Chapter Forty-Three: Child Labor

In the second year of Xingping, beginning from the previous year, severe droughts struck the regions of Guanzhong and Henan, lasting until July of this year. The disaster affected nearly ten million people, with several million perishing from famine and plague or forced to migrate, becoming refugees.

Compared to the regions east and west of the Pass, the southern Jing Province remained blessed with timely rains. Situated in the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River, its abundant rainfall kept drought at bay for the time being. As a result, large numbers of refugees from Guanzhong and Henan swarmed into the Nanyang area. Those with means migrated further south to the Yangtze basin, while the less fortunate settled in the Nanyang basin, causing its population to swell dramatically.

Liu Biao, following Shen Chen’s counsel, ordered the government to provide grain and supplies to temporarily feed the hungry, then recruited the refugees to begin cultivating the land in Nanyang. For a time, the entire region bustled with activity.

Among the new arrivals were also the old clansfolk of Huangmenting in Xinye, who had settled here. Originally numbering only a thousand, under the guidance of Deng Mao and Deng Zhao—acting on Shen Chen’s instructions—they continually recruited more refugees to till the land, employing a manor system: enclosing vast tracts for intensive farming, organizing expansion around manor-fortresses.

From Shen Chen’s departure from Huangmenting in May to July, they had recruited over 160 new households—more than 800 people in total—and reclaimed over 4,000 additional mu of land, building over 80 new thatched latrines. While constructing latrines was hardly a boast-worthy endeavor, there was no denying that this innovative composting technique greatly improved grain yields, prompting continuous expansion.

One day, Deng Hong brought some cold food to visit Shen Chen. Song Zhong granted him half a day’s leave, so Shen Chen took his grand-uncle to the back mountain, where a cool pavilion and a clear spring awaited. Verdant greenery surrounded them, with limpid waters flowing from the mountain, passing beneath the pavilion.

The two sat cross-legged in the pavilion. As Shen Chen watched Deng Hong unpack the cold dishes, he inquired after the current state of their clan. Deng Hong, having only just returned from a visit, relayed their progress.

Once the dishes were laid out, Deng Hong happened to see a small wooden object in Shen Chen’s hand and asked curiously, “A-Chen, what is this?”

Shen Chen raised the object and replied, “Uncle, have you forgotten? This is a dragon-bone waterwheel.”

In his leisure time, he had borrowed some carpentry tools from the servants and crafted it himself. After all, a dragon-bone waterwheel was essentially a few planks connected with many paddles, using a roller to draw water—a simple enough device to make.

Deng Hong sighed, “So you truly intend to make me famous throughout the countryside?”

“Just follow my lead, Uncle,” Shen Chen said, handing over the small model while he began to eat.

Deng Hong examined the model closely, finding it exquisitely made. Turning the paddles, he saw the axle rotate; it seemed capable of lifting water just as described.

“It’s an interesting device, but it draws so little water.”

He placed the model in the nearby stream, turning it by hand. It did lift water, but in small amounts—even scaled up, the flow would not be great.

Shen Chen smiled, “There’s also a type of waterwheel powered by the current itself—it turns and draws water automatically. But that’s not suitable for widespread use yet.”

“Why not?” Deng Hong wondered aloud. Why not share such a good thing?

Shen Chen replied, “To prevent it from falling into enemy hands. Our composting technique must also be protected—if others learn it, it won’t be good for us.”

He was intent on establishing technological barriers—not only for composting and waterwheels, but also for future inventions like the stirrup, horseshoe, smelting methods, architectural techniques, and manufacturing skills.

During his studies of ancient architecture, he had traveled widely to investigate historic crafts, picking up many useful techniques—many of which would not emerge until the Tang and Song dynasties, or only become widespread in the Ming and Qing. Though all are considered ancient, the craftsmanship and prosperity of the Ming and Qing far surpassed that of the Han and Tang.

A typical example is steel production. According to Professor Li Jinghua’s modern archaeological analysis, the total steel output of the entire Western Han dynasty—210 years—was only 17,855 tons. In the early Hongwu era of the Ming, official steel production reached 9,235 tons in a single year. By the mid to late Ming, in the tenth year of Jiajing, Guangdong alone produced 13,500 tons annually.

Thus, even introducing Ming and Qing technologies into the Han would amount to overwhelming superiority—a qualitative leap.

Such advances would require a mighty force to drive them. If others learned of them now, it would be tantamount to aiding the enemy. After all, with Cao Cao controlling the north and commanding tens of thousands of cavalry, if he mastered the stirrup and horseshoe, even the formidable Yangtze barrier might not withstand his iron hooves.

Setting aside the waterwheel model, Deng Hong asked, “A-Chen, how are your studies progressing?”

“Not too bad...” Shen Chen hesitated. “Except our teacher hasn’t started formal lessons yet. I’ve nearly finished learning Greater and Lesser Seal Script.”

Deng Hong nodded, “Those are the foundation. Our clan’s books are in Clerical Script, but many ancient texts are written in Qin Seal. Your teacher is right—when I was a traveling scholar, I saw people practicing seal script every day.”

“I see.” Shen Chen relaxed. With both Zhuge Liang and Deng Hong saying so, it must be right. He had never apprenticed with a great Han scholar before and did not know why Song Zhong taught only calligraphy, not the texts. Now it made sense—they had their reasons.

After some more conversation, Shen Chen reminded Deng Hong, asking him to urge the clansmen to build up the manors quickly, and, according to his instructions, to drill more troops, smelt more steel, and produce more porcelain.

According to what Zhou Lin had told him last year, if all went well, he would visit Jiangdong again this year. If he passed through Xiangyang, he would send someone to Nanyang to find Shen Chen.

At that time, apart from selling Zhou Lin the shipbuilding techniques, Shen Chen would also sell him the exquisite porcelain made at Huangmenting’s blast-furnace kilns. Han dynasty white porcelain was fine, but not as good as Tang sancai; these wares would surely win the favor of the local gentry.

That afternoon, after Deng Hong left, Shen Chen made his way to the courtyard where Song Zhong often spent his time.

A few days prior it had rained, so Song Zhong had not sun-dried the books, instead devoting himself wholly to instructing Shen Chen—not in reading, but in recognizing bamboo slips.

After teaching him Greater and Lesser Seal Scripts, Shen Chen could now read the writing on the slips, though not always grasp their meaning. Song Zhong, however, understood them, and would tell him, for each sentence, which book and which scroll it came from, urging him to remember these things for the future.

After several days of this, Shen Chen had memorized a good number of texts—many of which, in later ages, would be invaluable, having been lost to posterity. Any single scroll would be priceless two millennia hence.

Upon reaching the courtyard, he found Song Zhong busying himself with the books once more.

Since yesterday the weather had cleared, the sun dispelling the clouds and bringing oppressive heat. Though it was said to be autumn, it was only July and the temperatures were still high—drought persisted in the north, and the south sweltered as well.

“Master,” Shen Chen greeted Song Zhong with a bow.

Song Zhong smiled, “A-Chen, you’ve come at the perfect time. Go fetch the scroll ‘Duke Tai: Strategies, Volume on Methods.’”

He pointed to a distant pile of bamboo slips, indicating only the general direction.

Shen Chen carefully wove through the sea of bamboo, searching until he found the scroll in question.

The so-called “Duke Tai” was the “Six Secret Teachings,” fully titled “The Military Methods of Duke Tai.” In later archaeological finds, only 61 chapters were recovered, totaling about 20,000 characters. But in the Han, the work was never lost—there were 237 chapters, each ranging from one to several scrolls, with a total word count surpassing 100,000.

This illustrates why sun-drying books in Han times was such a herculean task. Not only had none of the classics of the Hundred Schools from the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods been lost, but each was further annotated by generations of scholars. Over four centuries from the Western Han to the present, countless great works had been produced.

In the era before paper, this meant mountains of texts and tons of bamboo slips. Rolled up, a scroll took little space, but spread out it covered vast ground and had to be regularly flipped—an arduous affair.

In just a month and a half, Shen Chen had helped Song Zhong sun-dry over ten thousand scrolls—a mere fraction of the extant works, less than one-thousandth. It was said that at its height, the Imperial Academy and the Hongdu Gate School held millions of scrolls; during the periodic book-drying festivals, the Emperor dispatched thousands of scholars to check, verify, and sun-dry the collection. Only then could the library be properly maintained.

Sadly, in the end, a single great fire set by Dong Zhuo destroyed nearly everything; apart from what Cai Yong and a few scholars managed to salvage, most of the books were lost in the flames of Luoyang.

“Master, we’ve been sun-drying books for over a month now, and I’ve learned both Greater and Lesser Seal Script. When will you begin the lessons?” Shen Chen asked as he helped Song Zhong work.

Song Zhong smiled, “No need to hurry. Before teaching, you must know which books are which—then you can read them well. Once we finish drying these books, we’ll begin lessons.”

“Oh.” Shen Chen nodded, then asked, “How many boxes of books are left?”

Song Zhong smiled again, “Almost done.”

“That’s good,” Shen Chen said, relieved. Suddenly he wondered, “Master, where is Mr. Zhongxuan? I haven’t seen him these past two days.”

“He’s gone down the mountain,” Song Zhong replied.

“He has?”

“Yes, one must visit friends and family from time to time.”

“That’s true, but wasn’t he helping us sun-dry the books?”

“He was, but now someone else is filling in for him—so he’s no longer needed.”

“Someone else?” Shen Chen suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. He looked up from the sea of books, eyes wide, and pointed to himself. “Master, that replacement… it isn’t me, is it?”

Song Zhong nodded solemnly, “Indeed, it is. Wang Can is short, making him good at laying out the scrolls. Once they’re dry, he can flip them. You’re even shorter, so you can move more easily between the slips—you’re even better suited for the job.”

Shen Chen was speechless.

Who had ever said this was a test? It was just child labor, dressed up in grand words. No wonder Song Zhong hadn’t taught him anything lately—he’d just been using him as a beast of burden.