Chapter Seven: The Slave of Kunlun

Although Du Shiyi had not accepted those precious medicinal herbs previously offered, and had also politely declined to move to the grand villa on Junji Peak at Songyang Monastery, after Sun Zifang left behind a prescription and departed, the monastery still sent a young Daoist to deliver two large, heavy bundles of medicine. One bundle was for Du Shisan-niang, to treat her fever and chills, and the other was for Du Shiyi to restore his health and replenish his vitality. This time, Du Shiyi did not refuse; after expressing his thanks, he instructed Zhuying to store them away.

Zhuying herself, suffering from wind-cold and fever after being caught in the rain, recovered almost entirely after Du Shiyi administered acupuncture and a night’s rest. She stubbornly refused further treatment or medicine, and seeing she was indeed on the mend, Du Shiyi could not persuade her otherwise and let her be. As the household still had enough vegetables, eggs, oil, and salt from previous purchases to last a few days, she devoted herself entirely to caring for the brother and sister, never once stepping outside.

Several days slipped by in this way. Joy brings health, and as Du Shiyi recovered with remarkable speed, Du Shisan-niang found even the bitter medicines she had always dreaded since childhood no longer tasted so unpleasant, and her body gradually healed. Though she vaguely sensed that her brother was somehow different from the one she remembered—the man who spoke eloquently in public but was often silent and withdrawn at home—she found herself far preferring the attentive brother before her now. Besides, having survived a brush with death, such a transformation seemed only natural.

One day, after furrowing her brow and draining a bowl of bitter medicine in one gulp, Du Shisan-niang glanced around and, seeing her brother was not in the room, could not help but ask, “Where is my brother?”

“Miss, the young master is outside in the bamboo grove,” Zhuying replied softly, seeing Du Shisan-niang’s puzzlement. “He said first thing this morning that he wanted to read, so I fetched the few scrolls from the book chest, but he barely glanced at them before putting them aside and then said he wanted to write instead. So I brought out the writing materials and set up a mat for him in a bright spot outdoors, ready to stretch the paper for him. But after one look, he frowned again, wrote only a few characters, then left everything behind and went into the bamboo grove. If it weren’t time for your medicine, Miss, I’d be quite uneasy.”

Hearing this, Du Shisan-niang felt both suspicious and worried. Her brother had only just recovered from a grave illness; if old sorrows were stirred up and he was cast down again, would not all their efforts be in vain? Pondering this, she knew well how hard-won her brother’s reputation had been—those writing implements and treasures brought along on their journey had been gifts from family elders and other relatives, most with extraordinary provenance, not to mention the scrolls rescued from the old family home’s great fire, which she had never even considered selling, not even in their most desperate times.

But now, steeling her heart, she declared, “Tomorrow, quietly put those things away. If my brother asks, say you can’t find them. Before we return to Chang’an, we’ll sell them all!”

“Why sell such fine things?” Du Shiyi had entered the room as she spoke. He glanced at Du Shisan-niang, whose face had gone suddenly pale, and at the unprepared Zhuying, then said in a low voice, “Those are treasures money can hardly buy. If they fall into the hands of fools, they’ll only be ruined for nothing. Shisan-niang, don’t trouble yourself with such worries—I’m not so fragile as to be saddened by old possessions.”

“Brother…”

Her hesitation did not escape Du Shiyi’s notice; he sighed inwardly. The truth was, his desire to read and write these last few days was not for any particular reason—he simply wished to pass the time during his convalescence. Yet when he picked up those massive scrolls, he felt an odd sense of dissonance. As for writing—Zhuying had prepared the materials and stood ready to stretch the paper just so, reviving memories within him.

Writing at a desk, as later generations would do, was not the custom of this era; here, they sat cross-legged on a mat, rolled the paper into a scroll, and wrote with the left hand holding the roll and the right hand writing. Even in a household like the Du’s, which could afford servants, at most someone would stretch the paper at the side, but writing itself required the hand to hover above the page.

The problem was, the former Du Shiyi had been educated in just this way from childhood and was used to it, but for him now, though his body could manage the posture and the characters he wrote were passable, the inefficiency was unbearable.

Moreover, from Zhuying he had learned that only a few sheets of paper remained in the chest, and the ink was nearly gone. Once gone, they would have to buy more. If he wanted to practice his calligraphy, unless he followed the ancients and used water on a lacquered tray, wearing out a thousand brushes, he’d have to find another way.

Yet, in front of Du Shisan-niang, he said lightly, “It’s nothing. I was just looking at the bamboo grove outside, thinking that if the person recommended by Sima arrives, perhaps we could have them cut a few stalks to make some new furnishings.”

No sooner had he finished than a familiar, hearty voice came from outside: “Is the young master Du at home?”

This time, seeing Du Shiyi’s face light up as he moved to go out, Zhuying quickly stood and hurried to the door. Beyond the fence, she saw Sima Heiyun, accompanied by a well-built, dark-skinned youth, bare to the waist and carrying a sack of farm tools. She was taken aback.

Judging by his features, the youth appeared to be a Kunlun slave. Even in Chang’an, such a slave would fetch at least a hundred thousand coins, often purchased by noble ladies to lead horses and aid them in mounting. But her master had only wanted a simple, honest farmhand—why send someone like this?

Perplexed, Zhuying nonetheless hurried to open the gate, and soon Du Shiyi emerged from the cottage as well. She already knew from before that Sima Heiyun was but a retainer, yet hearing Du Shiyi address him so warmly as “Brother Sima,” she could not help but frown slightly, then quietly slipped back inside.

She found Du Shisan-niang propped up, half-sitting, and quickly went to support her. When asked softly who had arrived, she replied, “It’s Sima Heiyun—the one who brought us back that rainy day and fetched Daoist Sun to treat you.”

“So, it’s him.” Du Shisan-niang nodded thoughtfully, then instructed, “When Daoist Sun visited, we had only plain water to offer. Now that my illness has much improved and brother has turned a corner, our expenses are more manageable. Next time you go to market, remember to buy some fruit for making curdled milk, so we’re not so embarrassingly poor if guests come.”

Zhuying was about to answer when she heard Du Shiyi and Sima Heiyun entering. She nodded and went to tidy the sitting mat and serve water, then withdrew to the side, her gaze repeatedly drawn to the kneeling, curious Kunlun slave at the door. Fortunately, she did not have to wait long before, after some brief pleasantries, Sima Heiyun got to the point.

“You said before you needed a reliable farmhand, so I brought this Kunlun slave. To tell the truth, I was accompanying my master at Songyang Monastery, but since you entrusted me, I thought to look in the nearby villages. By chance, while in Dengfeng yesterday, I saw this slave being hawked on the street for only ten thousand coins—less than a tenth his value, yet there were no takers.

“On inquiry, I learned his original master enjoyed rural life, so though he is only fourteen, he has been trained in farm work from childhood. He knows nothing else—not horse-leading, not serving at table, not the least of a servant’s duties. Passed from owner to owner, each time he made a mistake, he was sold on, his price dropping from one hundred and twenty thousand coins to now ten thousand, and still no one will buy.

“Who wants to pay ten thousand coins for a big eater who can only farm? But since you only need a farmhand, my master said he was just the thing, so I offered eight thousand coins and bought him. He cares nothing for heat or cold, and a bamboo shed in the yard will suffice for him—far more reliable than hiring help. The seller even threw in all his farm tools, which had accompanied him through several households, so in truth he cost next to nothing. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him back and sell him in Luoyang.”

Hearing this, Du Shiyi carefully examined the Kunlun boy. At Sima Heiyun’s words, the youth, who had been looking around curiously, lowered his head in visible dejection. Du Shiyi pondered for a moment, then shook his head.

“All I need is someone to tend the fields and grow some vegetables and melons—I don’t need him to serve me personally, so it doesn’t matter if he knows the rules. But as for his price—eight thousand coins—I won’t hide it, Brother Sima. Because of my illness, my sister has spent nearly all our fortune. Even if we sold this cottage and all our belongings, we couldn’t raise that sum.”

“That’s no worry; you can repay it later.”

But Du Shiyi shook his head at once. “That won’t do. I have already received your great kindness and dare not accept such a valuable gift as well. I cannot accept a reward for no service. I must pay you for the slave.

“So, since I am just recovering and can do no hard labor, but idling about is no good for my health or my spirits, and since I have been reading and writing since childhood—though my illness forced me to neglect it for some time—I can still copy books. Does your master have any texts or volumes that need copying? Whatever the fair price is for each volume copied in the market, we’ll deduct it from his cost!”

Sima Heiyun was briefly taken aback, then smiled. “Since you are resolved, I’ll report your offer to my master.”

With the matter settled, Du Shiyi felt a weight lift from his heart. He invited Sima Heiyun to stay for a while before seeing him off. Only when the visitor had disappeared down the path did he turn to the Kunlun youth at the gate and thoughtfully ask, “What is your name?”

The dark-skinned boy looked up at his new master, then stammered, “All my former names were given by previous owners. Please give me a new one.”

Du Shiyi raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What name did your first master give you?”

This time, the youth answered readily. “The magistrate Xue named me Tian Mo—‘Field’ as in farmland, ‘Mo’ as in the paths between fields.”

Hearing him clearly explain the origin of his name, Du Shiyi said at once, “Then Tian Mo it shall be. Since you learned good farming under Magistrate Xue, I’ll entrust all the land in the yard to you.”

Recognizing his old name again, Tian Mo’s eyes shone with excitement. Without hesitation, he knelt and bowed. “Thank you, master!”

Having acknowledged his new master, Tian Mo immediately took up a hatchet, cut some bamboo in the grove, and built himself a shelter against wind and rain. After devouring his lunch, he spent the entire afternoon turning the two patches of neglected earth in the yard. Sweating profusely, he was about to fetch water when, learning from Zhuying that there was a well behind the cottage and a mountain stream nearby, he wiped his brow and smiled. “Back with Magistrate Xue, I used to carry water from a stream a mile away to irrigate the garden—he always said my vegetables were the best-tasting.”

Within, Du Shisan-niang could not help but laugh, turning to Du Shiyi. “Brother, there are many who know how to farm, but that magistrate used such an expensive Kunlun slave for menial labor—no wonder other families resold him after only a few days. Look at how he can’t stay idle for a moment—he’d be miserable working as someone’s attendant!”

“Which is why, I suppose, all those who sold him must think Magistrate Xue was an odd fellow, wasting such a treasure.” Du Shiyi smiled, then, struck by a thought, went to the door and called to Tian Mo, who was gulping water from a wooden ladle. “Tian Mo, what should be planted in the fields at this season?”

Tian Mo straightened up at once and replied without hesitation, “Now is best for melons and gourds—cucumbers, kunlun melons, cabbages. Anything else would be out of season. But these few plots are really too small; if you wish, master, more ground could be cleared in the bamboo grove. Though most of the bamboo shoots are old now, some tender ones may still be found—they’d be perfect for cooking. And as it’s spring, wild greens are everywhere on the mountain; Magistrate Xue always liked to sample them, and in half a day you could fill a basket!”

Tian Mo spoke so often of Magistrate Xue that other masters might have taken offense, but Du Shiyi paid it no mind. In wealthy households, Kunlun slaves were prized for showmanship, not for farming. Tian Mo’s skills might have gone to waste elsewhere, but to Du Shiyi—whose household lacked almost everything—these abilities were a godsend. After all, as clever as Zhuying was, even the most skillful woman cannot cook without rice!

“Very well, show us all the skills you learned under Magistrate Xue!”

After being passed from hand to hand for so long, seeing recognition and appreciation in his new master’s eyes filled Tian Mo with joy and surprise. As Du Shiyi turned back into the house, a spontaneous cheer burst from outside, and his own heart felt lighter than it had in many days.