Chapter Thirty-Six: Bow and Arrow

"In spring, a single grain is sown; in autumn, ten thousand seeds are reaped. Across the land, no field lies fallow, yet still the farmer starves."
"Hoeing under the blazing sun at noon, sweat drips to the earth beneath the crops. Who understands that each grain in the bowl comes from such toil and hardship?"
Professor Huang Huan of the Lingnan County Academy in Qinzhou was a man of method. Not only did he impart the classics within the halls, but he also led his students to the academy's teaching fields, so that they might understand the true value of food, and through this, let Li Sanjian and the others grasp the hardships of the world.

The so-called "teaching fields" were parcels of land purchased with state funds, or else lands that had reverted to the state through forfeiture, abandonment, or the extinction of household lines. These were then leased out to tenants, with rents used to supplement the academy's expenses and promote learning. Besides official grants, there were also private donations to support county or prefectural schools.

Those who funded the construction of academies were often local officials, wealthy families, prominent clans, or scholars, each with their own motives—some seeking fame, others profit.

Li Sanjian certainly understood the bitterness of life. Was this not the case for the boat-dwelling folk of Qiongtai? His own maternal grandfather and uncles risked their lives diving for pearls, exchanging them—at the risk of death—for just enough rice, wine, or salt to scrape by.

Yet in every era, at any time, the world is always divided between rich and poor. The wealthy squander gold as if it were dirt, living in wanton luxury, while the poor, with nothing but bare walls to their names, toil desperately for survival—some even forced into desperate measures.

Chen Ke'er’s father, Chen Zao, was one such wealthy man. Li Sanjian did not know how Chen Zao had made his fortune, but he knew Chen Zao spent money extravagantly—the mere number of singers and dancers kept in his household was proof enough.

Yet Li Sanjian bore no particular resentment towards Chen Zao; in fact, he was deeply grateful. Chen Zao had sent his daughter to deliver many valuables to Li Sanjian.

However, although Li Sanjian was grateful and indeed needed money and goods to live, he still refused the gifts that Chen Ke'er brought. He was not so old-fashioned as to refuse a life-saving meal out of pride, but he did not wish to owe anyone favors or accept such lavish gifts for no reason.

The twenty gold leaves gifted by the merchant Chen Yide were already a heavy burden for Li Sanjian. At the time, what was given was a book, which Li Sanjian accepted, not knowing it concealed twenty gold leaves—equal to twenty taels of gold. Thus, he found himself indebted to Chen Yide.

Pressed by necessity, Li Sanjian used the gold leaves. He was not the sort to starve rather than touch available riches, like Boyi and Shuqi of the Spring and Autumn era, who, out of some lofty principle, refused to eat Zhou grain and starved to death on Shouyang Mountain.

Li Sanjian was not that kind of man. At worst, he could return the gold leaves to Chen Yide when the opportunity arose and fortune smiled upon him again, he silently resolved.

“Professor Huang,” Li Sanjian suddenly asked, pointing to the tenant farmers laboring in the teaching fields, “do they have surplus grain after a year’s work?”

The abrupt question left Professor Huang momentarily at a loss for words.

It was a complicated matter, touching upon the court, the bureaucracy, and all manner of sensitive issues—possibly even forbidden topics. Huang Huan truly did not know how to reply.

In the Song dynasty, farmers were divided into five classes. Based on land ownership, there were those with land and those without. The landed were further divided into wealthy farmers, owner-cultivators, and semi-owner-cultivators, while the landless were tenant farmers or “client households.”

Tenant households made up about forty percent of the total; when combined with the wealthy, owner, and semi-owner-cultivators, farmers accounted for more than eighty percent of the population.

Yet these eighty percent of farmers owned only thirty to forty percent of the farmland. The rest was held by the royal family, officials, temples, or powerful clans—groups who enjoyed special privileges and paid little or no taxes. Thus, the burden of land tax fell mainly upon the minority who farmed the smaller share of land.

In addition to land taxes, farmers bore other levies—such as transport, exchange, head taxes, miscellaneous fees, as well as forced purchases and sales. They also owed various corvée labor obligations, making their burden truly heavy.

Huang Huan understood all this, but how could he explain it all to Li Sanjian? To cover the matter would take days and nights.

“In a good year, things are better—they may have some surplus. In a poor harvest, they barely manage to feed themselves, or even…” After a long pause, Huang Huan answered vaguely.

“Or even what? Do you mean to say their livelihoods are that precarious?” Li Sanjian pressed on.

“You…” Huang Huan wished he could pin this impudent youth to the ground and give him a sound thrashing. Why ask so many questions? he thought to himself.

He had only wanted to teach them the value of food, not to be interrogated so relentlessly by Li Sanjian.

“In a bountiful year, all their toil may just suffice for the taxes, leaving only a few months’ food for themselves. In times of famine, people survive on acorns or the roots of wild vegetables—does that answer satisfy you?” Huang Huan finally replied, resentment thick in his voice.

Li Sanjian fell silent, asking no further. He was well aware of the people’s hardship, but what could he do? He did not even know what fate awaited him. If he failed the exams, he might soon be in the same plight…

...

“Oh, you’re hopeless!” Chen Ke’er wanted nothing more than to kick this “lecherous fool” Li Sanjian to the ground and stomp on him for good measure.

Li Sanjian, holding a bow and arrow, asked Chen Ke’er in all earnestness, “Isn’t it like this? Are you saying it won’t shoot?”

Though he had refused the gifts from Chen Zao and Chen Ke’er, Li Sanjian saw that the blue-robed Qin Bo was a martial arts expert and shamelessly begged him for lessons in the art of the staff.

At first, Chen Ke’er despised Li Sanjian as a “lecher,” but after his explanations, she realized that the little bean sprout was just a pitiful soul, and that Li Sanjian had only shared a room with her to care for her—not out of any lascivious intent.

More importantly, she could not resist Li Sanjian’s glib tongue, and being fond of games herself, she agreed to let Qin Bo instruct him. While Qin Bo taught staff techniques, Chen Ke’er, bored, took it upon herself to “teach” Li Sanjian some martial skills of her own.

She began with the bow and arrow, for in the Song dynasty, a true scholar was expected to wield both pen and bow, embodying both the civil and the martial.

Although the court strictly controlled weapons like crossbows, spears, and armor, they were more lenient with simple, less powerful bows and arrows, turning a blind eye to their use. The existence of various “archery clubs” among the people attested to this. For someone of Chen Zao’s means, acquiring a few simple bows was no problem.

The bows and arrows Chen Ke’er brought were more toys than weapons, with a range of only four or five paces—hardly deadly even to a rabbit, let alone a man.

Yet even so, Li Sanjian struggled and was left dizzy and frustrated by the ordeal.

“Go on, shoot! I really want to see how you’ll manage it today,” Chen Ke’er said, hands on hips, exasperated by his awkward preparation.

“Fine, I will!” Li Sanjian retorted in a huff. He might not have eaten pork, but surely he’d seen a pig run, he thought in defiance.

He stepped forward with his left foot, right foot back, body turned slightly, grasped the bow in his left hand, nocked the arrow, drew the string fully with his right, lifting his left hand slightly in preparation to shoot.

His posture looked convincing enough, but…

With a sudden twang, the bowstring snapped back against the bow; no arrow flew forward.

“Ow—damn it!” Li Sanjian cried out. He’d failed to secure the arrow; the nock slipped from the string and jabbed him in the face, leaving a thin scratch across his cheek.

Chen Ke’er doubled over with laughter, gasping for breath.

“What’s so funny? Why don’t you try?” Li Sanjian grumbled, rubbing his sore face.

“Fine, watch and learn, you fool.” Chen Ke’er cheerfully took the bow, nocked an arrow, and in one fluid motion, sent it flying to strike the target three paces away.

“Well? What do you think of my skills?” she asked, smiling triumphantly.

“Hmph, nothing special,” Li Sanjian replied, chagrined. “I’m going to study. Excuse me!”

“A general strategizes from his tent, victories won a thousand miles away!” Li Sanjian said, hands clasped behind his back, striding off. “Within books, one finds houses of gold and beauties as fair as jade!”

“Bah, bookworm,” Chen Ke’er muttered at his back.

“Hey, bookworm!” she called after him. “I’m heading back. You—you—you…”

“What?” Li Sanjian turned, puzzled. “What orders does the great hero have for me?”

“Just… don’t you dare do anything to Little Bean Sprout…!”

“I—You—” Now it was Li Sanjian’s turn to stammer. “You really—what do you take me for? If you mention this again, let’s sever our friendship and never meet again!”

“Fine, who cares?” Chen Ke’er shot back, angry.

“Go safely, young lady, I won’t see you out,” Li Sanjian replied, unyielding.

The Chen estate was only a few miles from Lingnan County, so Chen Ke’er often came to play with Li Sanjian.

“Hmph…” Chen Ke’er snorted, about to leave.

“Bookworm, take this!” Suddenly unwilling to let things lie, she spun around and waved her hand.

In an instant, the world turned. A dragon of ice roared forth, shards of frost swirling as it lunged at Li Sanjian, maw agape, blue jaws wide, as if to swallow him whole.

“Ah!” Li Sanjian yelped, falling hard onto his backside.

With a splash, the ice dragon shattered against his face, breaking into shards and drenching him in icy water.

Chen Ke’er giggled, unable to restrain her laughter at his sorry state.