Chapter 102: Old Man, Take a Look at This

As it turned out, Pang Jiajia really did have a knack for this kind of thing.

The old man had only demonstrated it twice, and she had already managed to weave a cockroach.

Although it wasn’t as refined as the one the old man had made, it was still quite impressive.

At the very least, Xu Ming thought it looked great.

After all, while the old man was teaching Pang Jiajia, bored Xu Ming had been watching and trying to learn too.

The first time, he managed to tangle his own hands.

The second time, he snapped the bamboo strip.

In short, it looked easy enough—just twisting and weaving the bamboo back and forth.

But in reality, it was ridiculously hard.

His brain understood it, but his hands? Not a chance.

He just couldn’t get the hang of it.

It was exhausting.

So Xu Ming simply gave up.

Bored, he squatted down and pulled out his phone to continue reading the face-slapping CEO novel that Feng Xiao had recommended.

“Young lady, you’re pretty clever with your hands,” the old man said.

“When I taught my son this craft, it took him three to five tries before he got it right.”

“That’s because you taught me so carefully, Grandpa,” Pang Jiajia replied earnestly, her tone humble.

“You’re young, but not arrogant or impatient. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, girl.”

“You there, young man, you’d better make sure to nurture this kid properly.”

“Mm-hmm, I will,” Xu Ming nodded.

Seeing Xu Ming glued to his phone, unwilling to look away, the old man sighed and muttered under his breath.

“These young folks nowadays, really ruined by their phones.”

“Every single day, it’s like they want to move into their phones and live there.”

“What’s so great about that thing? Watching it while eating, while on the toilet, even while sleeping.”

“Day after day, all that time just wasted on a phone.”

“Sigh…”

It was hard to tell whether that final sigh was for Xu Ming or for the old man’s own children.

“Grandpa, you’re not wrong—but you’re not entirely right either.”

“Phones, you see, it depends on how you use them.”

“If you’re just scrolling videos or reading novels, then yeah, a whole day can slip by just like that.”

“But if you use it to study, to practice problems, that’s still a day.”

“If you use it to do business or start a venture, that’s also a day.”

“No matter how busy a day is, if someone really wants to, they can put the phone down.”

“In the end, it all comes down to the individual.” Xu Ming locked his phone screen and squatted beside the old man, continuing their chat.

“This bamboo weaving skill of mine—it’s been passed down in my family.”

“My grandfather, my father, their whole generation made a living off this craft.”

“But when it came to my son’s generation, he said, ‘What’s the point of learning this stuff?’”

“Technology’s advanced now. If people want bamboo products, they can just buy machine-made ones.”

“They’re prettier and cheaper.”

“Who’s got the time to spend a bunch of money on a handwoven piece that took you days to make?”

“So he started learning, then gave up. Said he was going out to work instead.”

“After he left, I thought I’d teach the craft to my grandson.”

“But the kid’s always glued to his phone, either playing games or watching videos. No matter what, he just won’t learn bamboo weaving from me.”

“Young man, tell me—does bamboo weaving really have no future anymore?”

“It’s still considered an ICH¹ (Intangible Cultural Heritage) skill, after all.”

“How is it that with society’s progress, this craft is on the verge of extinction? Sigh…”

As he spoke, the old man couldn’t help but sigh again.

“Grandpa, what’s ICH?” Pang Jiajia asked curiously.

“ICH stands for Intangible Cultural Heritage. It refers to skills or traditional cultural expressions passed down through generations by various ethnic groups. It also includes related objects and places.”

“Besides my bamboo weaving, there’s Chinese paper cutting, guqin² music, calligraphy, Peking opera³, Kunqu opera⁴, embroidery, oil-paper umbrella making, straw weaving, tie-dye, wood carving, flower twisting, seal carving, papermaking, and so on—there are tons of them.”

“Grandpa, does Da Tie Hua⁵ count?” Xu Ming asked.

“Of course it counts. Da Tie Hua, lion dancing, all of those do.”

“Then Grandpa, take a look at this.”

Xu Ming opened his short video app and pulled up a few creators he followed, showing their videos to the old man.

In the videos, there were people still practicing handmade papermaking, ink crafting, and oil-paper umbrella making.

There were those who traveled far to learn wood carving and seal carving from masters.

There were lion dance performers and Kunqu opera singers continuing the tradition.

And there were beautiful young women becoming content creators, learning Da Tie Hua, sugar painting, velvet flower making⁶, tea ceremony, fish lantern crafting⁷, kite making, lantern rolling⁸, and straw weaving…

“This…”

“See that, Grandpa?”

“This is the ICH inheritance you were talking about.”

“Yes, society is advancing, and many things are being forgotten.”

“Some are even on the brink of disappearing.”

“But there are always people who persist, who hold on to their passion.”

“Phones are just a medium. They can spread people’s love and dedication to ICH far and wide—across the country, even across the world.”

“So I think, next time you’re doing bamboo weaving, you could have your grandson use his phone to livestream or make a video.”

“That way, not only can you sell your products online, but you can also promote bamboo weaving culture. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“But livestreaming and all that… I don’t know how,” the old man said, clearly tempted but still confused by the unfamiliar.

“No worries, Grandpa. Do you have a phone number? Give it to me.”

“When I’ve got time, I’ll come visit your place and take a look at this livestreaming thing.”

“Phone number? Sure, wait a sec, I’ll get it for you.”

With that, the old man pulled out an old-school flip phone from his pocket and handed it over.

Xu Ming was momentarily stunned, then took the Nokia, entered his own number, called it, and then hung up.

He saved the old man’s number.

“Alright, Grandpa. When I’m planning to visit, I’ll give you a call first.”

“Sounds good. Call ahead, and I’ll meet you at the village entrance.”

After Xu Ming and Pang Jiajia left the stall, she turned to him and asked, “Brother, are you really going to visit Grandpa’s house?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

“Because when we were chatting earlier, he said everyone in their village is a craftsman.”

“Some do bamboo weaving, some do wood carving, some do tie-dye, some make lanterns.”

“So I figured, since I’ve got nothing better to do, why not find some free time later and trick—uh, I mean, get a little investment from my dad, and try setting up some development projects in their village?”

“Forget it, telling a little kid like you won’t make any difference.”

“Just know that your brother is doing something proper.” Xu Ming.

“Oh, okay then.” Pang Jiajia nodded and didn’t ask further.

What Xu Ming didn’t say was that the real reason he wanted to do this was just to find a legitimate excuse to get some money out of his Scumbag Dad.

The more he spent, the less his wicked stepmother and illegitimate brother would get.

And coincidentally, he actually had a bit of genuine interest in ICH preservation.

And it just so happened he had the time.

Of course he had to take advantage of the moment and stir things up a little.

“When I plan to visit the old man’s village, I’ll ask your director in advance and see if I can bring you along.”

“I can tell you’re really interested in this stuff—and you’ve got talent too.”

“Who knows, maybe one day you’ll become a renowned ICH inheritor.”

Xu Ming said it casually, just offhand.

But what he didn’t expect was that, years later, Pang Jiajia would truly become exactly what he said—a highly skilled and versatile ICH inheritor…

But that’s a story for another time.

“Really? That sounds great!” Pang Jiajia nodded eagerly, clearly intrigued.

Translator’s Notes