The main structure of Xiaoyao Tower had just been completed, and it was busy with interior finishing work.
The upturned eaves had just been put up, and when the sun hit the glass tiles, they gleamed so brightly it was dazzling, and when the wind blew, the half-finished wind chimes hanging from the corners of the eaves even made a light, tinkling “ding-a-ling” sound.
The wooden beams fitted together tightly with mortise-and-tenon joints, and not a single nail was used, yet they were steady as if they had taken root, and this was not just because of old craftsmanship, because Du Heng had secretly added a “triangular stability structure” from modern mechanics, only telling outsiders it was an “ancestral reinforcement trick.”
He stayed on the construction site every day and cared even more than he did about his own life at home, because he measured the flatness of every brick, checked the forging patterns on every pot, and even pulled on the wires for hanging lamps to test their load-bearing capacity, without the slightest bit of carelessness.
“Doing craftsmanship doesn’t rely on big slogans, because conscience is hidden in the tiniest details.”
Du Heng said this every day, and he even adapted a modern factory “quality inspection checklist” into a hand-drawn version and posted it on the wall of the work shed, circling each item after it passed inspection, just like a serious modern person clocking in.
At first, the craftsmen found it novel, but later they followed suit too, and they even checked the checklist three times when smearing mud on the stove.
That day, the autumn sun felt warm and soft, and the clean scent of timber mixed with the earthy smell of new bricks and drifted through the whole courtyard.
Princess Changle actually came quietly, without bringing a single palace attendant, wearing a plain-colored ruqun dress, with her hair simply pinned up and only an ordinary jade hairpin stuck in it, and she looked just like a pretty young lady from a wealthy household who had slipped out in secret.
The funniest part was that she even carried a small bronze hammer in her hand, with an exquisitely made hammerhead and a handle wrapped in silver, and it was said to be an old item once used by Empress Zhangsun, yet now she swung it around like a toy.
“Du Heng, I’m here to help you inspect the pots!”
She smiled at Du Heng, her eyes curving into crescents, both sly and earnest inside, exactly like a little fox ready to check on things, and she even deliberately stressed the word craftsman to tease him.
Du Heng was squatting on the ground oiling the newly made dish-delivery pulleys, and when he heard her, he looked up, with a bit of wood shavings still stuck at his temple, and he froze before standing up.
“Why did the princess come, and you even know how to inspect pots?”
He did not bow and salute like others did, and he only casually clasped his hands, because after being used to modern life, he truly was not used to overly rigid superior-inferior etiquette, and fortunately, Changle did not mind.
“My Mother Empress often says pots are the soul of the kitchen!”
As Changle spoke, she walked into the back kitchen, her steps so light and quick that she was like a little deer hopping about, and her gaze swept over the stove, the sink, and the knife rack, looking more serious than a general reviewing troops.
“If a pot is thick, it stores heat steadily, but if it is thin, it conducts heat quickly, and for stir-frying green vegetables you need a thin-bottomed, curved-walled one so you can lift it off fast when the fire flares up, while for stewing meat you need a thick-bottomed, flat-bottomed one so it can slowly braise over low heat and turn fragrant, so have you sorted all that out?”
Du Heng secretly admired her and quickly led her to the iron-woks area, and he also handed her a clean handkerchief.
“Princess, wipe your hands first, because the iron woks were just polished, and there’s a bit of dust on the ground.”
This small detail made Changle pause, because everyone in the palace only thought about serving her, and no one ever reminded her that “there’s dust on the ground,” which made it feel especially down-to-earth.
Ten new pots were lined up in a row, all made by the Ministry of Works according to the blueprints Du Heng drew.
The blueprints not only had the dimensions, but also labeled suitable cuisines and heat-control suggestions, and they even wrote down the temperature during forging, and the craftsmen of the Ministry of Works all exclaimed at how novel the ideas were.
The iron was also specially processed according to Du Heng’s three-round slag-removal forging method, removing all impurities, and it felt very smooth to the touch.
Changle picked up the small bronze hammer and lightly tapped each pot to listen to the sound, and her movements were so practiced that she was like an old craftsman who had been at it for decades, while the silver patterns on the hammer handle glinted in the sunlight.
“This pot sounds dull, so the iron isn’t uniform, and if you stir-fry a dish in it, it will definitely burn!”
She wrinkled her nose as she commented, as if she were disliking an unappetizing pastry, and she flicked the pot wall with her fingers.
“Listen, a good pot should ring out with a crisp ‘clang-clang’ when you tap it, but this one is ‘thud-thud,’ and it’s nowhere close.”
“This pot’s bottom is too thick, so it won’t do for stir-frying, and keeping it as a soup pot is barely acceptable.”
She tapped another one, her tone carrying a bit of picky fussiness, and she even squatted down to measure the thickness of the bottom.
“It’s thicker than what you marked on the blueprint by half a finger, so it needs rework.”
Du Heng quickly took out the small notebook he carried with him and wrote it down, and the notebook was made by him in the style of a modern notebook, with ruled pages and neat handwriting.
“Got it, and I’ll have the Ministry of Works reforge it later.”
Changle leaned over to look, and when she saw the notebook even recorded “Today’s acceptance: 500 bricks (480 qualified, 20 failed the flatness standard)” and “Tomorrow’s plan: install dish-delivery pulleys, adjust the stove air damper,” she could not help laughing.
“Your notebook is quite novel, and it’s even clearer than the palace ledgers.”
When it came to the fifth pot, Changle stopped, and her fingertips lightly brushed the rim, so gently it was like touching a zither string.
“This pot’s sound is as clear as a chime stone, its walls are as thin as paper, and its curvature is just right, so it’s for frying medicinal herbs!”
Her eyes sparkled as if she had found a treasure.
Du Heng nodded and added with a smile, “I tested this one, using the ‘7-tenths-heat no-smoke method,’ because I poured in three jin of oil and heated it to seven-tenths hot without any bluish smoke rising, and the oil surface was flat like a mirror, so the heat was just right.”
“And I also deliberately ground the rim smooth and rounded so it won’t scrape your hands when cutting vegetables.”
As he spoke, he pointed at the rim, whose curve was designed according to modern ergonomics, and it felt rounded and did not bite into the hand.
Changle suddenly rolled up her sleeves, revealing a fair, tender wrist, and she ladled a bit of water into the pot before setting it on the stove.
“I have to test it personally before I can feel at ease, because your ‘seven-tenths hot’ is something I want to see for myself, whether it really doesn’t smoke.”
Du Heng hurried to stop her.
“The stove fire is hot, princess, you…”
Before he could finish, Changle had already lit the fire, and the flames whooshed up, the pot bottom quickly reddened, and when the water droplets fell onto it, they sizzled with a sound, carrying even a hint of oily smoke fragrance.
She reached out to test the temperature, but she probably misjudged the distance, and she suddenly cried, “Ah!” before quickly pulling her hand back.
Her fingertips were reddened by the residual heat and trembled slightly, and it looked painful.
Du Heng’s heart clenched at once, and he turned and rummaged in the corner of the workshop for a blue-and-white porcelain jar containing mint balm he made himself.
He blended this recipe by combining modern skincare thinking, distilling mint leaves into juice, mixing it with beeswax and lard, and even adding a bit of saltpeter to cool it down; it was specially for burns and mosquito bites, cooling and relieving pain without leaving scars.
He worried the jar would be too cold, so he deliberately wrapped it in a layer of cloth, and it felt gently warm in his hand.
“Don’t move, and I’ll apply the balm for you.”
He gently held Changle’s wrist, his movements soft yet not allowing refusal.
He dabbed a bit of balm with his fingertips and slowly spread it over her burned fingertips, using such a light touch that it was like he feared breaking a porcelain doll.
The balm carried a fresh mint fragrance, and the moment it touched her skin it melted, and the red marks visibly faded a little, while Changle’s furrowed brows gradually relaxed too.
When their skin touched, both of them could not help trembling slightly.
Du Heng’s palm carried the roughness of years of labor, and it even retained the texture of wood, but Changle’s wrist was soft and warm like it was wrapped in cotton, and that single touch felt like a jolt of electricity, sending a numb sweetness straight into the heart.
Du Heng quickly steadied himself and silently repeated, “This is workplace injury treatment, and I have to be professional,” yet his ears still quietly reddened.
Changle lowered her eyes and watched how serious he looked, because he stared at her fingertips with a focus like he was calibrating the most precise instrument, even breathing more lightly, as if what he held was not the princess’s jade-like fingers but some priceless treasure, and he did not dare be careless in the slightest.
She suddenly noticed that Du Heng’s nails were trimmed very neatly and the spaces between his fingers were clean too, unlike other craftsmen whose hands were covered in grime.
“You even keep this balm on hand?”
She asked softly, her voice so gentle it was almost hard to hear, and her fingertips lightly brushed his palm with a bit of testing mischief.
“People in the workshop often get burned, so of course I have to keep it.”
Du Heng answered as he spoke, but he did not loosen his grip, and he carefully spread the balm evenly before gently blowing on it.
“In three days it’ll scab over, and I guarantee it won’t leave a scar, and if it’s still red tomorrow, I’ll mix you some with aloe added, because it moisturizes better and can fade the marks… oh, I mean it’ll help the skin recover more tenderly.”
He nearly let slip modern words like “moisturize” and “fade the marks,” and he quickly changed his phrasing, and fortunately Changle did not notice anything odd and only felt that he was considerate.
Changle raised her eyes and looked into his, and his eyes were bright like a clear spring, with not a trace of fawning and not the slightest hint of fear, only genuine concern and a steady sense of responsibility.
She suddenly remembered that when she passed the work shed earlier, she saw Du Heng applying balm to a craftsman who had injured a finger, and his movements were just as gentle and his tone just as patient, without even a shred of a craftsman’s airs.
“Even for my injury, you think everything through so thoroughly.”
She muttered softly, the corner of her mouth secretly lifting with sweetness she could not hide, and she deliberately shook her wrist, making his hand grip a little tighter.
Du Heng’s heart felt warm too, and he only said honestly, “Doing craftsmanship means being people-centered, because if you can’t even see the pain of the people around you, what right do you have to talk about benefiting the country and the people?”
“Just like this stove, I deliberately lowered the height by half a chi so shorter kitchen maids won’t struggle when stir-frying, and for that sink, I added a slanted angle so water won’t pool inside and it’s easier to clean.”
As he spoke, he pointed at the stove and the sink, because those were all changes he made based on humane design from modern kitchens, only he did not dare reveal their source.
Changle withdrew her hand, her fingertips still carrying the coolness of the balm, but her heart burned warmly.
She looked around the back kitchen, and her gaze swept over the dish-delivery pulleys at the dish-pass opening (Du Heng said this saved effort and dishes were less likely to spill), the transparent stove (you could see the heat level and it was less likely to burn), and the Suggestion Handling Desk (it even had paper and brushes for guests to write suggestions), and her eyes suddenly lit up.
“Hey, this place is still missing something!”
“What is it missing?”
Du Heng was puzzled, because he felt he had thought of everything, and he even prepared soft cushions for the kitchen maids’ resting stools.
“It’s missing your writing!”
She smiled as she fished out a piece of charcoal stick from her sleeve and shoved it into his hand, and the charcoal stick was still warm, probably because she had been keeping it close to her chest.
“If Xiaoyao Tower doesn’t have words personally written by Du Heng, then it’s like it’s missing its soul, and I’m not after fine calligraphy, because I just want one line of your heartfelt words, as practical as the ‘heat control suggestions’ you wrote for the stove.”
Du Heng quickly waved his hands.
“My handwriting is ugly and I can’t show it, so you should have a palace calligrapher write it instead.”
“What I want isn’t calligraphy, but your sincerity!”
Changle shoved the charcoal stick into his hand again and gently pushed him.
“Just write the words you always say about gewu, and hang it on the stove to remind everyone every day… and also remind you not to only work and forget to eat.”
She said the last sentence quietly, with a hint of coquettishness.
Du Heng pondered for a while and picked up a wooden plaque, and this pen was modified by him based on the principle of a modern fountain pen, making it smoother to write with.
Stroke by stroke, he wrote, “Heat control is the human heart; a hair’s breadth off, and you miss by a thousand miles.”
The characters were not especially beautiful, but they carried a practical strength and bit deep into the wood.
He also added a small line underneath: “When the stove temperature is too high, remember to turn off the fire to cool it down, because safety comes first.”
This came from modern safety-warning thinking, and when Changle saw it she could not help laughing.
“You even thought of this too, and you’re even more attentive than my palace stewards.”
“If safety isn’t guaranteed, then even the best craftsmanship is useless.”
Du Heng scratched his head, a little embarrassed.
“Back when I was in… my hometown, my master often said you protect your life before you work.”
He nearly blurted out “modern factory,” and he quickly changed it.
Changle stared at the wooden plaque for a long time before softly saying, “What a ‘Heat control is the human heart’!”
“You’re not just stir-frying dishes, because you’re clearly pondering principles, and you even added a safety reminder, which is far more practical than those people who only talk about grand doctrines.”
She immediately had the craftsmen hang the wooden plaque above the main stove, facing the stir-frying position, and she even specially reminded them, “Hang it securely, don’t let the oil smoke blacken it, and if it gets dirty, remember to find craftsman Du to write another one.”
When she left, Changle turned back and looked at Xiaoyao Tower, and glass lamps already hung under the upturned eaves, and when the wind blew, the wind chimes went “ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling,” blending with the workers’ laughter and chatter, lively and warm.
She smiled and told the palace maids who rushed over later, “This building will definitely become a new landmark of Chang’an, and it’s not because it’s tall, but because it understands principles.”
“It’s also not because it’s gorgeous, but because it’s truly useful, so even the kitchen maids who tend the fire can feel it’s convenient.”
“Du Heng looks wooden, but inside he’s clearer than anyone.”
And Du Heng stood before the stove, watching the wooden plaque sway lightly, with the charcoal-written words darkening under the light, and a plan had already formed in his heart.
On the day Xiaoyao Tower opened, he would quietly blend in modern ideas like standardized procedures and humane design, such as setting a standard heat level for each dish and preparing stools of different heights for guests, so everyone would not only eat deliciously but also eat comfortably.
He would not rely on an imperial edict or on power, and he would rely only on a bowl of hot rice, a good pot, and a heartfelt line of words to let everyone know that gewu was not some abstruse doctrine, but little details hidden in everyday life.
The stove fire had not gone out yet, and the pot still carried a trace of the oily fragrance from the test just now, yet that faint budding affection in his heart quietly flared up.
That wisp of mint balm’s fresh scent lingered in the air for a long time, like an unspoken vow circling the roof beams.
Late at night, Du Heng did not go home, and he sat in the accounting office and opened the Gewu Journal, because this notebook was made by him in the style of a modern loose-leaf binder and pages could be added at any time.
He added a new page, with neat handwriting:
In the 7th year of Zhenguan, on the 23rd day of the 9th month, Princess Changle came to inspect the pots and burned her fingertips on the stove fire.
I made mint balm myself and have already instructed her on follow-up care methods (apply three times daily and avoid touching water).
The princess said, “Even for my injury, you think everything through so thoroughly.”
I thought to myself, “Because you deserve me to be that thorough, because it’s not just the injury, and I want to look after your happiness and your safety too.”
I did not dare say those words out loud, and I hid them in my heart because I feared I would scare her.
New design added today: I added hooks beside the sink for hanging cloths, making it convenient for the kitchen maids to wipe their hands, and I added lubricating oil to the dish-delivery pulleys, making them smoother.
Tomorrow’s plan: accept the newly arrived bowls and chopsticks and ensure there are no chips, and adjust the ventilation system to prevent the back kitchen’s oil smoke from being too heavy.
Outside the window, the moonlight shone over West Market, with ten thousand household lights lit up like stars scattered all over the ground.
In Xiaoyao Tower’s stove chamber, the charcoal fire was still glowing red, quietly waiting for that day…
When the cooking smoke rose, common people would all come taste the flavor of this gewu, saying, “The food this pot stir-fries is really delicious, and the back kitchen is really clean.”
When hearts all returned to the right path, everyone would understand that good days did not come from shouting slogans, but from a brick, a pot, and a heartfelt line of words, gathered bit by bit.
And he would bring a modern craftsman’s heart into this Zhenguan Golden Age, living life the way he wanted… having craftsmanship, having sincerity, and having that person who was willing to inspect pots with him and let him apply balm to her.