The letter of resignation was finished in the small hours.
Just three characters, plus a name and a date. When it was written, Lu Zhu set the brush down and sat a long while before the lamp. As the day neared light, he rolled the paper up, bound it with hemp cord, and put it inside his coat.
"Teacher," Hapy came in with water and saw the ink stains on the desk at a glance, "you have not slept all night."
"I wrote something." Lu Zhu said.
"Wrote what?"
"Wrote an ending."
Hapy did not understand, and he did not dare ask more. These days his teacher spoke little and ate little, always alone, staring at the northern sky in a daze. The old tree in the courtyard had budded, and he looked at it every day, close to an hour at a stretch. In private Hapy muttered to people: "What is the teacher thinking about?" No one could answer.
Lu Zhu had not come to it on a whim.
The thought had risen on the day the northern victory report entered the capital. That night he had studied Seb’s drawing under the lamp, and lost himself in it. On the drawing, the wall was crooked and unsteady, yet the trench below it and the stakes behind it — not one was missing. He had suddenly thought: this wall no longer needs me. The north’s soldiers are learning to lay brick. The north’s folk have joined the ranks to hold the border. Seb’s drawings have grown finer than mine.
Then it was the Ever-Normal Granaries. Mery’s letter said that on the day the south’s seventh granary passed inspection, the local storehouse clerk had led his own men in mending the granary roof once — by the method written in the manual. When Lu Zhu had read the letter, he sat in the courtyard a long while. He thought: the granaries no longer need a man watching over them.
Then it was the dwelling standard going down into the villages. The guild’s old masters came back to tell how the old man of Willow Bend Village could recite the standard’s clauses more fluently than they. The old man had said: "This law is good. Every clause is solid."
The wall has men to hold it. The granaries have men to keep them. The houses have men to mend them. The laws have men to recite them.
"Then," Lu Zhu thought, "it is time for me to go."
Not back. Away. Toward the common people. Back into the earth, back into the sound of ramming, back to the place where he had first set out. Once the thought rose, it was like the reeds in a river bend — cut down, and it grew again.
Every day he watched the old tree bud. The buds grew bigger day by day. He knew that when the buds became leaves, it would be time for him to move.
At daylight, Lu Zhu changed into clean clothes and went to the palace.
He brought no attendants. The roll of paper sat in his coat. The guards at the palace gate knew him and did not stop him, only asked: "Chief Builder, why do you come alone today?"
"Today," Lu Zhu said, "I am seeing to a matter of my own."
The pharaoh received him in the inner hall.
The hall was very quiet. The incense smoke rose straight up. The pharaoh took the roll of paper, opened it, and looked at it, and looked again. "Imhotep," he said, "only four characters?"
"It is enough." Lu Zhu said. "What this servant has to say is these four characters."
"A letter of resignation." The pharaoh set the paper back on the desk. "Have you thought it through?"
"Thought it through."
"I am not short of offices to give you." the pharaoh said. "If you find the office small, I can add to it. If you find the affairs heavy, I can lighten them. Why go so far as—"
"This servant wants no office." Lu Zhu said. "This servant was a craftsman to begin with. Half a life mending houses, granaries, walls. Now the Four Statutes stand, the northern border is steady, and the Ever-Normal Granaries have spread across the whole land. This country has its laws and its systems, and men to carry on the building. If this servant stays at court, he is an idle man taking up a seat."
"An idle man?" The pharaoh laughed. "This idle man of yours — I am not willing to let him go."
"Pharaoh," Lu Zhu said, "at court, this servant builds the country. Back among the people, this servant can still build houses, build granaries, and teach men. Both are building. But the latter is this servant’s own trade." He paused. "Before, I built houses. Later, with everyone together, I gave the country a mending. Now the country is mended, and this servant wants to go back and go on building houses."
The pharaoh was silent a while.
"I will ask you three questions," he said, "and you will answer."
"This servant is listening."
"First. If the northern border has trouble again, who will draw the wall for me?"
"Seb is in the north." Lu Zhu said. "His drawings are finer than mine were in my day. He has drawn the north’s wall three times over. From now on, he will stay in the north and go on drawing."
"Second. The country’s granaries — who will go on keeping them?"
"Mery." Lu Zhu said. "The Ever-Normal Granaries’ method — he built it up with his people, granary by granary. He understands granaries better than I do."
"Third." the pharaoh said. "You leave, and who will teach my craftsmen?"
"The guild’s craft school." Lu Zhu said. "Over a hundred apprentices — half in earthwork and timber, half in storage and hauling. The masters are all old hands who have followed me for years. While they are there, the craft is there."
The pharaoh said nothing. He stood and walked a few steps in the hall. "You have even thought out the road behind you, for me." he said suddenly.
"This servant dares not speak of a road behind." Lu Zhu said. "This servant only set the stall in order before leaving."
"Then let me ask one more." the pharaoh said. "You truly want no office? Higher office, higher stipend, more land — not one will you take?"
"Not one will I take." Lu Zhu said.
"Let me reckon it up for you." the pharaoh said. "Above the Chief Builder, I could set a Grand Builder — rank equal to the Nine Ministers. Will you have it?"
"I will not." Lu Zhu said. "The greater the office, the more a man must sit in the hall. This servant cannot sit still there."
"The stipend, then?" the pharaoh said. "Your stipend tripled. From now on, you would hold a sinecure, drawing the stipend and doing your studies. Would that do?"
"It would not do either." Lu Zhu said. "A man who draws an idle stipend grows an idle heart. This servant still wants to work, not to idle."
"The land, then?" the pharaoh said. "Good farmland — take your pick. The best paddy along the Nile’s two banks."
"What this servant wants is shoal." Lu Zhu said. "Paddy is for the farmers. Shoal is for the craftsmen."
The pharaoh sighed. "When I keep a man, it is always with three things: office, stipend, land. With you, I cannot hand over a single one."
"The pharaoh’s goodwill," Lu Zhu said, "this servant accepts." He paused. "But this servant knows that at his age, what is worth the most from now on is not office, stipend, or land. It is being able to draw plans a few years more, and teach a few more apprentices."
"How old are you, even?" the pharaoh said. "To speak of age."
"Beside the earth, all people are small." Lu Zhu said. "This servant has dealt with the earth a whole life. These years to come, he wants to spend more of them with the earth."
"Then what do you want?"
"A stretch of waste ground by a river shoal."
The pharaoh blinked.
"Waste ground?" he said. "I mean to grant you a hundred mu of good farmland, and here you are, asking for waste ground."
"Good farmland has people to plant it, and waste ground has no one to want it." Lu Zhu said. "This servant’s one skill is mending waste ground into a place fit for people to live." He paused. "Back on the West Bank, this servant’s first settlement stood on waste ground."
The pharaoh looked at him a long time, then suddenly laughed.
"Sixty li south of the city, at a bend of the Nile, there is a stretch of shoal," he said. "Thirty mu, much sand and stone, deep with reeds. No good crops will grow there. If you want it, it is yours."
"The pharaoh is thanked."
"One thing more." the pharaoh said. "Your stipend continues to be paid. The title of Chief Builder stays. You will not be at court, but if anything comes up, I will still come looking for you."
"This servant," Lu Zhu said, "receives the decree. But the title — let it be set aside. An empty title weighs a man down."
"Weighs him down?" the pharaoh said. "Others beg for it and cannot get it."
"This servant begs for nothing." Lu Zhu said. "This servant only wants to leave behind everything he knows."
The pharaoh walked up before him and stopped.
"Imhotep." he said. "From the first day you entered this hall, I knew you were not cut out to hold office."
"The pharaoh is clear-sighted."
"But you are cut out to build a country." the pharaoh said. "In this realm, officials are many. One who can build a country — there is only you." He clapped Lu Zhu on the shoulder. "The waste ground, I give you. The title, I keep for you. Whenever you wish to come back, this hall will always hold a place for you."
"The pharaoh is thanked." Lu Zhu said. "This servant takes his leave."
He withdrew to the hall’s door, and the pharaoh suddenly called him back.
"Imhotep."
"This servant is here."
"When your settlement is built," the pharaoh said, "I will come see it."
"This servant," Lu Zhu said, "will sweep the floor to welcome you."
The news of the resignation spread faster than wind.
In less than half a day, half the new capital knew. In the market, on the docks, in the lanes, everyone was talking of it. The old flatbread seller packed up his stall and ran to the Chief Construction Bureau’s gate, where he squatted, waiting. Others asked: "Old uncle, who are you waiting for?" He said: "I am waiting for the Chief Builder. If he is leaving, I must see him off."
"The Chief Builder," the man beside him said, "is a great official. Is it our place to see him off?"
"Great official, nothing." the old man said. "When he built the government granaries, I carried flatbread to the worksite. He is the same kind of people as us. Digging his living out of the same earth." He paused. "A great official leaves, and our hearts do not ache. He leaves, and they do."
In the courtyard of the Chief Construction Bureau, the people came fast too.
Kamon arrived first. He came in without a word, set the bundle on his back down on a stone bench, and sat.
"You came fast, at least." Lu Zhu said.
"At the guild, I heard you were leaving. I dropped the work in my hands and came," Kamon said, "just to ask you one thing to your face."
"Ask what?"
"Truly leaving?"
"Truly leaving."
Kamon said nothing. He drew a chisel from the bundle and wiped it on his cuff. After a good while, he said: "Fine. You are a man who, once a thing is settled, ten oxen could not drag back." He paused. "At the West Bank workshop, I have kept a courtyard for you. South-facing, three rooms, with a small yard. Whenever you go back to the West Bank, you will have a place to live."
"Kept it?" Lu Zhu said. "I had not opened my mouth, and you had it kept."
"Kept it long ago." Kamon said. "The year we left the West Bank, I thought to myself — a man like you will go back, sooner or later." He tucked the chisel back at his belt. "Even if you do not go back, the West Bank is your home. That word, I lay down here on behalf of all the West Bank’s craftsmen."
Lu Zhu sat down facing Kamon. For a while, neither spoke. The wind moved lightly through the courtyard.
"Do you remember?" Kamon said suddenly. "That year the West Bank’s government granary seeped water, and for the first time you led us in raising the granary’s floor three inches."
"I remember." Lu Zhu said. "You thought I was changing too much."
"I did." Kamon said. "Back then I thought — a small priest from foreign parts, what does he know of granaries?" He laughed. "Later, that granary did not rot a single grain in a year. Only then did I know it was I who did not understand."
"And the day the guild hung its sign." Lu Zhu said. "You read the charter aloud, and at ’no dealings with religion, only the craft itself,’ an old craftsman below wiped his tears on the spot."
"That was my third uncle." Kamon said. "The temple hired him for forty years. In the end, the guild gave him a way to live." He lowered his head and rubbed the stone bench’s edge. "Master Lu, these years, what you taught me was not the craft. It was the road. The road a craftsman should walk."
"The road was walked out by you yourselves." Lu Zhu said. "All I did was help fill in the pits along it."
"From now on," Kamon said, "I will go on filling the West Bank’s road. Your courtyard, I will sweep every day. Whenever you come back, the charcoal fire will be warm."
Meru arrived toward evening. He had just come up from the docks, his shoes still caked with river mud.
"The boats, I am keeping for you." he said as he came in. "On the south line and the north line, a place is kept for you. Wherever you want to go, say the word. Within three days, a boat will be there."
"It is not as if I am leaving this moment." Lu Zhu said.
"Said early or said late," Meru tapped his pipe out, "once you leave, your days of needing boats will be many." He narrowed his eyes. "That stretch of shoal at the river bend — I had someone ask about it. The water road reaches it. Material sent by water costs half what it costs by land."
"You have even looked into my shoal?" Lu Zhu asked.
"A man of trade," Meru said, "must get his feet there before his goods." He paused. "The reeds on that shoal are fine material. Roofing, mat-weaving — top grade. Use them sparingly. Do not burn them."
"I will not burn them." Lu Zhu said. "They are kept."
"One more thing." Meru said. "When you raise houses on the shoal — lime, grass fiber, wooden stakes — you write the list. The merchant house’s boats will bring them along the way. The price, at guild rates. Not one copper more."
"That is no way to do business." Lu Zhu said.
"Who says it is not?" Meru said. "You are the merchant house’s oldest customer. The first deal, from the West Bank to this day. A man of trade can least afford to short his oldest customer." He tapped his pipe again; the sparks flew out and landed on his shoe, and he did not brush them off. "And besides — wherever you are, a market rises. Once your settlement stands, the boats coming south and going north have one more place to rest. I am simply opening my shop at your door ahead of time."
"You reckon far." Lu Zhu said.
"Not far." Meru said. "I have reckoned it — these ten years to come, the river bend will be the merchant house’s most valuable shipping lane." He narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Master Lu, that thirty mu of shoal of yours will one day be worth more than a hundred mu of paddy."
"Worth it or not," Lu Zhu said, "if it can house people and teach people, it is worth it."
Imset came latest. As the day darkened toward night, he came into the courtyard with Shafi. The two of them said nothing, only stood under the porch.
"Master," Lu Zhu said, "you know it too."
"The whole city knows." Imset said. "I have come not to talk you out of it. This step of yours is rightly taken." He paused. "A physician returning home returns to his rounds. A craftsman returning to the wild returns to his furnace. You have been at court too long. It is time to go back into your own furnace and be fired anew."
"Well said, Master." Lu Zhu said.
"But there is one old matter," Imset said, "that I must bring up with you."
"Master, speak."
"The West Bank. The ruined shrine." Imset said. "That year, you found me in the wall’s hidden layer. And you found those pages of manuscript."
Lu Zhu nodded. That ruined shrine was a fork in his life’s road. From that day, he had known this land held building arts long lost; from that day, he had begun to search — for manuscripts, for old ruins, and for a road he himself could not quite name.
"Those pages," Imset said, "I found more of later, here and there. On foundations, on roofs, on drainage." He paused. "All these years, I have kept them. When your settlement stands, I will have them all sent to you at once."
"Finding these," Lu Zhu said, "cost you no little care."
"No cost." Imset said. "You search for your road home, and I search for my old things. The two of us, each searching his own. And searching to the end, we met on paper." He looked at the sky beyond the porch. "The fire in the ruined shrine has gone out. But those pages are still warm. Take them with you when you go. In the days to come, they will have their use."
"The library’s key," Imset said, "I have kept one for you. Your code — I am waiting to read it." He paused. "Among the old books I have gathered these years are a few rolls of building fragments. When your settlement stands, I will have them sent to you."
"The Master is thanked."
Shafi stepped forward and held out a small cloth bundle. "Master Lu, these are a few standing medicines I have made up. For colds, for wounds, and for keeping off mosquitoes." She paused. "The shoal at the river bend — the mosquitoes are thick at night. Take them."
Lu Zhu took the bundle and weighed it in his hand. "Shafi," he said, "you have kept the medicine store very well."
"It is all the Master’s method — the zoning, the damp-proofing." Shafi said. "The medical houses’ medicine stores are now the model for the whole land. The Master should come see them one day."
"I will." Lu Zhu said. "From now on, when I come to the new capital, my first stop will be your medicine store."
Tia and Asaf came only when the dark had fallen full.
They had come from the Civil Affairs Bureau, each with an armful of documents. Tia set hers on the table. "The construction accounts — the Civil Affairs Bureau will go on reckoning them. The laws you raised, we will go on keeping." She paused. "This is your resignation document, one fair copy, for the archive. Look it over."
"Your handwriting, I trust." Lu Zhu said.
"One more thing." Asaf said. "The deed to that land at the river bend — I have had it done." He drew a roll of paper from his coat. "Thirty mu, black on white. It is written that the land belongs to Imhotep, held for all generations, paying no tax, taken for no levy."
"No tax?" Lu Zhu said. "That goes against all reason."
"The pharaoh approved it specially." Asaf said. "He said — ’My builder has built granaries half his life. From now on, let him build one for himself.’" He smiled. "The pharaoh also said, if you work out any new method on the shoal, do not forget to write it into the code."
"I will, surely." Lu Zhu said.
The night deepened little by little. The people in the courtyard came, and scattered.
Before the departure, the letter from Thebes arrived too.
The letter was from the chief priest. The characters were slow, stroke by stroke, as if written long under the lamp:
"Master Lu: I have heard. Resigning office is a good thing. The office belongs to others; the craft belongs to you. Go back, and go on mending your houses and writing your book. A lamp in Thebes is kept for you. The incense burns unbroken, and the lamp stays lit. Should you pass this way, come sit in the temple a while. I will brew tea. — The chief priest."
Lu Zhu folded the letter and laid it in the rattan chest’s innermost layer, together with the chief priest’s incense ash.
"The chief priest has grown old." he said to Hapy.
"Has the chief priest not always been so?" Hapy said.
"It is different now." Lu Zhu said. "Before, his letters were about the city. Now, his letters are about tea." He paused. "The land is at peace, and people soften. That is a good thing."
Kes’s letter came by Shunzi’s boat.
The letter was short, the characters a little better than before:
"Teacher: I have heard. You are going back to the river bend. In the south, the second row of houses is up — twelve rooms. I have kept one for you, facing the river. Whenever you come south, stay with me. Mother says, whatever you need, whatever the river valley has, it is all yours. Kes."
When he had read it, Lu Zhu said to Hapy: "Answer Kes for me. Say the teacher will not live in the south. The south’s houses are for the river valley’s people. But his goodwill, the teacher accepts. Tell him to build his houses a little sturdier. His house is the teacher’s house."
Seb’s letter came on the north line’s last boat.
The letter still held only a few lines, but between the lines there was something that had not been there before:
"Teacher: I hear you are resigning your office. The north’s people all say you are foolish. So great an office, they say, and you lay it down just like that. But I do not see it so. You said once — ’You draw the towers, and I draw the granaries. You hold the country, and I feed the people.’ Now the towers I am drawing, the granaries Mery is keeping, and the country the law is shielding. You should go back and do your own work now. Teacher — the north’s towers, I will watch. The river bend’s houses, you will build. The year I can no longer draw towers, I will come to the river bend and draw houses with you. Seb."
Lu Zhu read the letter twice. He lifted the brush and answered with three characters: "Waiting for you."
When he had written, he raised his head and looked north once. The northern sky was clean and clear. He could almost see them — behind those thirty li of wall, on the five towers, five pairs of young eyes, looking south.
"That boy," he said, "has grown up too."
Mery’s letter had been sent back by way of a courier station on his granary-inspection road.
The letter held only a few lines:
"Teacher: The south’s third batch of granaries is now up to the sixth under inspection. I cannot come back. When this tour is done, I will come see you at the river bend. I will carry you a sack of new grain when I come. You have built granaries half your life, and never yet lived in a house beside a granary of your own. Mery."
When he had read it, Lu Zhu said: "This boy — three sentences and never off granaries." He put the letter away in the rattan chest. "Answer him. Say the river bend’s granary, the teacher will build himself. When he comes, he comes empty-handed. Bring his ledgers, and that is enough."
From Thebes, Nefer also sent a message by word of mouth.
It came along with the chief priest’s letter: "Master Lu, the women of Haven have made you a new mattress. Cotton, thick and solid. The river bend is cold at night. Spread it out. — Nefer."
When Lu Zhu had heard it, he smiled. "Answer for me. Say the mattress comes with me. When the settlement is built, I will invite them as guests. On the river bend’s shoal, a place will be kept for them to air their washing."
In the upper room of the deep mansion, the old noble had heard of it too.
"Resigned?" He started, then slowly smiled. "So he has gone, after all."
"My lord," the thin tall man said, "with him gone, the court will be peaceful at last."
"Peaceful?" The old noble shook his head. "He leaves, takes off his robes, and leaves us standing here, exposed. Think — from now on, when the whole court speaks of him, what will they say? ’The man mended the country, clapped his hands, and walked away. And us?’" He paused. "The ones who stay become the ones who cling to office."
The thin tall man said nothing.
"That man," the old noble said, "to the death, never lets anyone catch hold of his handle." He lifted his tea and drank a sip. "Enough. Let him go his road. We should be thinking of what comes after too. The north’s account has rolled to this point — even the Hittites have stopped fighting. This game of chess . . ." He did not finish, and set the cup down gently.
The last one left was Hapy. He squatted at the door, head down, saying nothing.
"Hapy." Lu Zhu said.
"Teacher," Hapy’s voice was muffled, "when you are gone, what about the material yard?"
"The material yard is yours." Lu Zhu said. "Your eye for checking material is surer than mine."
"And the craft school?"
"The craft school has its old masters." Lu Zhu said. "You are the senior apprentice — you must look after it."
"Then . . ." Hapy looked up, his eyes red. "When are you coming back?"
Lu Zhu said nothing. He walked over beside Hapy, crouched down, and squatted level with him.
"Hapy," he said, "the teacher is not never coming back. The teacher is going somewhere else to go on working." He pointed north. "Your senior brother Seb draws towers in the north. Your senior brother Kes builds houses in the south. Your senior brother Mery tours the granaries of the whole land. And me — from now on, I will be at the river bend, drawing plans, writing books, teaching people." He paused. "You keep the material yard. From now on, the north’s material and the south’s material will all pass through your hands. Your load is heavier than theirs."
Hapy wiped his eyes and nodded hard.
"I understand." he said. "Teacher, go with an easy heart. I will keep the material yard well for you."
The next day, Lu Zhu began the handover.
Not with any great show. Item by item, he laid out the Chief Construction Bureau’s substance.
Before dawn, Lu Zhu had folded his official robes.
Folded square and true, laid on the desk. On top of them sat the Chief Builder’s seal. The seal was bronze, and years of use had worn its edges round.
"Send them back." he said to Hapy. "The clothes are washed and starched. The seal is wiped."
Hapy held the robes and stood at the door, not moving.
"Teacher," he said, "in these clothes, all of Egypt would know you."
"Take them off," Lu Zhu said, "and all of Egypt’s craftsmen know me all the same." He clapped Hapy on the shoulder. "Go on. When they are delivered, come help me pack the chests."
Hapy answered and left with the robes. At the courtyard gate, he turned for one look. Lu Zhu had his back to him, hanging something on the wall — not the official robes, but that old cloth shirt washed white. On the shirt were lime stains that no washing could take out.
Hapy suddenly felt his nose prickle.
The first item: the plans. The northern border’s plans, the west line’s plans, the new capital’s plans, the Ever-Normal Granaries’ plans, the medical houses’ plans, the settlements’ plans. Seb’s towers, Kes’s southland, Mery’s granaries, and his own drawing of the whole city. These plans filled one chest to the top. He led Hapy in re-registering and numbering every sheet.
"This chest of plans," he said, "is the State Construction Archive’s first chest. From now on, the plans that come from the north and the plans that come from the south all add to it. While the plans do not scatter, the craft does not break."
He sorted them sheet by sheet. At the temple’s plan, his hand stopped a moment. On it were drawn the altar’s bearings, the columns’ heights, and the angles of the sunlight’s fall. Back then, for those few angles, he had led the craftsmen in measuring seven days. On the day of the great rite, the sunlight had flooded the altar, and the whole city had stared, struck dumb.
"This one," he said to Hapy, "is optics. From now on, when the temple needs mending, follow this plan. One degree off, and the light is no longer the same."
At the Thebes city wall’s plan, he stopped again. That plan had been drawn, stretch by stretch, by Kamon and his men under the arrow rain during the siege. There was still a little ash on it that would not wipe off. Lu Zhu did not wipe it.
"This one," he said, "was drawn with lives. Feel this ash — the ash of Thebes."
In the chest there was one plan least of all worth a look: the law stele’s base. A pit three feet deep, a bed of crushed stone, grass-fiber ash earth, rammed three times, drainage slopes on four sides. Lu Zhu drew it out and set it apart by itself.
"This one, keep for me." he said. "From now on, the river bend’s walls will be built by this method."
Hapy watched beside him and wrote down every plan’s name in the register. Writing to the end, his hand shook a little. "Teacher," he said, "so this is how much we have done, all these years."
"Not much." Lu Zhu said. "This is nothing yet. From now on, what you draw will be ten times more than this."
The second item: the tools. Lu Zhu’s ruler, his line, his charcoal stick, the worn rammer, spade, and trowel. He wiped them clean one by one and wrapped them in oilcloth.
"These," he said, "come with me."
The third item: the books. The Ever-Normal Granary manuals, the medical houses’ storage standards, the dwellings’ building standards, and the manuscript of The Simple Manual for the Building and Keeping of Ever-Normal Granaries. He turned to the title page, where the characters were still the ones written back then: "All that this volume holds was gained from real work."
"These," he said, "stay in the Chief Construction Bureau. Whoever needs them, comes and takes them."
The fourth item: the people. The bureau’s runners, clerks, and craftsman foremen — he gave instructions to each in turn. This one keeps the plans, that one keeps the accounts, that one handles the worksites’ labor details.
"People," he said to Hapy, "are worth more than anything. From now on, treat the bureau’s people as your own family. Only family will put their work to rights with a will."
The day before he left, Lu Zhu went to the craft school.
He did not go in. He stood outside the courtyard gate and looked in through the half-open door. Inside, a few dozen apprentices were in a rammed-earth lesson. The old master crouched on the ground, demonstrating over and over. The apprentices stood in a circle, watching a while and practicing a while. The rammers rose and fell, and the work chant came in waves.
The smallest apprentice could not swing his rammer and was red-faced with frustration. The old master went over, took his hands, and guided him, blow by blow: "The strength rises from the waist. The feet must press firm. The earth you ram is for people to live on. What people live on must be done with heart."
Outside the gate, Lu Zhu watched a long time.
Hapy stood behind him and said quietly: "Teacher, go in and look."
"I will not." Lu Zhu said. "Go in, and they will lose their focus." He paused. "This one look is enough. From now on, this country leans on them."
He turned and walked a few steps, then looked back once more. The work chant in the courtyard rose higher with every call. That sound was young and bright, like a spring river running, rushing, into the distance.
"Hapy." he said.
"Teacher."
"On the day they finish their apprenticeships, give each of them a good chisel from me." Lu Zhu said. "No characters carved on the chisels. Carve characters, and it turns vulgar."
The handover done, he stood in the courtyard and looked around once. He had lived in this courtyard several years. He had watched its walls being laid and its trees being planted. Now, leaving, he suddenly felt that everything, everywhere, was pleasing to the eye.
"Teacher," Hapy said, "will you not say goodbye to the guild’s craftsmen?"
"No goodbyes." Lu Zhu said. "From now on, we will meet every day. I am leaving, but I am not going to the edge of the sky."
"Then . . ." Hapy said. "At the city gate, you must go say a word. Outside, half the city’s people are waiting."
Only when Lu Zhu came to the city gate did he see the people outside.
A black mass, stretching from the gate all the way to the market’s mouth. Craftsmen, farmers, merchants, water-carriers, flatbread sellers, women with children in their arms, old folk on their sticks. They did not shout, did not crowd — only stood there, looking at him.
The old flatbread seller stood at the very front, a cloth bundle held to his chest.
"Chief Builder," the old man said, "this is flatbread I steamed this morning. It is still hot." He held it forward. "Take it with you, to eat on the road."
Lu Zhu took the flatbread. It was still scalding. That warmth went up his hand and warmed him all the way to the heart.
"Old uncle," he said, "go home. The day is cold."
"Not cold." the old man said. "We will see you off." He paused. "The granaries you built held our grain. The houses you built sheltered our people. The laws you raised keep our days to come. Seeing you off is only right."
In the crowd, a woman wept quietly. A craftsman shouted: "Chief Builder, from now on, where will we find you?"
"The river bend." Lu Zhu said. "The bend of the Nile, that stretch of reed shoal." He raised his voice. "From now on, whoever wants to learn the craft, come. Whoever’s wall cracks, come. I will be there. I am going nowhere else."
Out of the crowd squeezed the guild Chapter’s old master, a wooden box held in both hands.
"Chief Builder," he said, "this is pooled together by the whole guild. It is nothing valuable — a newly forged ruler. Ebony, with the brand burned in." He opened the box. "The guild’s craftsmen said — the ruler in your hand has measured half a life’s worth of the realm. From now on, let it measure your own days. So they have changed it for a new one."
Lu Zhu took the ruler. The ebony sat heavy in the hand, the brand sharp. He turned the ruler over and looked at it. "Taken." he said. "With this ruler, I will measure the river bend’s first wall."
"We were waiting for exactly that word!" the old master said.
A child squeezed out of the crowd and asked, face upturned: "Will you come back?"
Lu Zhu crouched down and looked at the child. "I will come back. From now on, when the new capital’s walls need mending and its granaries need patching, I will still come back to see." He pointed at the post road. "When you grow up and want to learn the craft, follow this road south. Walk to the river bend and call out once, and someone will answer you."
"Call out what?" the child asked.
"Call out," Lu Zhu said, "’Here is one come to learn the craft.’"
The child repeated the words once in a small voice, his eyes shining.
The city-guard soldiers stepped out too. The squad leader at their head straightened his back bolt upright: "Chief Builder, the palace gate side — rest easy. We are here."
"With you here, I have always rested easy." Lu Zhu said.
He looked at the crowd one last time. Those faces — old ones, young ones, ones whose names he knew, ones he could not name. Yet every face felt familiar — they were all people he had seen, through these years, on the worksites, in the markets, along the field ridges.
The crowd went quiet an instant.
Then, at no one knew whose start, first a few craftsmen bowed deep toward him. Then patch by patch, the whole street of people bowed. No one spoke. That stretch of black bent backs was heavier than any words.
Lu Zhu stood under the city gate, looking at them. The wind came from the river and swayed the hem of his coat, gently.
He raised his hand and cupped it over his fist toward the crowd. Then he turned and walked out the city gate.
No cart. No horse. One rattan chest, one bundle of plans, one lime line, and that worn old ruler. Walking just so, he went up onto the post road.
Two li out, there suddenly came the sound of running behind him.
"Teacher! Teacher!"
Lu Zhu turned. Hapy had caught up, running, his head all sweat, a cloth bundle swinging in his hand.
"Teacher," he panted, "you forgot this."
Lu Zhu took it and opened it. Inside were several pairs of straw sandals. New ones, the soles stitched thick.
"You will be walking all the way to the river bend." Hapy said. "The sandals — I stitched them through the night. Three pairs. Change them in turn, and your feet will not blister."
Lu Zhu looked at the sandals a while. "Stitched true." he said.
"Learned from the teacher." Hapy said. "You said — whatever the work, it must be done fine."
Lu Zhu smiled. He put the sandals into the rattan chest. "Go back." he said. "The material yard is waiting for you."
"Let me see you one stretch of the way."
"See me for what." Lu Zhu said. "It is not as if I am never coming back." He patted Hapy’s head, as if patting a half-grown child. "From now on, write me a letter every ten days. The material yard’s affairs — the good and the bad, write it all. I want to know how you are holding the stall up."
"I will write!" Hapy said. "Not one word dropped."
"Enough." Lu Zhu said. "Go back."
Hapy stood without moving. Lu Zhu turned and walked on. A dozen-odd steps on, he heard Hapy shout from behind:
"Teacher — the river bend’s houses, wait for me to come help you build them!"
Lu Zhu did not turn around. He raised his hand and waved it behind him.
The wind came from the river and set the wheat shoots along the post road rippling, wave after wave. His shadow stretched long in the morning light.
Along the post road lay the fields of early spring. The wheat shoots, green and green, spread all the way to the sky’s edge.
Half a li on, he turned for a look. The new capital’s wall stood gray in the morning light, like a great beast lying low. On the gate tower, the royal banner still drifted slowly in the wind.
"I am gone." he said in a low voice.
He walked on. By the time he reached the river bend, it was already past midday.
The scenery along the road, he took in stretch by stretch. The wheat shoots just cleared his ankles. The water in the irrigation channel ran clear. An old man driving oxen straightened up from the field and hailed him: "Master, where are you bound?"
"The river bend." Lu Zhu said.
"The river bend?" the old man said. "That place is deep in reeds and full of sand and stone. What are you going there for?"
"To live." Lu Zhu said.
The old man blinked, shook his head, and said: "Live at the river bend? That place has nothing at all."
"It has." Lu Zhu said. "Water, land, and wind." He smiled. "That is enough."
The thirty mu of shoal lay right before him. The Nile turned its bend here, the water slapping the bank white. On the shoal, the reeds had not yet greened, a stretch of withered yellow. In the sandy-stony ground, a few low trees stood scattered. The wind came over the river’s face, carrying the raw smell of water, cool on the skin.
Lu Zhu set the rattan chest down, took off his shoes, and walked the shoal barefoot.
First he read the water. Where the river bend’s water ran fast, where it ran slow, where the water line lay. The water read, he crouched, caught up a handful of earth, and rolled it between his fingers. Much sand, thin soil — but underneath it was sticky: rammed, it could hold up a wall.
"Good ground." he said.
He stood again and read the wind. The wind came from the north, crossed the river’s face, and by the time it reached the shoal it had softened by three parts. At the shoal’s east side there was a high slope, sheltered from the wind and facing the sun.
"There." he said.
The water, he read for close to an hour. The river bend’s outer curve ran fast and scoured its bank; the inner curve ran slow and silted its shoal. The shoal ground lay in the inner curve, silted up over centuries. In years of high water, it would flood. He crouched at the bank and measured the water line with his hand — above the water line there was a mark left from last year. Where the mark reached, the water had risen.
"The house foundations," he said to himself, "must be raised three feet. Better to spend three extra cartloads of earth than gamble on one flood."
The earth, he read next, crouching again to dig a shallow pit in the shoal. The surface was sand, half a foot. Below it, sand mixed with mud, the color deepening. Deeper still, clay — it could be squeezed into a ball, and broken open, it showed fine threads of fiber.
"Good earth." He caught up a handful and worked it in his palm. "Sand mixed with clay, rammed, will not crack. Grass fiber three tenths in, and the wall will stand fifty years."
The wind, he read last, standing in the middle of the shoal with his eyes shut a while. The wind came from the north, damp, crossed the river’s face, and fell on the shoal. The high slope on the east blocked half of it. Behind the slope, all was quiet — even the reeds barely swayed.
"The schoolhouse goes behind the slope." he said. "The sound of reading must not be blown away by the wind."
When he had read it all, he had already divided the shoal in his mind into seven or eight lots: one for living, one for storing grain, one for working, one for teaching, one for sunning grain, and one more, left for the boats coming and going, to make land and unload.
"Thirty mu," he said in a low voice. "Enough. Just enough to hold one lifetime."
He walked onto the high slope, took the lime line from his coat, drew it taut, and snapped three white lines onto the ground. One running south, one running north, one across.
The three white lines, on the withered-yellow shoal, shone white and bright.
"The wall rises from here." he said to himself. "Houses to the south. Granary to the north. Workshop in the middle. Schoolhouse facing east." He gestured it out. "From now on — people live here, grain is stored here, the craft is taught here."
The wind set the reeds rustling, as if answering him.
He stood on the high slope and looked at the river. The water ran north, to the new capital, to Thebes, to farther places he could not see. He thought of many people. The West Bank’s settlement, the new capital’s worksites, Thebes’s city wall, the northern border’s towers. Kamon’s chisel, Meru’s boats, Imset’s medicines, Tia’s ledgers. Seb drawing towers in the north, Kes building houses in the south. And he thought of many years ago, when he had woken on a strange land and looked around him, lost.
"Some people," he said in a low voice, "I have not finished seeing. There are still days to come."
He crouched and opened the rattan chest. On the top layer lay the roll of old manuscript. Its corners were worn, its writing faded. He touched it, and shut the chest again, gently.
"Slowly, slowly." he said. "There is still time for it all."
When the dark had fallen full, he lit a fire on the high slope.
The fire was started with dry reeds and crackled and popped. From the rattan chest he took the flatbread the old flatbread seller had given him, broke off half, and set it by the fire to toast. When it was hot, he ate it mouthful by mouthful, washing it down with river water.
"Good." he said.
When he had eaten, he spread out a sheet of grass paper and, by the firelight, drew the first plan.
The plan was not large. One courtyard, three rooms, one well, one low wall, and beyond the wall a road running down to the river. He drew slowly, stroke by stroke. At the well’s position, he stopped and noted one line of small characters in the margin: "The well goes in below the slope. The people on the slope climb five steps less for water."
At the wall, another note: "Build the north wall first. The north wind is fierce."
At the road, another note: "The road runs to the landing. When the boats come, people walk fifty paces."
When he had finished, he held the plan up by the fire and looked at it. The firelight shone through the paper, and the courtyard on it seemed to light up first, there on the page.
"Tomorrow," he said, "first, run the lines. Second, dig the well. Third, build the north wall."
He folded the plan and pressed it into the rattan chest. The fire still burned. A thin fog rose over the river’s face. Frogs called far off, one after another, from the reed beds.
He lay down, pillowed his head on his arm, and looked at the sky.
Before lying down, he walked one more circle around the high slope.
He thought of the West Bank. Of the day the first settlement rose, when on ground burned black, the first wall had been measured out by him and his people, circle by circle, just so. Back then, he had not long come to this land, and his whole heart was set on saving money and finding the road home. But one wall rose, and people moved in; people moved in, and there was hearth smoke; and with hearth smoke, he could no longer tear himself away.
"Round and round," he said in a low voice, "and it has come round to a wall again."
On the river’s face, a night-fishing boat, a bean-sized lamp burning, drifted slowly downstream. The boat lamp dragged a long, trembling ribbon of light through the water.
He watched a while, and suddenly felt that boat was like himself of many years ago — not knowing where it was going, yet going forward all the same.
The stars overhead shone one by one, bright to the point of hardness. He thought of many years before, under a sky just like this, lying on a strange land, his heart hollow, not knowing what to do about tomorrow.
"Now," he said in a low voice, "I know what I will do tomorrow."
The wind came over the river and bent the flame aside. He shut his eyes. That night, he slept deeper than any night he had ever slept in the palace.
The sun sank west. The river’s face lay paved with broken gold. Lu Zhu sat on the high slope, watching the three white lines fade, little by little, into the dusk.
Tomorrow, this shoal would see its first broken ground.
When the setting sun dyed the river’s face gold, the three lime lines were still white on the shoal. They were the first three strokes Lu Zhu had drawn on this waste ground. From tomorrow, walls would rise here, people would move in, lamps would be lit, and the sound of ramming and the sound of reading would ring out. Yet no one knew what this builder who had resigned his office would go on to write in this river bend. He sat on the high slope, watching the water run north. The river had carried much away, and brought much too. And farther off, in a remote little village shrine, an old man in an old white robe was telling a few children stories of long ago, of the temple and the land.
(End of Chapter 6)