Chapter 014: A Dazzling Entrance

The Wei family’s workshop was no small affair; its variety and scope were impressive. One could almost say that its gates could be closed to the outside, for with two to three thousand households and a population exceeding ten thousand, the manor was a self-sufficient society in miniature. Merely among the workshop laborers, there were three to four hundred workers; many were at their tasks when summoned suddenly to the central square. There, they found Zhang the steward, usually so imperious, now clutching one hand, his face pale with pain, trembling uncontrollably. Next to him stood Huan’er, the Lady’s personal maid, her expression cold as ice. And in their midst was Wei Ba, who normally walked with his head lowered, but now held in his hand the wooden rod used for punishment, strolling leisurely and at ease. The crowd was bewildered, finding the scene before them exceedingly strange.

When enough people had gathered, Wei Ba finally halted, cleared his throat, and announced in a clear voice, “By my father’s command, I traveled through the night from Mianyang to Nanzheng to handle an urgent matter. This affair is of great consequence, affecting both the future of the Wei family and all your lives. Steward Zhang, for his failure and delay, has angered the Lady, who has decreed punishment. You have been summoned to witness this as a warning: do your duties diligently and cooperate with me, lest greater matters be delayed.”

At this, the crowd suddenly understood. So, it was the Lady’s will—then it all made sense. Steward Zhang was the Lady’s dowry servant; in this manor, only the master Wei Yan and Lady Zhang were entitled to punish him. As a mere concubine’s son, Wei Ba alone would not have the authority. That Wei Ba was chosen to administer the punishment was surely the Lady’s intent. Wei Ba was known for his meekness; if he wielded the rod, he would not dare use much force. As he said, the meaning was symbolic rather than real; Steward Zhang would lose nothing but face.

“Do you all understand?” Wei Ba asked.

“We understand,” the craftsmen replied half-heartedly, showing little interest in this display—everyone knew Steward Zhang, the sacrificial chicken, would come to no harm; it was the rest of them, the monkeys, who were truly being warned.

“Good. If you understand, then watch closely.” Wei Ba smiled at the steward. “Now, Steward Zhang, kindly present your esteemed backside.”

Humiliated and enraged, Steward Zhang dared not defy the will of the Lady’s maid, who stood silently by. With pain coursing through his injured fingers, he slowly undid his belt and lowered his trousers, exposing his bare backside. The effort made sweat bead on his brow.

Once he was properly positioned, Wei Ba languidly approached, hefted the rod, and grinned. “Ready, Steward Zhang?”

“Ready. Do as you must,” the steward ground out through clenched teeth, though under his breath he muttered, “You’ll pay for this—I’ll repay you in full.”

Wei Ba curled his lip, unconcerned. You are but a servant; without Lady Zhang’s command, what can you do to me? Without further ado, he raised the rod high and brought it down hard upon Steward Zhang’s pale backside.

A resounding crack echoed in the square, followed by the steward’s wailing scream. All present froze in astonishment, watching the steward hop about clutching his buttocks like a startled grasshopper. The same thought crossed everyone’s mind: what a convincing act.

But for Steward Zhang, there was no pretense—his backside burned with such pain he thought he might faint. This was no mere show; Wei Ba was beating him mercilessly. He glared at Wei Ba, but before he could speak, Wei Ba’s face darkened. “Still resisting punishment? Hold him down!”

Dunwu and another guard rushed forward, pinning the steward with ease—one held his shoulders, the other his legs. Both were skilled in grappling, and subduing the steward was as easy as catching a chicken. No matter how he struggled, he could not move.

Wei Ba praised their efficiency and resumed the punishment, striking with deliberate care. Each blow landed solidly. At first the steward could still howl, but after ten strokes his voice was hoarse and weak.

“…Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty!” Wei Ba stopped, handed the rod to Wei Wu, and, panting, wiped the sweat from his brow. Beating a man was harder work than he’d thought—thank goodness for the recent exercise, else he’d have collapsed before finishing twenty strokes, which would have been most embarrassing.

He glanced at the nearly unconscious steward, shrugged, and turned to Huan’er. “The punishment is complete. Please repeat the Lady’s instructions for them. I’m pressed for time and cannot delay.”

Huan’er shot him a cold look, then stepped forward and declared, “By the Lady’s order: anyone required by Young Master Ba must set aside all other tasks and obey his commands. Whatever he needs is to be supplied with utmost priority. Any who disobey, let Steward Zhang’s fate be your warning. Does everyone understand?”

All eyes were on the steward’s bloodied backside; fear silenced all dissent. The crowd’s reply was thunderous, as if a quiet voice might earn them the next beating.

Huan’er turned to Wei Ba. “Are you satisfied now, Young Master Ba?”

“I am,” Wei Ba replied with a slight smile.

“Good. Then see that you complete the master’s task on time. If you fail, no one can shield you from blame.” With that, she gestured into the crowd. “You two, carry Steward Zhang to the infirmary.”

Two men hurried forward, fetched a stretcher, and carefully bore away the battered steward. Huan’er departed to report to the Lady, leaving Wei Ba and his men behind.

Wei Ba was unconcerned. He said to Steward Chen, “Now you may choose your men—select the most skilled. When you’re done, bring them to me.”

Steward Chen, still shaken by the morning’s events, remembered his duties and quickly called out names, then waved the rest away. “The rest of you, dismiss.”

The crowd responded meekly, scattering without a backward glance. Although they all believed this was the Lady’s command, seeing her own steward so harshly punished made it clear they were even less important—no one wished to be the next example.

Back in the hall, Wei Ba addressed the selected craftsmen kindly, stating his requirements. The main tasks were twofold: carving stone plates and preparing printing tools and materials, especially paper. He chose stone plates because, in the Han dynasty, there were no woodblocks, and there were no craftsmen skilled in woodblock carving. Stoneworkers, on the other hand, were readily available, and the Han excelled at brick and stone carving—a few plates with limited characters would be easy for them. His greatest concern was the paper; printing required a special kind, not too thin or porous, or the ink would blot and ruin the print.

Thankfully, this problem was easily solved. Among the stoneworkers was one skilled in making rubbings; he produced the tough paper used for such work, and Wei Ba saw at once that it was suitable, greatly relieving his mind.

He set the craftsmen to their tasks. With Steward Chen’s help, he inspected the workshop, the available manpower, and the materials. Satisfied, he told Chen, “Your arrangements are excellent. Keep everyone on standby—once the stone plates are ready, start printing immediately. Tell them they’ll be working overtime; notify the main kitchen to prepare a late meal, something hearty—slaughter a pig so everyone can eat well and keep their spirits up. Also, let the night shift rest early so they won’t be drowsy when it’s their turn.”

Steward Chen grinned. “Don’t worry, young master. With Steward Zhang’s punishment and the Lady’s strict command, no one will dare shirk.”

Wei Ba laughed heartily and left. Everything was in order, half the morning gone. He hadn’t yet started his daily training—if he didn’t hurry, it would be pushed to the afternoon. In the past, he might have put it off, but now, with hard-won self-awareness, he recognized that procrastination was a stubborn and insidious vice—many great plans had perished because of it. Without constant vigilance, all his previous efforts would come to nothing.

“Dunwu, let’s go to the training ground.”

With Wu striding ahead, Wei Ba followed closely. Leaving the courtyard, they walked west a hundred paces or so to a broad, level field about the size of a modern four-hundred-meter track. Weapon racks lined the sides, bristling with spears, halberds, bows, and other arms. Over a hundred soldiers drilled in formation at the north end, armored and disciplined, while at the south end another hundred or so paired off, bare-chested, their muscles rippling as they practiced one-on-one combat, the air thick with masculine vigor.

“Young general, choose ten men,” Dunwu said evenly, gesturing to the field. “Just pick anyone—you don’t need to be particular.”

“Anyone?” Wei Ba was surprised. Those practicing personal combat looked elite and might meet Dunwu’s standard, but those drilling in formation were obviously new recruits. Could they manage it?

“Anyone training here is up to the task. If you doubt it, pick a few and see for yourself.”

Still skeptical, Wei Ba pointed to ten men at random. Dunwu went to the middle-aged officer overseeing the drill, spoke a few words, and the officer barked orders. The ten chosen stepped forward, donned their gear, and, in addition to weapons and armor, each man hefted a sack of rice—about two dan, some thirty to forty kilograms. At Dunwu’s command, they set off at a brisk pace.