Chapter Fifteen: Moving into the Studio of Strange Tales

Xu Wenshan approached Xu Changshui with a request to set aside ten acres of their family land for his own use, just “to have a bit of fun.” To his surprise, Xu Changshui agreed without hesitation, generously giving him twenty acres and telling him to choose as he pleased.

So, Xu Wenshan set out with Mr. Li, the family’s only accountant, riding an ox cart to inspect their lands. Two hundred acres is neither small nor vast—about 130,000 square meters, or roughly eighteen or nineteen football fields. The two circled the fields in the ox cart, which took them the better part of half a day.

When the cart reached a certain spot, Xu Wenshan called for a halt. “This place is nice,” he said.

Mr. Li replied, “This is Creek Plain. It used to be prime land, but ever since the creek changed course, it’s not what it once was.”

“I want this spot,” Xu Wenshan declared.

The land at Creek Plain was level and orderly, with the old creekbed running through it, perfect for a future irrigation canal. Xu Wenshan envisioned this as the foundation for his future ventures, so he chose this location. After consulting with Mr. Li, he marked off ten acres and dismissed the tenant farmers working the land. Watching those poor families leave, their eyes brimming with tears, Xu Wenshan did not waver. In the inevitable tide of enclosures to come, many more would be driven from their land.

He hired a few laborers for little more than a hundred coins, and in three days, they had the grounds ready. It was a considerable plot, fenced in on all sides. Within, there were not only ten willow targets but also a thatched shelter for resting.

If past generations of Xu family sons had been known for squandering wealth, then Xu Wenshan had set a new standard—he had taken a plot of land, flat and fertile enough to feed two households, and turned it into an archery range! The local farmers lamented bitterly when they spoke of his extravagance.

Yet Xu Wenshan was unmoved. Xu Changshui, too, turned a blind eye.

On the day the range was officially ready, Xu Wenshan spent the entire day practicing archery.

The bow he used was Xu Changshui’s treasured “Cloud Piercer,” crafted from bone plates, rhinoceros horn, wood, and fish glue—a traditional composite bow. Its effective range was between one hundred and one hundred fifty meters; its maximum arc shot, which he dared not attempt, might reach four or five hundred meters.

This was the true reason for setting aside a range. One could not safely practice archery where people were about—a stray arrow at five hundred meters could kill. Archery, in the end, is a matter of skill. With equal talent, the one who practices more grows stronger. As the saying goes, “There is no secret, only familiarity.”

To hone one’s skill, diligence is necessary, but so is a proper place to train. In the past, some who practiced traditional archery with Xu Wenshan clung to the idea that the more ancient the method, the better, believing that true mastery could only be gained on the battlefield or in the wild. Yet in truth, chances to draw a bow in the forest are few; systematic training, open fields, and sharing experience with many—these are the surest ways to progress rapidly.

Establishing a training ground was Xu Wenshan’s second step in redeeming himself—but it was not his only aim.

While making a thumb ring, he suddenly realized that mere showmanship was dull; he needed something more substantial to gain.

Observing the curiosity in the eyes of the children watching from outside the range, Xu Wenshan began to form a plan.

After several days living at home, various inconveniences became apparent. First, his second aunt persistently tried to teach Lu Ze all sorts of etiquette, which Xu Wenshan fended off with every excuse. Lu Ze was pure by nature, unrefined and unspoiled, and Xu Wenshan wished her to remain so. Second, with the range completed, Xu Wenshan found himself constantly shuttling between home and the field, which was tiresome. Third, Lu Ze and he—one a demon, the other a demon-cultivator—felt out of place living among mortals.

At last, Xu Wenshan decided to move out with Lu Ze.

It took much persuasion to win Xu Changshui’s approval for setting up his own household, and his mother insisted he take a group of servants along.

Living requires food, fire, and daily necessities—if he did not do these tasks, someone else must. Still, taking a whole company of servants seemed excessive, so Xu Wenshan chose only two: one man and one woman.

Among the servants, Xu Wenshan selected Afar for his quick wit, and among the maids, he picked Xiaocui, who could read. Thus, the four of them moved into the new house at Creek Plain. Xu Wenshan and Lu Ze shared a room, while Xiaocui and Afar each had their own.

After a full day of cleaning and arranging, the little house at Creek Plain was finally habitable. The walls were papered with scraps, the beams were wiped clean of dust, and every nook and cranny was spotless. Clothes were stored in the wardrobe, ink and brushes packed away. Though humble and far worse than his previous quarters—let alone a house on Earth—Xu Wenshan felt a surge of belonging; this, he thought, was truly his home.

Afar and Xiaocui, exhausted from the day’s labor, collapsed onto the floor. Both were young and slight, and today had been a hard day’s work.

Seeing them so tired, Xu Wenshan did not ask for more. Instead, he took a sheet of white paper, ground his ink, and wrote two characters in bold strokes.

“When it’s dry, paste this on the wall,” he instructed. “From now on, these two words will be the name of this house.”

Afar could not read, but Xiaocui, recognizing a little, carefully sounded out the characters. It was the first time this combination of words had ever appeared in the world, and in time, many legends would gather around it:

“Strange Tales Studio?”