Chapter 128 - 7: The Settlement Is Completed — The Peaceful-Dwelling Settlement Spreads the Craft

Chapter 128: Chapter 7: The Settlement Is Completed — The Peaceful-Dwelling Settlement Spreads the Craft

On the day the ground was broken, three people came to the shoal.

Lu Zhu, Hapy, and the eleven helpers Hapy had brought from the material yard. All eleven were guild craftsmen, come of their own will. Their leader said: "The Chief Builder is building his own house, so we have come to lend a hand. No wages. Board will do."

"Wages will be paid." Lu Zhu said. "And board will be kept, all the more." He pointed across the shoal. "First day — dig the well."

The well went in below the slope.

Lu Zhu had set the spot thirty paces from the river and fifty from the house. He crouched and drew a circle in lime on the ground. "Here. Dig down — sand first, then mud, then the clay layer. Under the clay is the water."

The eleven dug in turns. By the second day’s midday, the sand layer was dug through and water seeped up from below. Half a day more, and the water rose over the ankles.

"Water!" someone shouted.

The eleven men, bare-backed, took turns with the spades at the well’s bottom. The men at the mouth hauled the earth up, basket after basket. Well-digging is the most grinding work there is: the deeper down, the narrower, the stuffier, until a spade cannot even swing. Whoever’s turn it was to go down tied a rope around his waist. At the well’s mouth there were always two men — one holding the rope, one watching the man.

"Careful, all of you." Hapy shouted from the well’s mouth. "The men down the well change every half an hour. No one plays the hero."

"Rest easy." the men at the bottom shouted back. "This work, we know better than eating."

Lu Zhu went down the well and tasted. The water was a little sweet. "Good water." he said. "Lay the well ring."

He climbed up from the well’s bottom and stood barefoot at its mouth. "This water is the earth’s gift." he said. "From now on, whoever heads this settlement — this well, no one may fill in. A man who fills in a well carries the same crime as a man who burns a granary."

The eleven men all nodded. They knew those words were not spoken lightly.

The well ring was laid with potsherds and mud bricks, course by course, from the well’s bottom to its mouth. When it was laid, Lu Zhu set a wooden lid over the mouth, with a small hole cut in it, just big enough for one bucket in and out.

"The well," he said, "is the settlement’s first life. From now on, whoever comes here first pays respects to the well."

Beside the well stood a small wooden board. On it, Lu Zhu wrote four characters in his own hand: "Drink the water, remember its source."

For the use of the well platform, Lu Zhu set three rules, written on the back of the little board:

One: drink first, wash after. Of the water drawn up, what is for drinking comes first; only what is left may go to washing.

Two: the well’s mouth is never left open. Whoever draws water covers it. Filth into the well, and the whole settlement suffers.

Three: no quarreling at the well. Line up for water; the old and the children go first.

"These three," Lu Zhu said, "learn them firm. The well belongs to everyone, and the rules belong to everyone too. From now on, if the rules break, it is not the well’s fault. It is the people’s."

The apprentices learned the three rules by heart. Their first business every morning was the rules — draw water, cover the well, line up. At the well platform, tempers never once flared.

The well done, next came the north wall.

The north wall was raised by the plan drawn the night before the ground-breaking. First the footing rammed, then the bricks laid, reeds sandwiched in, joints staggered and interlocked. Lu Zhu held the line himself. The lime line drew taut and snapped on the ground, one straight stroke of white. The craftsmen laid along it. At waist height, Lu Zhu called a stop. "The wind comes from the north. This wall must be half a foot higher."

"Half a foot?" the lead craftsman said. "A waist-high wall stops the wind already."

"It stops the wind, but not the sand." Lu Zhu said. "The north wind carries the river shoal’s sand. A low wall, and the sand pours into the yard." He pointed at the yard’s center. "Here — this will be the grain-sunning ground. Sand gets in, and the grain is dirtied."

The craftsmen nodded and went on laying. The day the north wall was finished, the first north wind came on. It blew all night, and the next morning the ground behind the wall was clean — not one grain of sand. On the sunning ground lay only a thin layer of night dew.

"This wall," Hapy said, feeling the wall’s face, "was worth it."

The material left from the wall, Lu Zhu would not let be thrown away. The broken bricks were smashed small and bedded at the wall’s foot as drainage. The grass-fiber ends were swept up and worked into the mud, kept for patching. "Material unspoiled, and the household runs no deficit." he said. "That truth is more solid than anything."

The house was three rooms.

The main house faced south — one open hall and two inner rooms. The west room was for living, the east for plans and books, and the open hall served as the parlor, holding one long table. The table had come on Meru’s boats, one solid plank, wide enough to spread out three plans. "From now on," Lu Zhu said, "this is my work table."

To the east, the workshop. Windows on all four sides, low and wide — good light, and the work plain to see. Inside stood the tool rack, chisels, saws, trowels, rammers hung one by one, neat and tidy. Along the wall ran a row of material shelves, stacked with timber, mud-brick molds, and grass-fiber bundles.

"The workshop," Lu Zhu said, "is the settlement’s second mouth. The grain feeds the belly, and the craft that earns the grain — it feeds on this."

The workshop’s floor was raised half a foot above the ground outside. Lu Zhu said the workshop feared damp. Tools touched by damp rust fast; material touched by damp rots early. Half a foot, bought with three cartloads of earth. Worth it.

The long bench by the window was split from one old log. The log had been fished out of the river shoal, soaked in water who knew how many years, hard as iron. Hapy led the men in sawing three days before it split. Sawing, two blades broke.

"This wood," Hapy said, "is harder than the northern border’s stone."

"Hard as it is," Lu Zhu said, "it cannot hold out against slow work. Man and material — we will see who outlasts whom."

To the north, the schoolhouse. Three rooms opened through, no partition walls, a dozen-odd low stools. On the east-facing wall hung a great wooden board, brushed over with charcoal ash, good for writing and for drawing. Lu Zhu called it the drawing board.

"The schoolhouse," he said, "is the settlement’s third thing. The first two feed men’s bodies. This one feeds men’s heads."

The day the drawing board went up, Lu Zhu tried it first. With the charcoal stick he drew a wall on the board, then a door.

"Do you see?" He spoke to the apprentices gathered around. "From now on, my lessons use this. Where I draw, there I teach. What you do not understand, you point at the line on the board and ask. The line does not run, the characters do not run. The learning settles on the board, and settles into the heart."

He paused, and said again: "This board is for everyone. From now on, whichever of you finishes his apprenticeship and becomes a teacher — teach just this way. Learning is a thing that grows thicker the more it is passed on."

The granary was built on the high ground to the west.

The granary was not large, built after the Ever-Normal Granary’s method: the foundation raised, the walls thickened, narrow windows facing each other, the door to the south. The granary floor was spread with a layer of dry reeds, then wooden planks. Lu Zhu led the men in ramming the earth three times and sprinkling it three times with water.

"A granary," he said, "small rather than damp. Small, and the grain turns over fast. Damp, and the storing is all for nothing."

The granary roof was double-pitched. The slopes were spread with reed matting, pressed over with grass-ash mud. Lu Zhu said a double pitch sheds rain fast, and the north’s granaries all had their roofs built so. He climbed onto the roof and checked it mat by mat. At the north slope, he stopped his hand. "This mat is laid backwards."

The apprentice who had laid it went white in the face. "Teacher, I . . ."

"Laid backwards, turn it over." Lu Zhu said. "The mat’s grain must run with the rainwater. Backwards, and the rain bores under the mat." He did it himself — turned the mat over and pressed the mud afresh. "Remember. In roof work there are no small matters. You save one part of care on the roof, and the master below is rained on all night."

The medical hut stood by the well. Two rooms — one for seeing patients, one for storing medicine. The medicine rack was raised half a foot, after Shafi’s medicine-store method. "The river bend is sixty li from the new capital," Lu Zhu said. "A headache or a fever, and you cannot count on running into the city."

The landing was built on the shoal’s south side. Three timber piles with a few planks over them, berths for two small boats. The piles were driven deep, so that winter’s low water and summer’s high water alike could not shake the landing. On the landing, Lu Zhu nailed up a wooden board: "Boats coming and going may all rest here. Water, in the well."

In the medical hut, the first medicine rack was made by a carpenter Kamon had sent. The rack stood in three tiers, and each tier’s partition boards were left with gaps — for air. Shafi later had someone look it over, and sent word back: "The gaps are left right. Herbal medicine fears closeness above all."

Lu Zhu heard it and said: "The way of storage is the same everywhere. Air, dry, and order. Grain is stored so, and medicine is stored so. Everything under the sky follows this one truth."

From the ground-breaking to the completion took forty days.

Hapy counted. In those forty days, the shoal’s people, at the most, numbered forty-three. The earth hauled up from the well could have heaped a small hill. Rammer handles snapped — three. Spade heads worn blunt — five. Straw sandals worn out — seventeen pairs.

"Teacher," Hapy said, "I have written these numbers in the register."

"Keep them written." Lu Zhu said. "A settlement’s account must be true from its first day. The people who come after must know how this place came to be."

In those forty days, the shoal changed with every day. The well gave water, the wall rose, the house was roofed, the workshop opened its windows, the schoolhouse hung its drawing board, the granary took in its first sack of grain. The last day, the landing’s board was nailed up, and Lu Zhu stood in the middle of the shoal and looked the thirty mu over, end to end.

"The home," he said, "is up."

The word went out, and the first batch of apprentices arrived on the tenth day.

Three lads, from the craft school in the new capital. Shouldering their bedrolls and tool bags, they stood at the shoal’s head half the day, not daring to come in. Lu Zhu was drawing water at the well. He saw them and beckoned: "Come. First help me carry this water to the workshop."

The three lads scrambled for the loads. When the water was carried, Lu Zhu said: "Tired?"

"Not tired!" the lead lad said.

"Not tired, then carry two dan more." Lu Zhu said. "Fill the schoolhouse’s water vat too."

The lads went. Five trips out and back, their shoulders rubbed red. Lu Zhu watched and nodded. "Enough. Your first lesson is done."

"Done?" The lads blinked. "What did we learn?"

"Carrying water." Lu Zhu said. "For one who learns the craft, the first thing is being willing to put down strength. Without strength, whatever you learn is show." He pointed at the well. "This well is yours from now on. The water you carry fills the schoolhouse’s vat and wets the workshop’s floor. The settlement is raised like this, little by little."

The next day, two more came.

These two came from Thebes. One was called A-Yang, one A-Shi. A-Yang had been a guild apprentice; A-Shi’s family had met disaster, and he had turned to the craft along the road. The two had walked seven days, their soles worn through. Lu Zhu had Hapy give them a pair of straw sandals each — Hapy’s stitched batch still had some left.

"Put them on." Lu Zhu said. "Do not lance the blisters on your feet. Lance them, and you will not walk tomorrow."

Bit by bit, within half a month, the settlement took in twelve apprentices.

Some came from the West Bank, some from the new capital, some from Thebes, and one from the town behind the northern border’s wall — that child said his pa was a construction soldier who had learned the craft under Officer Seb. "My pa said, for true craft, go to the river bend. Find the great Master Imhotep."

"No ’great master.’" Lu Zhu said. "Call me Master. Or Teacher."

"Teacher!" The child knelt on the spot and kowtowed.

Lu Zhu helped him up. "The head is kowtowed. From now on, we are one family." He paused. "A family eats first."

The first all-hands meal was eaten by the well.

There was no table. They took the drawing board down and set it over two benches, and that was the table. Nefer did the cooking: one pot of fish soup, one basin of greens, one basket of barley cakes. The fish, the apprentices had groped out of the river; the greens were wild onions picked at the shoal’s edge.

"All of you, sit." Lu Zhu said.

The twelve apprentices, with Lu Zhu, Hapy, Nefer, and the two women, sat in two circles. Lu Zhu filled the first bowl of soup and did not drink it, but set it by the well.

"To this well." he said. "And to this shoal. From now on, this is where we have put down roots."

He lifted the second bowl, and only then began to drink. The apprentices copied him — set theirs down a moment first, then drank. The soup was fresh and fine. Halfway through, someone said quietly: "These days are better than my own home."

"Good days are lived out," Nefer said, "not waited out."

That first night, the twelve apprentices slept in the schoolhouse.

One great communal bed, reed mats on the floor, one thin mattress each. Nefer’s mattress, Lu Zhu gave to the smallest child. The children lay down, and none could sleep; they talked in small voices.

"This place is better than I thought." one said. "I took it for waste ground. I never thought there would be a well and walls and houses."

"My pa says," the one from the north said, "wherever the great Master Imhotep’s hand points, people can live there."

"No more talking." A-Yang said. "Tomorrow comes the early rising. The teacher rises earlier than the rooster."

Sure enough, before the day had fully lightened, Lu Zhu was up. First he walked one circle of the settlement — the well, the wall, the granary. The circle done, he came back to the schoolhouse door and knocked on the doorboard:

"Up. Carry water."

The apprentices’ day began at the well.

At first light, carry water. Two dan to a man — one dan to the schoolhouse’s vat, one to the workshop’s. The water carried, sweep the yard. The yard swept, Lu Zhu opened the lesson in the schoolhouse, teaching until the sun climbed high. After the midday meal, into the workshop, practicing hands — the stone-cutters cutting stone, the bricklayers laying brick, the sawyers sawing wood. Before dark, work stopped, and each man wiped his own tools clean and put them back in their places. After supper there was one lesson more, called the night lesson.

The night lesson taught no craft; it taught accounts. What material had come in today, what labor had gone out, who had chipped a stone wrong, who had carried one dan of water extra. Lu Zhu had A-Yang read the account aloud — one entry read, one entry explained.

"The account," Lu Zhu said, "is the settlement’s conscience. A conscience cannot sit only in the heart; it must land on paper." He paused. "From now on, when any of you goes out alone to take on work, first learn to keep your own account. The account clear, and the heart is clear."

The apprentices listened hard. Under the lamp, the young faces, lit by the bronze lamp, glowed red and warm.

One time, when the night lesson had broken up, Lu Zhu saw A-Shi alone, squatting by the well, not gone back to the house.

"What is it?" He walked over.

"Teacher," A-Shi’s voice was muffled, "I miss my mother." He paused. "Our house was washed away by the flood last year. I came out to learn the craft so that, once I have learned it, I can go back and build my mother a sturdy one."

"Fine ambition." Lu Zhu said. He squatted down beside A-Shi. "Missing home is no shame. It is the man who does not miss home who has forgotten his roots." He looked at the moon in the well. "Study well. When you have learned it, go back and build your mother’s house. Roof it double-pitched. Raise the wall’s foot half a foot. Then, however great the flood, it will not wash down."

"Mm." A-Shi nodded hard.

"One thing more." Lu Zhu said. "Tomorrow, I give you half a day off. Go to the landing and see if there is a boat going your way, to send a word to your mother." He paused. "The word delivered, and the heart settles. The heart settled, and the hands hold steady."

A-Shi wiped his face and smiled. Under the moonlight, that smile was clearer than the well water.

In the settlement, every ten days came the review.

What did it test? What the ten days had taught. Carrying water counted one merit, sweeping the yard one merit, answering well in class one merit; chipping a stone wrong cost one merit; forgetting to close the well lid cost one merit. At the ten days’ end, Lu Zhu read out the merits and demerits, entry by entry. Whose name was read stood up.

"A-Shi, this ten days — three merits, one demerit." Lu Zhu read.

A-Shi stood, head down.

"The demerit — after work you forgot to cover the material pile." Lu Zhu said. "The material caught the night dew. Remember it next time." He paused. "Of the three merits, one was helping the little brother from the north catch up on his lessons. That merit weighs heavier than the others."

A-Shi raised his head, his eyes shining.

"All of you heard it?" Lu Zhu swept his eyes around. "Merits for helping others count double. Demerits for bullying cost double. From now on, this settlement is twisted into one rope by exactly this."

"Yes!" the apprentices answered, all in order.

The day the communal kitchen opened, Nefer came.

She had come by boat from Thebes. With her came two women of Haven. The three women came off the boat and, without a word, went straight into the cookhouse. The cookhouse was one room thrown up beside the workshop; the pots and stoves were all there, but the firewood and rice were still in a tangle. Nefer rolled up her sleeves, and in half an hour the stove was burning. At midday, the first thread of cooking fragrance drifted over the shoal.

"It takes you," Lu Zhu said, "and one meal brings out the hearth smoke."

Nefer’s hands did not stop; washing the rice, she looked the cookhouse over. "The stove must be changed. The flue is too straight — in a north wind, the smoke pours back into the room." She pointed at the roof. "Tomorrow, have the apprentices bend the flue around. A bent flue, and however the wind blows, the smoke goes up."

"Still you who knows." Lu Zhu said.

"I have cooked half a life." Nefer said. "Where the smoke goes, whether the fire burns bright — I know it with my eyes shut." She paused. "You men build houses, and you build walls. We women keep the house, and we keep the fire. The fire bright, and the home is bright."

"You build the houses," Nefer said, "and I do the cooking. From now on, this settlement’s food and drink, I will come look after now and again." Chopping greens as she spoke, she said: "The women of Haven all speak of your goodness. The mattress — spread out?"

"Spread out." Lu Zhu said. "I sleep sound on it."

"Sound is good." Nefer said. "When the cold comes, I will send you a few more. The river bend’s nights are damp."

Kamon came with the second batch of helpers.

He brought five old craftsmen, come on the merchant house’s boats. Off the boat, without resting their feet, they first walked one circle of the settlement — the well, the wall, the house, the granary. When he had looked it over: "All old craft, and genuine." he said.

"Now that you are here," Lu Zhu said, "stay a few days. There is room in the workshop."

"I will stay." Kamon said. "And help you bring the workshop’s work along. These apprentices, learning drawing from you and nothing of the hand-work — that will not do." He rolled up his sleeves. "From tomorrow, I teach them stone-cutting."

"Nothing I could ask for more." Lu Zhu said.

Kamon and the old craftsmen stayed in the workshop the better part of half a month. They taught stone-cutting, taught reading the stone’s grain, taught sharpening chisels. One apprentice sharpened his chisel lightning fast, yet cut stone poorly. Kamon crouched beside him and watched. "Sharpening your chisel, you sharpen for speed." he said. "Cutting stone, you cut for slowness. Sharpen fast, cut slow — those five words, keep them your whole life."

The apprentice half understood. Kamon explained no more, only had him go on cutting. On the third day of cutting, the apprentice suddenly said: "Master Kamon, I understand it. You sharpen the chisel fast so that, when you cut the stone, the heart does not hurry."

"Right you are." Kamon laughed. "This boy has opened his wits."

The day Kamon left, he rearranged the workshop’s tools, one kind at a time. When he had set them, he said: "Tools are a craftsman’s life. A life must have its proper place. Used, they go back where they came from. The time saved hunting for tools is all work."

"Taken down." the apprentices said.

"One more thing." Kamon said. "The West Bank courtyard, I keep for your teacher. From now on, whichever of you goes to the West Bank, give my name, and the food is on me." He shouldered his bundle and walked to the landing, then turned and shouted one more thing: "Keep your chisels sharp!"

"Sharp!" the apprentices shouted back. The shout rolled far over the river’s face.

Nefer led the women in making the apprentices new clothes. One set each, coarse cloth, hard-wearing. The apprentices put them on and looked each other over, all feeling spruce. "The clothes are for your working." Nefer said. "Dirty them, and do not mind. Only the dirtied are the ones who work."

The apprentices laughed loud and long; the laughter carried from the workshop to the well and startled up the shoal’s water birds.

Meru’s boats came once every five days.

The boats at the landing were one of the settlement’s sights.

The boatmen unloaded, and the apprentices helped carry. When the carrying was done, Meru stood on the landing, took out his ledger, and checked it item by item. Checked through, he said: "This trip — two dan of grain, one cart of material, half a sack of salt, two jars of oil. Who keeps your account?"

"I do." A-Yang said. He held his register and wrote it down, stroke by stroke. Meru watched him write. "Write the characters a little slower." he said. "An account fears no slowness, only disorder."

"Written." A-Yang handed the register over.

Meru looked it over and nodded. "Good. From now on, you keep the settlement’s accounts. A man who can keep accounts will starve nowhere."

A-Yang’s face flushed at once. Holding the register, he stood on the landing and watched the boat leave, not moving for a long while.

The boats brought grain, material, salt, and oil, and the news of south and north. Once, a string of red cloth strips hung from the boat’s prow — a merchant house celebration, they said: the north line’s fleet had been named a Border-Guard Expert among merchant fleets, by the pharaoh’s reward. Meru took the red strips down and tied them to the settlement’s well rail. "A touch of the good luck."

"This good luck of yours," Lu Zhu said, "was bought with lives."

"Which is not?" Meru said. "Trade, grain-hauling — which of them is not bought with lives?" He tapped his pipe. "But look at this well rail — how fine it stands. This settlement grows more like a home every day."

The home indeed grew more like one every day.

The first great rain of summer came at night.

The rain came hard. The apprentices scrambled up in the middle of the night, threw on their rain capes, and ran every which way with torches in their hands. Lu Zhu rose too. He did not fluster, but stood under the porch and listened to the rain.

"No running wild." he said. "Follow the lessons. The well-watchers watch the well, the granary-watchers the granary, the wall-watchers the wall."

The well sat covered. The granary’s door stood shut tight. The wall stood in the rain, unmoved a hair. On the roofs, the rainwater ran down the double pitches, rushing, and not one drop seeped inside. At daylight, the rain stopped. Lu Zhu led the apprentices through the settlement, inside and out, checking it over.

"How is it?" he asked.

"The well water is not muddied." one said.

"The granary is dry." another said.

"The wall’s foot is not soaked." the third said.

"Good." Lu Zhu said. "This one night of rain is worth ten lessons. Remember it from now on: whether a house is good, do not listen to people’s praise. Listen to the rain. The rain speaks."

Hapy’s letters came one every ten days, never broken.

The letters told of the material yard. Which batch of material had come in, which had been sent back, which county’s quarry had gone wrong again. The characters were written dense, the matters written true. Once, a leaf was folded into the letter. "What is this for?" Lu Zhu asked.

"Brother Hapy said," the letter-carrying boatman laughed, "the new capital’s trees have yellowed. He asks you to look whether they are the same color as the river bend’s."

Lu Zhu put the leaf away in a book. Writing back, he put down: "The new capital’s leaves yellow early. The river bend’s are still green. You, in the city — wear one layer more."

In the second ten days’ letter, Hapy had one line more: "Teacher, I have worn one layer more. It is a lined coat issued by the guild, thick and solid."

When Lu Zhu had read it, he said to the apprentices: "Do you see? Between family, it is these small things. The small things arrive, and a man is not cold."

By the well, someone drew water every day. In the workshop, the sound of chisels and saws rang from morning to night. In the schoolhouse, Lu Zhu opened his lessons. The first lesson was on the house.

"A house," he drew one horizontal and one vertical line on the drawing board, "is two things. The foundation and the wall. The foundation is the house’s bargain with the earth. The wall is the house’s bargain with the sky." He paused. "The earth cheats no one, and the sky cheats no one. The only cheater is man himself. One part of material stolen, one seam left leaking — both are cheating."

The apprentices listened, spellbound. One child raised a hand. "Teacher, how would the sky cheat people?"

"The sky cheats no one." Lu Zhu said. "Wind and rain are the sky’s gifts. Mend your wall well, and wind and rain are guests. Mend it poorly, and they are debt collectors."

"Guests . . . debt collectors . . ." The apprentices murmured it over and all laughed.

The second lesson was on the granary. The third on water. The fourth on the road. Lesson by lesson he taught, and drawing by drawing he drew on the board. The finished drawings, Lu Zhu did not wipe away, but hung them up. One wall filled, he moved to the next. "These drawings," he said, "are your textbooks from now on."

The day of the granary lesson, Lu Zhu brought the apprentices before the granary on the west.

"All of you, go in." he said. "Stand inside a while, then come out. Tell me what is different between inside and out."

The apprentices went in. A while later, they came out one by one.

"Cool." one said. "Cooler than outside."

"Still." another said. "The grain sacks are stacked neat, and looking at them the heart goes still."

"Dry." the third said. "I felt the walls — dry and fresh."

"All right." Lu Zhu said. "A granary wants exactly these three. Cool, and the grain keeps; still, and the people keep their temper; and dry is the first of them. Grain fears damp, and people fear sickness. A granary’s damp-proofing is medicine for the grain. The sickness held off, and it never needs curing."

The day of the water lesson, he led them along the river shoal.

"Look at this river." he said. "Water runs to the low places. People walk to the high ones. A settlement is built in between — where the water cannot rise over it, and the road can reach it." He pointed toward the landing. "Water is a road, and the road is water too. Boats take the water road, and people the dry road. With both roads open, this place is alive."

The day of the road lesson, he led the apprentices over the settlement’s roads again, treading them out.

"A road," he said, "is walked out by people. But a good road is built." He crouched and pointed at the surface. "The settlement’s roads are high in the middle and low at the sides. In rain, the water runs to the sides. Letting water run is letting bad luck run." He stood up. "From now on, when you build a road, the first thing is to think the water through. The water thought clear, and the road is clear."

The people of the surrounding villages and towns came too.

Some came to ask for house-mending, some to learn the craft, some to beg a drink of water. Lu Zhu turned no one away. House-mending, he brought the apprentices along, teaching as they mended. Craft-learning, he had them listen outside the workshop. Begging water, he pointed at the well: "The well is below the slope. Help yourselves."

One old fellow came all the way from a village twenty li off, just to ask one thing: "Master, my house wall has cracked a seam, and the wind leaks through at night. Can it be mended?"

"It can." Lu Zhu said. "Take me to see it."

To the old fellow’s house, Lu Zhu went with three apprentices, for two days. The crack was filled with grass-fiber mud, filled three times over. The old fellow could not rest easy; every night he pressed his hand against the wall’s foot to feel for wind. On the third night, he suddenly ran out and shouted at Lu Zhu: "Master! It does not leak! Not one breath of wind leaks!"

"Then good." Lu Zhu said. "From now on, if the wall cracks again, use this method. Or come to the river bend and find me."

"Master," the old fellow’s tears came down, "you are truly a living saint . . . no, a god . . . no," he held it in a long while, "you are truly a good man."

"A craftsman." Lu Zhu said. "A good man, I dare not claim. Do the work well, and that is a good man."

On the road back, the three apprentices each carried a small sack of dried dates the old fellow had given.

"Teacher," one apprentice said, "mend one crack, trade for one sack of dates. A paying job."

"Paying, nothing." Lu Zhu said. "That old fellow’s household has only those dates." He paused. "But you cannot refuse them. Refuse, and his heart will not settle. Take them, and he sleeps at night." He patted the apprentice’s back. "From now on, when you go out on jobs — the wages at the full price, and the goodwill reckoned apart. Neither may be shorted."

The pharaoh’s word arrived on the fortieth day.

The Royal Steward came by boat, bringing one cart of congratulatory gifts: one cartload of timber, two sacks of new wheat, and one bronze lamp. The Steward read out the verbal decree: "The pharaoh says — the river bend’s settlement is up, and he knows of it. This lamp is for the schoolhouse. Reading at night, do not wear out your eyes."

Lu Zhu took the lamp. "Answer the pharaoh for me." he said. "The lamp, I will hang in the schoolhouse. From now on, when this lamp is lit, it means someone is still learning."

The Steward drank a mouthful of well water. "Good water." he said. "The pharaoh also has me ask one thing — what is the settlement’s name?"

Lu Zhu thought it over. "It has no name yet." he said. "Let it be — the Peaceful-Dwelling Settlement. ’Peaceful’ — the peace of a house with people in it. ’Dwelling’ — the dwelling of a heart that has settled down."

"The Peaceful-Dwelling Settlement." The Steward read it over once. "A fine name. This servant will report it to the pharaoh."

Before the Steward left, he walked one circle of the settlement.

At the well, he reached out and stirred the water’s face. "Clear." he said. "Clearer than the palace’s own well."

At the schoolhouse, he stood a long time before the drawing board. On it were still the wall and the door Lu Zhu had drawn in his lesson. "This one horizontal and one vertical," the Steward said, "outdo how much official prose."

At the landing, he trod the timber piles. "Steady." he said. "The same temper as the northern border’s wall."

Boarding the boat, the Steward turned back. "Master Lu," he said, "the pharaoh often says you are the nation’s pillar. Now it seems the pillar, back in the forest, is all the more alive." He cupped his hands in salute. "This servant takes his leave."

The boat left. Lu Zhu stood on the landing and watched its shape go, not moving for a long while. A-Yang came over: "Teacher, will the pharaoh truly come?"

"He will." Lu Zhu said. "He said it, so he will come." He turned and walked back. "From now on, let the schoolhouse’s lamp burn a little longer. When the pharaoh comes, he must see the lamp was not given for nothing."

The day the Steward left, Lu Zhu had the apprentices sweep the landing clean.

"From now on," he said, "all who come are guests. The landing is our face. The face clean, and the home prospers."

At autumn’s end, the neighboring village came asking for work — a livestock shed, half collapsed, to be mended.

Lu Zhu did not go. He sent A-Yang with three apprentices.

"Teacher," A-Yang said, "I fear I will not mend it well."

"Fear it, and go anyway." Lu Zhu said. "I will wait in the schoolhouse for your return."

The four went, carrying their tools, for three days. Lu Zhu did not ask after them, and they sent no word back. On the fourth day’s evening, the four came back, covered in dirt, and on their faces smiles that would not stay hidden.

"Teacher," A-Yang said, "it is mended. The shed roof has new beams, and the walls are re-interlocked. The master of the house insisted on keeping us to eat, and gave us this." He brought out a small basket of eggs.

Lu Zhu took the basket and said nothing. The next day, he quietly went to the neighboring village. Before the livestock shed, he stood a good while. The walls straight, the roof true, the joints biting firm.

"Good." he said in a low voice. "Ready to graduate."

On the road back, he met that household’s old fellow. The old man took his hand and praised him on and on: "The Master teaches well! Those lads are more solid than old craftsmen!"

"They do not count as craftsmen yet." Lu Zhu said. "But they have set their feet on the road."

That night, under the lamp, Lu Zhu struck A-Yang’s name off the apprentice register and wrote it onto another page.

At the top of that page stood two characters: "Graduated."

Imset’s fragmentary scrolls came after summer had set in, sent by Shafi’s hand.

One small wooden chest, wrapped in oilcloth, bound with three cords. Opened, inside were a dozen-odd rolls of papyrus and two potsherds with characters cut into them. On the rolls were foundation patterns, roof sections, drainage runs. The writing was ancient, the corners worn away, yet every stroke breathed mastery.

Lu Zhu lit the lamp and went through them roll by roll. Reading to the middle of the night, he raised his head and said to Hapy: "Master Imset has given me half a life’s collection."

"Teacher," Hapy said, "will these go into your book?"

"They will." Lu Zhu said. "The ancients’ methods, with our own, all written in together. Only so is the book complete." He rubbed one fragmentary page, gently. "A man does not live a hundred years. But these drawings have lived several hundred. From now on, they can live several hundred more."

The next day, he had the apprentices spread the fragments out, page by page, to air in the workshop’s shade. Aired dry, they went back into the wooden chest. On the chest’s lid, Lu Zhu carved two characters with his own hand: "Passed on."

"This chest," he said, "whoever takes my place from now on goes on keeping it. Keep the old, record the new. Generation after generation, never let it break."

Seb’s plans came on the north line’s boats.

One roll, wrapped in oilcloth. Opened, it was the new plan of the northern border’s thirty li of wall. On it, the west section’s rebuilt stretch was marked out plain in charcoal. In the plan’s corner, one line of small characters:

"Teacher: The wall has grown one more inch thick. Your settlement, I have heard of it. When spring opens, I will come to the river bend and kowtow to you. Seb."

Lu Zhu hung the plan in the schoolhouse, next to the lesson on the house.

"All of you, come look." he said to the apprentices. "This is the northern border’s wall, drawn by your senior brother Seb. He studied drawing under me for three years. Now the wall he draws stands three thousand li away, holding a country’s north gate."

The apprentices crowded up, not daring to breathe as they looked. On that plan, every line sat heavy.

"Teacher," one apprentice said quietly, "will we be able to draw plans like this one day?"

"You will." Lu Zhu said. "As long as you practice, day after day. Practice until, in the end, the lines grow out of your hands by themselves."

Mery came at autumn’s start.

He truly came off the boat with a sack of new grain on his shoulder. The sack pressed down, and he walked steady. Ashore, he carried the sack straight into the western granary first, and only then came to see his teacher.

"Teacher." Under the porch, he kowtowed, respectful and proper.

"Get up." Lu Zhu said. "Thinner. And sturdier."

"A year of touring granaries, eating a hundred households’ grain." Mery laughed. "Teacher, the south’s granaries stand thirty-two in number. The north’s — the town granaries behind the border wall — I have seen them too. All built by the law." He paused. "One place, I had them tear down and rebuild. The foundation was not raised enough, and the damp was coming up."

"Rightly torn down." Lu Zhu said.

Mery stayed in the settlement five days. He looked the western granary through, inside and out. "The teacher’s granary — small as it is, every part of it keeps the rules." He turned to examine A-Yang: "Tell me — why does this granary open its windows east and west?"

A-Yang thought it over. "East and west facing each other, the wind is a through-draft. Windows north and south, and the north wind pours straight in, while the south windows bake. A through-draft dries the grain fast without blowing straight on it."

"Good." Mery nodded. "Your class has learned it solid."

He gave the apprentices one more lesson, on granary inspection. How to listen to the sound, how to smell the air, how to feel the walls. When he had taught it, he shouldered his pack. "Teacher, I must still go north." he said. "Senior brother Seb’s letter says the north’s grain cellars must be checked again before winter."

"Go, then." Lu Zhu said. "On the road, take a look at the north’s wall for me."

"I will." Mery said. "When I see the granaries, I will see the wall on the way."

Kes’s letter came by Shunzi’s boat.

"Teacher: The river valley’s houses have their fourth row up. All forty-odd households of the clan live in new houses now. Mother says it is the first time in her life she has slept in a new house of her own. The market is open, and the granary is full. The medical point’s medicine rack, as you taught, is raised half a foot. Teacher, when will you come see the south? The south’s sky is as blue as your charcoal stick. Kes."

When Lu Zhu had read it, he folded the letter and put it into the rattan chest. "Answer him." he said. "Say — when the teacher’s drawings reach the south, he will come see it."

Come autumn, the liveliest place on the shoal was the grain-sunning ground.

That ground the north wall sheltered came into its great use. The new grain Meru’s boats brought, the mixed grain the neighbors sent as thanks — all sunned on it. Lu Zhu led the apprentices in leveling the ground afresh and lining its four sides in lime. "Grain spread inside the lines, and when rain comes, it gathers up fast."

In the sunning days, no one dared slack. Turned by day, heaped by dusk, and at night one man stayed to watch. The night watcher sat at the ground’s edge wrapped in a blanket, listening to the wind. Damp in the wind, and he called the others at once.

"Sunning grain," Lu Zhu said, "is racing the sky for days. Won, it is grain. Lost, it is mold." He paused. "Look at this ground full of yellow — how precious it is. Grain by grain, each one is someone bending his back in the field, who knows how many times."

The apprentices lined up and spread the grain, spadeful by spadeful. Under the sun, that stretch of gold dazzled the eyes warm.

One day in late spring, Lu Zhu opened the plans of all these years under the lamp.

That evening, he had brought the schoolhouse lesson to the roof.

"The roof," he drew a slope on the drawing board, "is the house’s hat. The hat set on straight, and rain and snow both walk around it." He paused. "From now on, if any of you sets his hat on crooked, think of this sentence of mine."

The apprentices all laughed. In the laughter, the day darkened toward night. Lu Zhu closed the lesson. "That is all for today." he said. "Tomorrow — the market."

"The market?" the apprentices said. "We have a market here too?"

"We do." Lu Zhu said. "By the landing, from now on, is the market. Firewood and rice, oil and salt, needles and thread — all of it needs a place to change hands." He looked out over the river’s face. "A settlement is not only for housing people. It must house the human warmth. That warmth is half in the hearth smoke and half in the market."

The first market opened on the tenth day after the completion.

Right there on the open ground by the landing. There were no stall frames; Lu Zhu led the apprentices in nailing up a few long benches from waste timber, reed mats spread over them, and those were the stalls. The market-goers were the villagers from twenty li around. Some carried greens, some sold fish, some traded eggs for salt, and some had a few hides tucked away, wanting to trade for a little grain.

The settlement’s apprentices set a stall too. On it were no goods, but craft: whose knife was blunt — sharpen it; whose hoe was loose — wedge it; whose basket was broken — weave it. No money taken; one meal would do.

"What do you get out of it?" a villager asked.

"Practice for the hands." A-Yang said. "And familiar faces. From now on, when your walls crack and your roofs leak, you will still come find us."

"Then that is fine indeed!" The villagers laughed. The market ran from midday to the sun’s westward tilt. At the breaking-up, everyone’s hands held something more, and something less. Lu Zhu stood by the landing and watched. "That is right." he said. "A market is coming and going. Coming and going, and people are tied to people."

The plans came out of the rattan chest, one by one. The West Bank’s settlement, the new capital’s whole city, the temple’s altar, Thebes’s city wall, the northern border’s towers, the Ever-Normal Granaries, the medical houses, the dwellings, the law stele’s base.

The first sheet was the West Bank’s settlement. The first wall on ground burned black. Back then, he had only just come to this land, his hands full of mud and his heart full of panic.

The second was the new capital’s whole city. The central axis, the four functional zones. That was a city standing up out of nothing.

The third was the temple’s altar. The sunlight’s angles, the columns’ heights. On that plan was the brightest stroke of his whole life.

The fourth was Thebes’s city wall. Stained with ash, stained with blood. The night after night of emergency mending were all on that plan.

The fifth was the northern border’s towers, drawn by Seb. Crooked and unsteady, yet every stroke bit into the earth.

And the granaries, and the medical houses, and the dwellings, and the law stele’s base. He laid them out by year, one by one, until they filled the room.

"Hapy." he said suddenly.

"Teacher."

"From tomorrow," Lu Zhu said, "the daytime lessons go on as before. At night, I am going to write something."

"Write what?"

"A book that writes down all the things of these years." Lu Zhu said. "To leave the people who come after a charter."

Hapy asked no more. He topped up the lamp and trimmed the wick bright. Under the lamp, Lu Zhu spread out a fresh sheet, lifted the brush, and set down the first line.

Outside the window, the river bend’s water ran rushing on. The chisel sound in the workshop had already fallen still. Only toward the schoolhouse, that bronze lamp still burned — warm yellow, like a star fallen to the ground.

On the third night of writing, Lu Zhu gave the book a name.

He thought of many. Some were too refined, and the apprentices could not read them smooth; some were too plain, unworthy of a whole country’s affairs. Thinking it over and over, he lifted the brush and wrote eight characters at the top of the page:

"Peaceful dwelling, joint defense, settlement building."

When he had written, he studied it a long while, then added two characters more at the end.

"The code."

Eight characters, plus the two of "the code," made ten in all: The Code of Peaceful Dwelling, Joint Defense, and Settlement Building.

"That is the one." he said in a low voice. "’Peaceful dwelling’ — for people to live in. ’Joint defense’ — for people to hold. The settlement is the root. The building is the stem. The code is for those who come after."

He pressed that page down square and true at the desk’s corner, weighted with the paperweight. The paperweight had been picked up from the river shoal, fist-sized, round and smooth.

The lamp was topped up once more.

In the nights of late spring, the river bend’s lamps went out one by one. Only the bronze lamp in the schoolhouse still burned. Under it, Lu Zhu had spread out the plans of all these years. They were a country’s building history: from the West Bank’s burned ground to the new capital’s high walls, from Thebes’s blood and fire to the northern border’s wind and snow. Now they were all gathered into one small courtyard on thirty mu of shoal. He lifted the brush and wrote the first line. The river bend’s water ran rushing on. And outside the window, the workshop’s shadow stood quiet, as if waiting for tomorrow’s chisel sound, and as if waiting, too, for all the stories the book had not yet written.

(End of Chapter 7)