Chapter 52: Grandfather Can Actually Make Bows and Arrows

The backyard of the carpenter’s house truly lived up to its reputation—everywhere Du Yun looked, it was filled with wood. From tree trunks as thick as a grown man’s waist to branches no larger than a finger, from finely carved half-finished cabinets to simple, sturdy stools, every imaginable wooden object could be found in this yard.

“Old Wood! Get out here!” Du Yun’s grandfather’s eyes glittered as he surveyed the yard, rubbing his hands together and calling hoarsely into the depths of the courtyard.

Wait—was someone actually here? Du Yun had been so absorbed by the array of wood and furniture that she hadn’t even noticed another person among the clutter.

“Who’s making such a racket?” With a clatter, a filthy old man sat up from a pile of shavings. His hair was wild, his eyes bloodshot, startling Du Yun. If he hadn’t spoken, and if his first reaction on rising hadn’t been to attack, she might have mistaken him for a zombie, his eyes were so red.

“Old Du, it’s you, you old dog! What do you want?” The old man, whom Du Yun’s grandfather had called Old Wood, shot him a sidelong glance, then slumped back down, eyelids drooping. He fished out a wine gourd from the shavings, uncorked it, and took a long swig, looking half-drunk and half-dead.

“What do you think I want, coming to see an old log like you?” Old Du ignored the man’s appearance, wandering the yard with his hands behind his back. “Where’s your best elm wood? I want to pick a piece.”

“What do you mean, just pick my wood? Who said you could?” Old Wood muttered, took another swig, but still jerked his chin toward a corner where several logs were stacked.

Without another word, Du Yun’s grandfather grinned and headed straight for the pile, busying himself with a thorough inspection. Old Wood took a few more sips and promptly collapsed back into his shavings, resuming his nap.

Watching the two old men bicker and then each go about their own business, Du Yun couldn’t help but feel there was a deep, unspoken understanding—and affection—between her grandfather and Old Wood.

“Girl, come over here and see what kind of bow you want.” While Du Yun stood lost in thought, her grandfather called her over.

“This wood is hard—bows made from it are stiff. That one’s more flexible—the bows will have moderate strength.” As he spoke, he ran his fingers over several logs, explaining as he went.

Looking at the waist-high, bark-covered logs, Du Yun couldn’t begin to tell which were hard or which were supple. She looked up at her grandfather in confusion; she had no memory of him being so skilled at woodworking.

“What are you standing there for? While Old Wood’s asleep, let’s hurry and pick one. The wood’s been seasoned, it’s ready to use. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can go home.” Her grandfather chuckled, stroking one of the rough logs with a tenderness usually reserved for a lover.

“Grandpa, you pick for me—just something suitable for my bow,” Du Yun replied, shivering at his tone, half amused, half embarrassed.

“Alright, I’ll pick for you,” her grandfather nodded, but instead of choosing a log immediately, he unfastened his tobacco pouch, packed it, lit up, and squatted down for a smoke.

By the time he’d finished his pipe, he rose, tapped the logs with his pipe stem, and soon settled on a piece.

“This is the one!” He grinned, tucked his pipe into his belt, and with a burst of strength, hefted the half-man-high log.

“Grandpa!” Du Yun jumped up, rushing to help, but he shooed her away. “Go on, stay out of the way. I’ll be done soon enough.”

Seeing his determined attitude, Du Yun didn’t insist. She sat quietly on a stump nearby, watching as her grandfather set to work with astonishing speed.

The log he had chosen was still covered in bark. With a few strikes of his hammer and chisel, the bark came off in thick strips. He quickly gathered his tools, and in no time, the round log was split into a wide board.

Then came the chopping, shaving, and sanding—her grandfather worked with the practiced grace of a seasoned carpenter, his movements swift and fluid, leaving Du Yun staring in amazement.

“Du Yun, here’s some fresh sweet stalk. Have some!” As she sat watching in a daze, a girl of sixteen or seventeen came from the front yard, her hair in two braids, carrying a palm-leaf fan stacked with stalks just thicker than a thumb.

“It’s Pearwood, isn’t it? Are your sweet stalks ripe already?” Du Yun recognized her with a smile. The girl was Mu Pearwood, Old Wood’s granddaughter, two years older than Du Yun. They’d attended school together for a while, until Pearwood’s family had fallen on hard times.

“Yes, my mother planted them early. They’re ready to eat,” Pearwood replied, pulling up a stool and placing the fan on it. She sat beside Du Yun, and together they gnawed on the sweet stalks.

Du Yun remembered sweet stalks from her childhood, though she’d never actually tasted them. In her memory, they were a kind of crop similar to sorghum, sweet because of the sugar in their stems—a favorite summer treat for children.

The two girls chatted away, while Old Du remained absorbed in crafting the bow. Time slipped by like water. By the time the sun began to set, the log had been transformed—now it clearly resembled a bow.

“All done. Once I string it and make a few more arrows, it’ll be complete.” Old Du’s face beamed as he admired the bow, proud as he handed it to Du Yun.

“Wow, it’s beautiful!” Du Yun ran her hands over the bow; its curve was graceful, its weight substantial. The smooth, pale wood gleamed, showing off delicate patterns—a fine piece of workmanship.

“Grandpa Du, your craftsmanship is amazing!” Pearwood’s eyes sparkled with admiration—she was a carpenter’s daughter, after all.

“Of course. Back in my day, I was—”

“Back in your day, nothing! Now get out of here! You haven’t ruined my good wood, have you?” Old Wood, who had been snoring moments ago, suddenly leapt up from his shavings, grumbling as he chased Old Du away.

“Fine, I’m leaving! Who wants to stay in your shabby yard anyway?” Du Yun’s grandfather huffed, grabbing the bow from her hands and stomping off.

“Don’t be upset, Du Yun. My grandpa’s always like this. Come visit me again!” Pearwood said with a wry smile as the old men bickered anew.

“Alright, you come to my house too,” Du Yun replied, smiling back before hurrying after her grandfather.

Du Yun had a good impression of Pearwood. She hoped they could become closer friends in the future.