The old carpenter smiled helplessly."The tree wants to be still, but the wind won't stop." In the army, complaints are common. After all, no weapon is perfect, because the people who make them aren't perfect. However, using military law to threaten others is clearly intimidation. Even when facing military law, the old carpenter calmly responded,"Perhaps the bow I made is too sturdy and requires more strength to pull. But maybe the problem isn't with the bow, but with the soldiers' training and skills."
The supervisor, however, became furious. He believed the old carpenter was being arrogant. Whether the weapon was good or not should be based on the soldiers' experience, not something an old carpenter should argue about. He insisted that the problem lay with the carpenter's skills, as it was easier to ask the old man to improve than to ask the noble generals. The old carpenter simply nodded and did not argue. He quietly continued his work, living his life in his own way.
Once, twice, the old carpenter was reprimanded in public. This time it was because a soldier complained that the bow's quality was too poor and broke after a single use in battle. The supervisor loudly scolded him in front of everyone,"Do you even have a standard when you make bows?" Indeed, this was a common problem in the army, with various standard-issue equipment mixed together, and even some captured weapons from the grassland tribes. But this was not something a single carpenter could change. The old carpenter earnestly asked the supervisor,"Could you report to the general and set a unified standard?"
"Do you think we can contact the general?" came another round of scolding.
The repeated humiliation in front of everyone made the old carpenter, whose hair was now gray, feel deeply frustrated. After work, he lay beside a pile of straw, took out his wine gourd, and drank slowly, one sip at a time.
From a distance, a stout figure staggered over. He was originally passing by, but when he saw the old carpenter's wine gourd, his legs froze. He carefully took out a few bamboo leaf rolls, opened them, and revealed several meat buns inside.
"Old brother, have a bun. Just drink your wine," the man said.
"Don't be so polite. We all dig in the same pit," the old carpenter replied.
He wiped the mouth of his gourd with his sleeve and handed it to the man.
The man took a big gulp of wine, then sat down beside the carpenter with a happy expression."Good wine, it's from the Red family in the north of the village. It doesn't smell like the wine from the well family in the south, but it's spicy and feels like fire going down the throat. The best part is that it's cheap. I like it."
Hearing this, the old carpenter was pleased to find a kindred spirit."Wine doesn't need to smell good. As long as it can get you drunk, it's fine. I drink not to savor the taste but to relieve the fatigue after a hard day."
The man insisted on handing the old carpenter a bun."I stole it from the mess hall. Don't stand on ceremony."
The old carpenter laughed heartily and started eating.
Soon, the two became close.
The fat man was named Bartholomew. He had come from a drought-stricken hometown and joined the army to save food for his family. Perhaps because he had suffered from hunger as a child, whenever there was an opportunity, he ate as much as he could.
In the days that followed, the place became their hideout. Today, you treat me to roasted sweet potatoes, and tomorrow, I'll buy you green-ant wine. Sometimes, they even drank tea, though both agreed that adding fragrant leaves and cinnamon made it worse.
Suddenly, for several months, the fat man vanished without a trace.
Later, the carpenter learned that Bartholomew's supply guard unit had successfully resisted an ambush, but Bartholomew had his foot crushed by a horse, and it had to be amputated. He was deeply disheartened and planned to return to his hometown after recovering.
The old carpenter found Bartholomew lying in a tent, not saying a word. He silently sat beside him. After a long time, Bartholomew couldn't hold it in any longer and nudged the old carpenter. The old carpenter wordlessly handed him the wine gourd and left.
The next day, the old carpenter returned, and Bartholomew was still lying motionless in the dim tent. The old carpenter handed him a wooden prosthetic leg.
Bartholomew, holding the rough wooden leg, complained,"Your craft is too crude. It doesn't even look like a foot!"
The old carpenter didn't explain much. He simply used a leather strap to secure the prosthetic to Bartholomew's stump and patted his shoulder."Stand up and try it."
Bartholomew cautiously stood, took a few steps, and suddenly stopped. He looked down at the crooked prosthetic leg—though it didn't look like a foot, it was stronger than a foot. It was shaped like a waning crescent moon, and with a slight push, he felt a gentle elasticity. Walking felt lighter than expected."This..." Bartholomew was surprised, but the words caught in his throat.
"It's made from iron-frame bows," the old carpenter said indifferently."It's not for looking at. It's for walking."
Bartholomew froze for a moment before bursting into laughter."Subtle but effective, truly, you never disappoint me!"
The next time the old carpenter saw Bartholomew, it was in the training grounds, where he was fighting several soldiers. Bartholomew held a wooden sword and shield, striking powerfully. Having lost weight due to illness, his legwork became more agile. With the aid of the prosthetic's elasticity, he performed several daring, high-difficulty moves. The soldiers watching cheered. After a few rounds, the opposing soldiers were knocked down.
Bartholomew caught sight of the old carpenter from a distance, tossed away his wooden sword and shield, and laughed as he ran toward him. The old carpenter, not used to the attention of the soldiers, nodded awkwardly and quickly turned to leave. Bartholomew quickly caught up, putting his arm around the old carpenter's shoulder as if no one else was around.
Later, the carpenter heard that Bartholomew had earned military merit and been promoted to a training camp instructor.
One day, the old carpenter ran into trouble again. In a battle, a pair of soldiers' crossbows broke before the fight even started, and one soldier was lightly injured. The maker of the crossbows was the old carpenter. This was the second time his weapons had failed, and the weapons division supervisor, Li, blamed him entirely. The old carpenter was beaten with ten military lashes, in front of everyone. The punishment wasn't severe, but the humiliation was great.
Afterwards, Bartholomew came to visit the old carpenter. He took a swig of wine and grinned."You're a fool. Can't you see? This has nothing to do with you. Leave it to me, and I'll give you justice!"
The old carpenter didn't understand, but shook his head and decided not to delve further. However, as he returned to his familiar workshop, his expression was sometimes confused, sometimes resolute. His former colleagues sympathized with him, but inside, the old carpenter was filled with frustration. He realized he could no longer return to his previous life. He tried to maintain his old confidence and determination, but his inner conflict couldn't be hidden. Watching the young soldiers skillfully operate the tools in the workshop, he felt a sense of unease. He began doubting his value and ability, uncertain if he could still perform the job.
As night fell, the old carpenter sat alone in the village square, his gaze wandering aimlessly. Sometimes he stared into the distant starry sky, sometimes he lowered his head in contemplation. Eventually, the old carpenter realized that he could no longer go back to his old life. He had to face and accept the internal conflict. A month later, he resigned from the military camp. On the way, Bartholomew caught up with him. It was said that Bartholomew had beaten up Supervisor Li and the soldier responsible, and then he too had resigned.
The old carpenter asked why he had beaten up the ordinary soldier. Bartholomew replied,"You can be scared when facing a powerful enemy, but if you retreat and sabotage your comrades, military law cannot be lenient."
"How do you know he sabotaged the weapons?"
"The failures happened in the same squad, no guesswork needed. Besides, I've already made someone confess. The unlucky part is, he was silenced by his own people!"
The old carpenter sighed."You got dragged into this because of me. Where will you go now?"
"Old brother, do you have any beautiful daughters or nieces back home?"
The old carpenter turned his head and walked away, ignoring the joking fat man.
The two of them had nowhere to go. While resting at a post station, Bartholomew received a secret military order, a letter written by the general himself, asking them to go to a remote infirmary to handle military affairs there. Both were moved by the general's care and grateful for the new place to stay.
The two companions arrived at Paradise Village, not far from the infirmary.
Paradise Village, named for its hidden beauty and the hope of escaping danger, was now the front line. The village's name represented the villagers' wishes for peace, while the nearby Desert Town was the food storage for the rear, fertile land, and a name given out of courtesy. It was a place where one could go to settle disputes.