Chapter Nineteen: Turning Decay into Wonder

Aesthetic appreciation, to put it in later terms, is the subjective and objective process of understanding, perceiving, and judging the existence of things in the world, based on emotional observation and evaluation.

Since emotion is inevitably intertwined, it cannot be rigid or unchangeable.

Indeed, the aesthetic sensibilities of the Tang Dynasty must differ greatly from his own rustic farmhouse style.

The mainstream taste of this era, of course, celebrates carved beams and painted rafters, flying eaves and towering brackets—grand and splendid mansions, pavilions, and towers.

Yet Wu Ning felt that this was not set in stone. True aesthetic appreciation should contain an element of objectivity, a touch of sentiment, and, beyond that, a hint of originality and tasteful aloofness.

Moreover, what passes for “novelty” in his rustic style in later generations hardly counts as such in the Tang, which has only just emerged from an era where rural simplicity was the norm.

What was the fashion during the Wei and Jin periods? What was their aesthetic ideal?

It was the age of mad, eccentric scholars—a time when a true man of letters would be embarrassed to call himself such if he hadn’t retreated to the mountains to savor the delights of the countryside, to live in a humble thatched cottage and sleep on a bamboo bed.

In the Tang, the spirit of Wei and Jin had not faded.

From the lines of the poets to the prevailing culture of wandering knights, everything reflected this legacy.

And perhaps what the jaded elite, weary of endless feasting and luxury, lacked most was this very touch of fresh, unworldly simplicity.

After all, taste, whether ancient or modern, always finds its admirers.

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Having made up his mind, Wu Ning now had only to consider how best to spend his last string of coins.

So he began making rounds throughout the village and the southern and northern parts of the city.

He started scavenging!

If Seventh Brother’s house had a rotting stump meant for firewood, or Fifth Uncle’s home had a cracked, discarded jar—he took them all, leaving nothing behind.

He didn’t even spare the pig trough in Old Ancestor’s courtyard, nor the two stone mortars, one large, one small.

He hauled them home, filled the pig trough with soil, planted a row of wildflowers, and set it beneath the window.

The stone mortar was even easier: the large one became a water feature, where he threw in some lotus seeds and two tiny fish. In a few months, when the lotus bloomed and the fish swam among the leaves, it would be a lovely sight.

At first, everyone thought Wu Ning was simply making a mess, driven mad by poverty, cluttering his home with junk.

But gradually, they realized something was different.

This fellow seemed to have a magician’s touch—the useless scraps no one wanted were transformed in his hands and began to look quite impressive.

Take the bed Wu Ning made, for example; it truly stunned Sixth Uncle.

He had dragged back a dead tree from the mountain, cut it into four posts still wrapped in bark, joined them together, laid a bedboard, and fashioned what he called a “headboard.”

To be honest, Sixth Uncle had never seen such an ugly bed—so ugly, words failed him.

But Wu Ning was thoroughly pleased, urging him to give it a coat of tung oil.

“Ninth Boy!” Sixth Uncle was at a loss. “I know times are tough, but do you really have to make do like this?”

“If you want, I have some wood at home. I could make you a proper bed—surely better than this.”

The boy’s plight was so pitiable that even Sixth Uncle couldn’t bear to watch.

“No need!” Wu Ning refused. “This is just fine. Just smooth it out and give it a polish.”

With a sigh, Sixth Uncle gave in.

But once the oil was brushed on, Sixth Uncle was astonished—how could it look so different?

The same ramshackle bed of bark-covered logs, but under the gleaming tung oil, the battered wood seemed almost magical; the bark gleamed with an unaccustomed luster, the grain of the wood more vivid than ever.

Even someone as rough as Sixth Uncle found it pleasing to look at, more attractive the more he gazed.

“This… This is actually pretty good, not bad at all!”

Wu Ning beamed with pride.

The essence of rustic retro style, he thought, doesn’t lie in being as old or as simple as possible.

The true essence is in the appearance—making things seem old, seem simple.

“Seem” is the key.

The contrast between rough wood and glossy new varnish, the careful arrangement of simple, cheap furnishings, the deliberate simplicity—all reveal the owner’s care and a kind of spiritual refinement.

What is true taste?

Wearing gold and silver is for the nouveau riche; a plain suit with no label, secretly tailored by a master, is the mark of true nobility.

Never mind that Wu Ning’s décor was all scavenged—at a glance, one could see the care and thought invested in everything. That was the real selling point.

“We’ll do it just like this!”

Looking at the finished “scrap wood bed,” Wu Ning became all the more certain that his inn could be a profitable venture.

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In the blink of an eye, two months passed, and the Wu household had been utterly transformed.

The courtyard, with its old vines and summer blossoms, fish swimming beneath the walkways, was hardly a farmhouse anymore—more a scenic garden.

Inside, there was no lack of household essentials, all matching the style of that bed, creating an atmosphere both warm and distinctive.

One morning, Wu Ning borrowed the ox cart from Ancestor’s house and, with Wu Li and Wu Qi, made a trip into town.

On the way back, the cart carried a massive tree root, fully seven feet thick by Tang measurements, nearly exhausting the old ox.

When they arrived, Wu Ning called on Sixth and Fifth Uncles, as well as Seventh Brother and the others digging the vegetable cellar in the backyard. It took ten people to finally haul the root into the courtyard.

As they paused to catch their breath, Sixth Uncle circled the root three times.

“A fine piece! Where did you get it?”

Wu Ning grinned, clearly delighted with his windfall.

“There’s a new guesthouse being built for officials from the capital. This was cut from one of the main beams.”

He wiped the cut surface vigorously with his sleeve. “Look at this—golden-threaded nanmu, all knotted with burls, genuine ‘ghost-face’ grain!”

“Excellent!” Sixth Uncle echoed, rubbing at the grain as well.

“Once it’s polished and lacquered, it’ll make a perfect round table for the courtyard.”

Wu Ning smacked his lips in admiration.

A golden-threaded nanmu tea table, over a meter and a half thick, with the finest ghost-face grain—what would this be worth in later generations?

Alas, for now, it was destined to be nothing more than a courtyard table.

“Leave it to me!”

Sixth Uncle’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. After working for Wu Ning these past two months, he had grown skilled in Wu Ning’s methods—and even a little addicted.

In the past, woodworking was about inheriting the same family trade—good, but repetitive, endlessly so.

But in these two months, for the first time, Sixth Uncle felt something akin to creativity.

The only pity was that Wu Ning’s renovations were almost complete; this tree root would be his final project. After that, he feared there would be no more such work.

His newfound skill for transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary would have nowhere left to shine.

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