He didn’t know that ships of that era had very small length-to-width ratios. For example, the Song dynasty ship “Nanhai No.1” salvaged from the sea was over 26 meters long and more than 10 meters wide, with a length-to-width ratio of about 2.5:1. But the ship he built had a length-to-width ratio close to 7:1, spindle-shaped, streamlined all over. Such a design might look elegant by modern standards, but it didn’t fit the aesthetic of this era.

“I need a few boatmen,” Henry Clark interjected, “Going upstream, the children can’t handle it, but we need to get the boat back. Who among you is available? I’ll hire him.”

A man dressed as a poleman (captain) jumped onto the boat, swaying left and right to feel the boat’s stability, and was immediately even more astonished: “This boat is steady... No wonder, even a few clueless kids could sail it here to Qishui.”

Henry Clark stood at the stern, smiling. A boatman on the shore coughed dryly, then turned to chat with the children: “Where are you from? We can’t travel at night, let’s leave tomorrow, how about it?”

“We’re from Chengjia’ao,” the children replied, then turned their faces to Henry Clark. Henry Clark followed up, “Then let’s stay here. Is there a place to rest near the dock? ... Fifty wen per person, travel together, come back at dusk, and no wandering off.”

The children cheered. The poleman in his forties stopped his inspection and asked in surprise, “Chengjia’ao? Even that tiny village of ten households is messing with boats now?”

Henry Clark was filled with a sense of failure. He finally understood that even the simplest boat was a technical job to operate. Without the help of boatmen, maybe the boat couldn’t even make it back to the starting point—going upstream required even more skill. He sighed and walked out from the stern, muttering helplessly to himself, “Wrong, looks like I was wrong... Hmm, you’ve seen the boat, how much do you want for the job?”

The boatmen looked at Henry Clark in confusion. One young boatman tugged at the poleman’s sleeve and whispered, “Chengjia’ao, I heard there’s a new teacher there. My wife mentioned it before. Could this scholar be him?”

Henry Clark didn’t answer, instead looking at the boatmen in puzzlement. But the children jumped in first: “How do you know our teacher’s name?”

Tsk! This question only confirmed the boatmen’s guess.

Because Henry Clark’s background was mysterious, Adam Brooks had long ago issued a gag order to the entire Cheng clan, forbidding anyone from talking about Henry Clark in front of outsiders. Henry Clark knew about Adam Brooks’s order, which was why he was confused—information shouldn’t spread so quickly in ancient times!

The poleman immediately cupped his hands respectfully to Henry Clark, keeping his hands crossed in front of his chest, and replied respectfully, “My neighbor’s daughter married into Chengjia’ao last year, and gave birth at the beginning of this year. The neighbor’s mother-in-law went to help with the delivery. She said Chengjia’ao hired a teacher, a very capable one, who’s helping the Cheng clan plan for the future... So it’s you, sir. My respects.”

The poleman was “singing a promise”—a kind of etiquette, bowing while offering greetings and blessings, similar to the Japanese bowing and saying “hai.” “Keeping hands crossed in front of the chest” was also a Song dynasty custom, meaning to naturally cross and fold the hands in front of the chest, often done while listening to show respect.

Henry Clark shook his head: sure enough, paper can’t wrap fire. As time went on, he would inevitably be mentioned by outsiders more and more. Continuing to “be cautious in word and deed” was no longer useful; now he needed a new identity.

What identity should he use?

Henry Clark stepped ashore and wandered aimlessly down the street. The poleman hurried to guide him, leading him to an inn. Along the way, all sorts of people hurried home in the twilight. But there was a strange person: an old man, looking a bit crazy, who had no intention of going home. He kept grabbing passersby’s sleeves—regardless of status—and chattered with them. Some people stopped to talk, others shook him off and left.

The children noticed Henry Clark watching and, being curious and unrestrained, spoke up before Henry Clark could. Brooks the Fifth’s son Ryan Brooks pointed at the crazy old man and asked the boatmen, “Who’s that? What’s wrong with him?”

The poleman glanced over, then quickly led the children into an alley, answering casually as they walked, “Nothing much, that old man is a guest of Dr. Parker. He often comes to Xishui, and every time he acts crazy in the streets, grabbing passersby and asking them to tell ghost stories.

When people finish their stories and have nothing left to tell, he still says, ‘Just make one up’... Eventually, everyone started avoiding him. Only those who don’t know get caught by him... Ah, he must be getting someone to tell him ghost stories again.”

Henry Clark paused for a moment, wanting to look back, but quickly caught up with the children.

Isn’t this the Song dynasty’s Pu Songling? ... Oh, no, Pu Songling was from the Qing dynasty. He must have imitated this man’s behavior in the Qing—who is this person? Is he famous? Why would Pu Songling imitate him?

Fifth Chapter: Misguided Customs

The next day, the boat set off. The people on the shore grew more and more distant. That man, as if he hadn’t gone home the night before, was still on the street asking for ghost stories. From a distance, his face was no longer clear, but in the morning light, his dew-soaked, crazy figure looked especially lonely and desolate.

For the rest of the journey, Henry Clark kept thinking about how to arrange his identity. By the time he returned to Chengjia’ao, all he remembered from the trip was that lonely figure—the scenery on both banks had faded from memory.