal smaller than the big boats on the Lou River, but for the likes of us she’s more than enough. Damn it all — if we hauled back four hundred dan of salt in her, wouldn’t that be something?” “Why don’t you haul back four hundred dan of counterfeit notes while you’re at it?” Shao Shuyi shot him a glance, then changed tack. “The boat really is decent, though. How much?” “That’s a long story...” Kong Tie sighed and gave a brief explanation. Only then did Shao Shuyi learn that this zuanfeng haiqiu actually belonged to Li Fu — an ‘old acquaintance.’ Li Fu had just come back from the summer grain run. After one round trip between Taicang and Zhigu, the hull had taken some damage, and then he’d run out of money to repair it. More to the point, he no longer had any heart for running a boat at all — his wife had died. Li Fu had drawn his freight money, and after paying off what he owed he’d redeemed his wife. But the sailors he’d hired for the grain run were still owed their wages, so he’d meant to pawn his wife a second time to raise a loan and tide himself over. When his wife learned she was to be pawned a second time, she calmly cooked the children a supper, and that night she hanged herself. The blow left Li Fu a broken man. Had he not still a son and a daughter, he probably wouldn’t have found the courage to go on living. Now, after his neighbors had talked him through it, all he wanted was to get rid of the boat, clear his debts, and think of nothing else. When Kong Tie finished, the silence was so complete you could have heard a pin drop. After a long while, Shao Shuyi sighed. “Come on. Let’s go see Li Fu’s place.” ****** A fair number of people had gathered outside Li Fu’s home, mostly neighbors. When Shao Shuyi came into the courtyard, he saw at once the man with the loose, disheveled hair, and the body of a woman lying motionless on a straw mat. The two children — one four or five, the other six or seven — were sobbing beside her until they could scarcely catch their breath. Kong Tie nodded to Shao Shuyi, stepped forward, and crouched beside Li Fu, murmuring something to him in a low voice. Li Fu seemed dazed and muddled; he nodded at everything that was said, now and then letting out a foolish little laugh, his eyes fixed on the empty air before him without the least focus. “My family used to be rich, you know. My father traded tabasheer and balloonflower root in Qingyuan, and saved up a great deal of money for me. Her people ran a medicine shop. When she married me, every young man for miles around wrung his hands and sighed over it. She brought three whole big boxes of jewelry as her dowry. She bore me two children...” Li Fu rambled on as if no one else were there, and as he spoke he began to sob uncontrollably. There was no hysteria, no wailing and beating of the breast — only a quiet grief welling up from the depths of his heart. Since his wife’s death, Li Fu seemed to have gone mad, and yet also to have grown clear-headed. Kong Tie was about to say more, but Shao Shuyi stepped forward and held him back, asking in a low voice, “Does Li Fu have any money left for the funeral?” “I don’t think so,” Kong Tie said. Shao Shuyi beckoned Yu Yuan over and told him to take out all the baochao he’d brought. “After the last payment on the bow, there are twenty guan left,” Yu Yuan said. Then he added ten guan of his own to the pile. “And I’ve got ten of my own.” “Thirty guan won’t be enough,” Shao Shuyi said. “You stay here and help Baijianu see to the funeral. I’ll be back soon.” “Brother Shao, where are you going?” Wang Huadu came over and asked quietly. “What about the boat?” Shao Shuyi sighed and answered just as quietly. “I may not be a good man, but Li Fu’s in this state — I truly can’t bring myself to take advantage of a man when he’s down.” Wang Huadu opened his mouth, but in the end only sighed and muttered, “Playing the soft touch again.” “Cherish the days while I’m still a good man,” Shao Shuyi said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You stay and help too. Li Fu’s people are from Qingyuan; he has no kin here now. Help where you can.” With that, he turned and left. He headed west, walking for he knew not how long, until at last he caught sight of a residence in the distance. He went up and knocked at the door. “Brother Shao?” The servant who opened the door said in surprise. “It’s me. Is your master in?” Shao Shuyi asked, cupping his hands in greeting. The one who’d answered the door was a servant of Zheng Fan’s household. He’d once accompanied his master to the celadon shop and so recognized Shao Shuyi. “You’ve come at a lucky moment — the master was just about to head out,” the servant said. “Who’s looking for me?” a booming voice called from within, and a moment later Zheng Fan appeared. “Sir.” Shao Shuyi bowed. “Huh? Winter Solstice isn’t here yet, is it? And you’re already this eager to come eat at my table?” Zheng Fan teased. Shao Shuyi shook his head with a bitter smile, then leaned close to Zheng Fan’s ear and told him the whole story of Li Fu. When he’d finished, he added, “Sir, might you lend me two ding of paper money?” Zheng Fan gave him an exasperated look. “You’ve grown bold, haven’t you — daring to come borrow money from me.” “I’m counting on you, Sir,” Shao Shuyi said. Zheng Fan was silent for a moment. “Do you know Li Fu was originally a conscripted boat household?” “I didn’t,” Shao Shuyi answered honestly. “Once a boat household can be squeezed no further, the court conscripts a fresh batch of new people as boat households every few years,” Zheng Fan said. “Li Fu must have had a fair bit of property once, but after hauling grain for so many years it’s all been worn down to nothing. He isn’t the first, and he won’t be the last. Hasn’t the Provincial Branch Secretariat conscripted over a thousand wealthy commoner households as new boat households this very year? Just wait and see — three or four years at the soonest, five or six at the latest, more cases like Li Fu’s are bound to crop up. Can you save them all?” Shao Shuyi was silent, then said, “As if I don’t know that? But whenever I see such a tragedy before me, I can’t help lending a hand. Maybe —” Here he sighed. “Maybe by the second time I come across it, my heart will have hardened and I’ll turn a blind eye. But right now, I still want to help. If you’re uneasy about the loan, Sir, that bag of aromatics of mine hasn’t been sold yet — I can hand it over in repayment.” Zheng Fan grunted. After a moment’s silent thought, he turned and ordered a servant, “Go fetch five ding of paper money.” The servant answered and went off. A while later he returned with the baochao, raised it high over his head with both hands, and offered it to Zheng Fan. Zheng Fan took it, counted it over, and put it in Shao Shuyi’s hands. Then he pointed at the servant. “You go with Xiaohu to buy the funerary goods. He doesn’t know how these things are done — he’d most likely get fleeced.” “Yes,” the servant answered. Shao Shuyi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and at the same time he was a little moved. At a time like this, merely being willing to lend money was already saying much — let alone worrying that he’d be cheated buying goods, and going so far as to send a man along with him. So he made a deep bow. “Thank you, Sir.” Zheng Fan studied him for a moment, then suddenly smiled. “I’m past thirty this year. When I was seventeen and went north for the first time, sword in hand to roam as a knight-errant, I was just as warmhearted as you are now. Enough, enough — everyone has to go through this once. I only hope... your blood won’t cool so quickly.” With that, he wagged his head from side to side. “Off to drink. In this cursed, muddled world, we live one day at a time. Though I suppose these few days of ease are all we’ll get — come midwinter, when the people from the porcelain kilns arrive, you and I may both have to be there. Go on and see to your business first...”