Chapter 4: Even If I, Pei Xueyan...
The porters, holding carrying poles and hemp ropes, stepped forward to examine the stone statue they were to transport, discussing where to thread the ropes and how best to carry it. Some of them stole furtive glances at the young mistress of the Song family, seated in the corner of the ancestral hall.
None of them had ever seen such a beautiful woman before; too shy to look directly, they indulged themselves with the briefest sidelong glances.
Meanwhile, Liu Shen frowned slightly as he inspected the statue atop the altar. This so-called Bodhisattva was not any deity he recognized, yet for some reason it felt strangely familiar. He seemed to recall having seen a statue with furrowed brows and a wrathful expression, bearing six arms, somewhere before.
He cast his mind back and soon remembered. A couple of years ago, he had bought some unofficial historical novels to pass the time and learn to read. In one such book, titled “Secret Chronicles of Qian,” there was a similar description.
The tale centered on the founder of the Great Qian dynasty, recounting how he rose from the ranks of the Sacred Fire cult and, after establishing his empire, turned to eradicate the sect he once served. Within the cult, they worshipped statues with angry brows, three eyes, and six arms, though the book noted they revered not a Bodhisattva, but a Lord of Light.
Liu Shen had relished the story, and the part about the founder systematically purging the Lords of Light from the cult stuck with him. He vaguely recalled the depiction of a deity with furrowed brows, three eyes, and six arms—called the Lord of Life and Death, one of the three great Lords of Light.
“Furrowed brows, wrathful expression, three eyes and six arms?” Liu Shen looked up at the statue: yes, the fierce brows and six arms were there, but the statue before him lacked the third eye. Perhaps it was merely a resemblance. After all, unofficial histories are only stories, and this was a Bodhisattva, not a Lord of Light.
As he was lost in thought, Wei Dafu nudged him with his elbow and muttered quietly, “Shen, did you notice? This statue doesn’t look to be just one or two thousand jin as Foreman Xu claimed.”
“Mmm… it’s definitely more,” Liu Shen replied, snapping back to focus. He picked up a stone he’d found outside, using his hemp rope as a measuring tape, and began to measure the statue’s dimensions: the thickness of the base, the diameter, the overall height, waist circumference, arm width…
Each time he measured, he scratched the corresponding number in white chalk on the ground, as if calculating something. His experience from working at construction sites told him that a slab of blue stone weighed around five thousand jin, and the statue before him was made of the same material.
Having measured all the dimensions, he made a rough calculation and estimated the statue at about three thousand two hundred jin. The result startled him.
“Three thousand two hundred jin” versus “one or two thousand jin”… That damned Foreman Xu certainly had a way with words!
---
Pei Xueyan watched as the porters discussed how to thread the ropes and carry the statue. The well-built young man was measuring the statue with hemp rope, then squatting in a corner, inscribing something with a stone, which piqued her curiosity.
She glanced at Foreman Xu and casually asked, “What are they doing?”
“Ah, young mistress, you wouldn’t know,” said Foreman Xu, swallowing dryly, pleased she’d spoken to him. “They’re rough men, discussing how best to carry the statue.”
Seeing a hint of displeasure on her face, he assumed she was worried about wasting time and hurried to reassure her, “Don’t worry, young mistress, I’ll get them working now!”
With a sudden change of demeanor, he walked over and barked, “Stop wasting time! It’s just a statue—do you need to discuss it for so long?”
The porters fell silent with fear.
Liu Shen grimaced inwardly, thinking, “You put on such airs, but this three-thousand-jin statue—if we don’t plan carefully, we’ll end up dead!”
“We’re ready, we’re ready…” Wei Dafu, recently rewarded with two silver beans for the birth of his son, was eager to curry favor and quickly replied, “We’ll start right away, Foreman Xu, don’t be angry!”
Foreman Xu glared at him. “Get to work!”
“Yes, yes,” replied the group. Not daring to delay, the porters swiftly threaded the ropes and secured the six-armed Bodhisattva statue to the carrying poles, searching for the optimal points to bear the load.
Liu Shen said nothing more. Years of work at the docks had made him strong, and eight men could, with effort, carry a statue weighing around three thousand jin. The real challenge was getting it out of the hall and out of the city.
The Song family manor was just over a mile from the city gate, yet carrying such a heavy statue over that distance could easily claim lives.
The thought weighed on Liu Shen like a stone, making him restless. He knew he could handle three or four hundred jin himself, but this task was for eight men working together—it wasn’t up to him alone.
He hoped that, when the time came, if anyone couldn’t bear the burden, they would speak up before risking their lives.
As the porters shed their shirts and crouched down, readying themselves, Liu Shen sighed, removed his own shirt to pad his shoulder, then crouched and hefted the carrying pole.
Foreman Xu, seeing the eight men prepared, smiled in satisfaction and instructed, “I’ll count three-two-one, then everyone lift together.”
“Three…”
“Two…”
“One…”
---
“Lift!”
With the word, all eight porters drew deep breaths and slowly straightened, trembling with the exertion. The six-armed Bodhisattva, bound with hemp ropes, gradually rose from the ground.
The unexpected weight was immediately apparent; some men’s faces flushed, muscles bulged, and veins stood out on their foreheads.
Foreman Xu waved his hand, signaling they could move forward. “Set it down at the hall entrance for a rest. Once you pass the door, you’ll have to carry it all the way out of the city!”
The eight porters, holding their breath, said nothing, moving slowly for fear that speaking would sap their strength.
The August heat was oppressive; now, carrying such a load, sweat poured from their bodies like twisted cloth.
Pei Xueyan, sitting in the corner, had never witnessed such a scene. Seeing eight muscular men, bare-chested and sweating as they shouldered the poles, she felt her heart tremble involuntarily, clenching her fists without thinking.
Her breath caught; she realized the visual impact had struck her, and her earlobes grew warm. She turned her face away instinctively, unwilling to look further.
“Is this even fit for human eyes?” she thought. “No wonder they advised me to avoid the scene—it's improper, indecent, an affront to the eyes!”
Pei Xueyan deeply regretted not heeding the advice to stay away, yet was surprised to find her heart beating faster.
She secretly scolded herself for her impure eyes, her impure heart, then composed herself and, with a sidelong glance, saw the porters—ugly and coarse—grimacing with effort, which eased her anxiety.
“Judge by actions, not thoughts; if by thoughts, no one is flawless,” she mused. “No matter how destitute I become, I won’t stoop to fancying a laborer—not ever…”
Perhaps even Pei Xueyan herself failed to notice that her gaze lingered a little longer on the well-built young man, sweat pouring as he gritted his teeth.
“At least that lad is easy on the eyes…”
Once comparisons are made, everything changes—so it was in this moment.
Pei Xueyan was not young; before her marriage, she had crammed lessons on matters between men and women, preparing herself for a life of tending to her husband and family, warm at the hearth.
Yet, after marrying, she had never experienced the life a young mistress should have. Thus, both physically and emotionally, she felt a sense of indescribable disappointment.
Now, confronted with this visual shock, she lost composure, but soon recovered, silently vowing: “Even if I become a nun, beg on the streets, or jump off a cliff, I will never fall for a dock laborer…”