Finally, from the deepest part of the bag, he found a small, colorful windmill and a slightly worn silk pouch.
Yuan Zhong picked up the windmill and blew on it gently. It whirred and spun, making a soft sound, similar to the windmills sold by street vendors, but smaller and more delicate. The handle and the connecting ribbons weren’t made of bamboo but soft, tarnished silver, as though it had been touched by hands many times over the years, giving it an ancient appearance.
After playing with the windmill for a bit without understanding its significance, Yuan Zhong turned his attention to the silk pouch.
The pouch was old, but it had been washed clean and felt soft to the touch. It was a faint, pale blue color, reminiscent of the sky just before dawn. However, it was empty.
He still couldn’t make sense of it. Ji Tan Yin hadn’t stored anything in the bag that could reveal her identity. It didn’t seem like her to be so cautious.
Yuan Zhong’s curiosity about Ji Tan Yin had now grown to an uncontrollable degree. He felt the urge to lock her up and interrogate her relentlessly. But then he remembered how she had clung to his sleeve earlier, eyes full of tears, expressing gratitude. All his devious plans seemed to crash against a wall of her innocence. Even with his thick skin, he couldn’t bring himself to use any cruel methods against her.
Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the door, and Ji Tan Yin’s light voice came from outside. “Grand Monk, may I come in?”
“Enter,” Yuan Zhong quickly stuffed everything back into the Qiankun bag and sat up straight.
“I need three pieces of ebony, two pieces of poplar, a block of bronze, and forty rivets…” Ji Tan Yin listed the materials in the Qiankun bag as if she knew them by heart, rattling off the items without even pausing for breath. Yuan Zhong, fumbling through the bag, had no idea what ebony or poplar even looked like. After searching fruitlessly for a while, he finally gave up and handed the bag back to her. “Take it yourself.”
Ji Tan Yin swiftly retrieved the materials, dropping them onto the floor in a messy pile. She didn’t seem inclined to leave and began sorting through the items right there.
This was the first time Yuan Zhong had ever seen a craftsman at work. At first, watching her saw and carve bits of wood seemed boring. But her hands moved so skillfully and quickly, as if performing magic. In no time, she had crafted a small wooden figure, complete with a nose, eyes, and even a comically detailed hat. The little figure looked remarkably lifelike, and Yuan Zhong couldn’t help but be drawn in.
Then, using the poplar wood, she began constructing the internal organs for the tiny figure. How small did the organs of a palm-sized wooden figure have to be? Yuan Zhong found her hands almost unbelievable—steady and precise, without the slightest tremble. A tiny heart slowly took shape in her palm.
As night fell, Yuan Zhong lit a candle, watching in awe as Ji Tan Yin dressed the little figure in a perfectly fitting white robe with an ancient design. Was she making a wooden doll just to play with? he wondered.
No one answered his question. Ji Tan Yin picked up a teapot from the table and gently lifted the wooden figure’s hat, revealing that it was actually a lid. Beneath the lid was a tiny hole, no larger than the tip of a needle. She then took an even smaller funnel and inserted it into the hole, carefully pouring a small amount of tea into the figure.
Suddenly, the wooden figure began to move. At first, it only wiggled its arms and legs awkwardly, looking rather clumsy. But then it raised its hands and started to dance, performing an ancient dance with surprising grace.
Yuan Zhong watched in astonishment as the figure’s facial features animated—the eyes blinked, the lips moved—and then it opened its mouth and, in a high-pitched, amusing voice, began to sing:
“Jianxi, Jianxi, leading the dance of a thousand. As the sun reaches its zenith, I stand in front.”
The wooden figure sang and danced, its white robe fluttering with elegant movements.
“Shao Ren, stately in the courtyard, dancing for a thousand. With the strength of a tiger, guiding the reins like silk. Left hand holding the flute, right hand grasping the feather fan. Glowing red like the sunset, the duke bestows the goblet.”
The poem was one of praise for the strength and grace of the dancers, but coming from such a tiny wooden figure, it had a comical effect. Its hat kept tilting sideways, as if it might fall off at any moment.
Then, in a dramatically romantic pose, the figure clutched its chest in longing. “The mountain has hazel trees, the lowlands have lilies. Whom do I yearn for? A beauty from the west. That beautiful one, a person from the west.”
The song slowly faded, and the little wooden figure spun in place before bowing respectfully to the Grand Monk. Then, it became still.
Yuan Zhong stared, jaw practically on the floor. He quickly grabbed the little wooden figure, lifting its clothes and hat, turning it over and over, trying to figure out how it could sing and dance.
“You…” he looked at Ji Tan Yin, utterly speechless. So this is what true craftsmanship looks like, he thought for the first time.
Ji Tan Yin looked up at him, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice filled with sincerity and hope.
He should like it, right? she thought. After all, when she had shown Tai He her first singing and dancing wooden figure, his eyes had nearly popped out of his head. The expression on the Grand Monk’s face right now was exactly the same as Tai He’s back then.
But even after a long pause, Yuan Zhong didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time.
“Do you like it?” Ji Tan Yin asked again, worried. The wooden figure had made Tai He laugh—why was this fox so unresponsive?
Still, Yuan Zhong said nothing. He just kept staring at her—at her pale face and those dark, bright eyes that looked like black gemstones, filled with innocent hope. Once again, he was reminded of the eyes he had seen from the platform.
It felt as though thousands of butterflies had flown into his ears. Flustered, Yuan Zhong lowered his head. At this moment, in this setting, he couldn’t bring himself to lie.
“…Yes,” he muttered, barely audible, holding onto the wooden figure as if reluctant to let go. His thumb absently flicked at its hat over and over, a gesture both nervous and distracted.
“Then I’ll give it to you,” Ji Tan Yin said with a smile, her face lighting up with joy for the first time. “Thank you. You’re a good person.”
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