Chapter 101: The Drought Spirit Outshines Fire, Bamboo Paper Delights (Part One)

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June has arrived, and the weather is hot. Actually, the summer heat inside the imperial palace is not too intense. The wooden buildings and the grand scale of each palace—at least the one where Emperor Li Zhi works and rests—provide excellent insulation.

Yet, the heatwave still surged in from the entrance, making it uncomfortable to stand or sit. Even without moving, sweat drenched his body, sticky and stifling.

Two young palace maids held large banana-leaf fans made from bamboo strips, fanning Li Zhi.

Gradually, Li Zhi curled up on the bed and fell asleep.

His health had never been good. Years of disasters had drained his spirit, and he had visibly wasted away, resembling a giant rickety prawn with rickets.

Wu Zetian looked at Li Zhi with pity. He was a good husband and a capable emperor, yet heaven seemed unforgiving. She quietly instructed a eunuch, “Let His Majesty rest well. No matter what happens, do not disturb him.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Wu Zetian then left with Li Shoucheng.

Li Zhi’s mood was heavy, but Wu Zetian’s was even more troubled. It was strange—ever since the year they followed the emperor on the Fengshan ceremony, her complexion had worsened. Almost every year brought disasters. It weighed heavily on her heart. Regardless of protocol, she truly did a lot for the Tang Dynasty in recent years. Even the Empress Dowager Changsun, whom she admired, might not have done as much.

The drought persisted, and a few ministers, including Hao Chujun, could no longer hold back. They submitted multiple memorials requesting the grand rain-making ceremony, the Dayu Festival. They hinted delicately that such disastrous years were rare in history. Prayers were already insufficient, yet the court planned to hold the festival but then stopped. How could heaven not be angered?

The Dayu Festival was a small matter itself, but it was a form of political pressure. If the rain did not come, all contradictions would surface, and they would inevitably use it against her. Their intentions were despicable, yet their words were so tactful that there was no way to refuse.

“Where is the Crown Prince now?” Wu Zetian turned to Li Shoucheng.

As the drought worsened, Wu Zetian grew busier. Daily urgent memorials arrived like snowflakes from all over—from Guannei to Hedong and parts of Henan—demanding grain and supplies. Since Li Zhi’s health was poor, she handled most of the memorials herself, even forgetting to ask about her son.

Her biggest trouble was not this alone. Despite the court’s struggles, many ministers were constantly watching her.

“The Crown Prince has left Shaolin Temple and gone to Guangcheng Marsh.”

“The Crown Prince had fasted at Shaolin Temple for a long time. The guards found it tough but could not hold the fasting ceremony there. Guangcheng Marsh is a good place. Alas, he is a gentle ruler, fond of small acts of kindness and mercy, even considering the guards’ feelings.”

“Yes, His Highness the Crown Prince is very compassionate,” Li Shoucheng replied cautiously, though inwardly he was perplexed by the emperor’s family. The Crown Prince was first extremely disrespectful to his mother, then suddenly changed. The Empress was angry at first, then her attitude shifted. The emperor initially liked his son, but now he seemed somewhat displeased. It seemed his mood changed more quickly than the June weather.

Why the Crown Prince moved from Shaolin Temple to Guangcheng Marsh, Wu Zetian did not say, and Li Shoucheng wisely did not ask.

Wu Zetian then asked, “Is the bamboo paper almost ready?”

“Yes, but Your Majesty, rest assured. I have already instructed the officials of the Ministry of Works to dispatch many craftsmen to assist. There are rumors that bamboo paper will be very cheap, and officials in the Western Capital are paying close attention.”

“Do you think the Crown Prince’s bamboo paper will succeed?”

“I do not know.” Li Shoucheng was secretly worried. After the assassination attempt on Zhongnanshan, all officials in Chang’an thought alike: the former Crown Prince was gentle and had offended few, with hardly anyone resenting him. So it was immediately assumed the assassin was from Helan Minzhi’s faction. Even Wu Zetian accepted this without needing evidence—if you say so, it must be you.

But such a temperament was not good. Di Renjie once hinted to Li Wei that excessive softness meant one could not be supported. If you cannot be supported, how can you be helped? So the Crown Prince’s memorial to the two princesses, combined with his magnificent poetry and understanding of the soldiers, had won Liu Rengui’s favor. Without any of these, Liu Rengui wouldn’t have cast him such admiring glances.

Though a close confidant of Wu Zetian, Li Shoucheng could not hate the Crown Prince.

Wu Zetian’s question made him hesitate. He understood her mood—it was a difficult situation. She had done much for the court and was not exactly bad for the people, but the emperor was uneasy, ministers opposed her, and the populace slandered her. It was very distressing.

Because of the drought, the Empress might even lose her position. Her illness worsened, and she grasped at straws, hoping to use bamboo paper as a righteous cause.

A righteous cause!

Not only must the bamboo truly be made into paper, but it must be cheap enough for most people to afford. Moreover, the quality could be somewhat inferior, no longer needing to match the fine hemp paper from Yizhou, but at least suitable for writing. Only by meeting these conditions could the “righteous cause” succeed.

But since paper was invented, who had managed to make paper that cheap? Many skilled artisans had tried improving paper, but it remained expensive.

Yet, after the Empress promoted the project, the news spread almost everywhere. If it failed, what would become of the Crown Prince?

The odds of success were even lower than that of the grand rain ceremony.

Still, Li Shoucheng dared not say so. He bowed and answered, “I have already instructed them. Once the bamboo paper is produced, we will report to the Eastern Capital as fast as possible.”

“Hmm, come with me. Light the main incense.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

They entered the bedchamber, where various Buddha statues stood. Below each statue lay exquisite bronze incense burners. Li Shoucheng instructed the palace maids to bring incense and lit them in each burner. Wu Zetian held three incense sticks and worshipped before each Buddha, praying.

In the sunlight streaming in, Li Shoucheng noticed tears glistening at the corners of Wu Zetian’s eyes.

The Empress appeared strong—handling so many tasks daily, serving the emperor, like an iron woman who would never fall. Yet how many could understand her bitterness and grievances? Li Shoucheng’s own eyes grew moist.

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“Lady Liu, is the steamer ready today?” Early in the morning, without even asking about state affairs, Dou Zhide came to the Eastern Palace to ask Liu Qun. Behind him were many ministers—Zhang Wengan, Xiao Dezhao, Jiang Ke—all the big shots had come.

Li Wei had no chance to see this. If he had, he would surely have been moved. If such importance was placed on craftsmen, with Chinese ingenuity, perhaps the Four Modernizations would have arrived early, even during the Ming Dynasty.

Of course, it wasn’t just about importance—there were many reasons.

First, the Crown Prince’s identity was like that of the Ming woodworker emperor, Emperor Xizong, whose handmade chairs sold for tens of thousands of strings of cash. The high price was ultimately because he was emperor.

Second, if the bamboo paper was truly as good as rumored, it would benefit all under heaven and fulfill Wu Zetian’s righteous cause.

Third, how this tiny piece of bamboo paper was made somehow affected the state’s political direction.

So Dou Zhide forgot his rank as a minister and addressed Liu Qun as “Lady,” despite her being only a palace maid.

Liu Qun was also uneasy. It was just paper, after all, no matter how good. But the scale was massive. The pools where they worked were guarded day and night by soldiers. There were many visitors—nearly thousands daily—but none were allowed close.

There was an advantage, though. Originally, they wanted to invite some skilled craftsmen for assistance, but now there was no need. Any number and type of craftsmen required were available.

She was truly worried—what if the bamboo paper couldn’t be made?

Actually, her thoughts mirrored Li Xian’s. The paper did not have to be perfect; as long as they could make paper, that would suffice to get by.

Calculating the days, the bamboo and lime had already been steamed for eight days and nights—not in one steamer, but more than twenty. The steaming temperature and lime proportions were unknown to Li Wei, and still needed experimentation.

Yet Dou Zhide and others were very worried.

They had not cared much about papermaking before, but recently, nearly all ministers asked about the process. Not just papermaking—more than half the ministers now knew that some high-grade paper made from rattan or mulberry bark was glazed for shine by cooking materials into a coating, which was then applied, waxed, and polished with coarse cloth or stones. Some scriptures’ paper was dyed yellow with Amur cork tree bark to prevent insect damage.

Only after knowing this did they realize why paper was so expensive—the materials and labor cost were really high.

But no one had heard of steaming with lime before.

Liu Qun was unsure and said hesitantly, “The steamer can be opened today.”

“Then let’s go.”

They specially put Liu Qun in a carriage and headed to Xiuzheng Workshop. From afar, many people were already watching. Upon seeing a long line of carriages, they exclaimed, “Here they come, here they come!”

Many knew today was the steamer opening, so more spectators gathered than before—scholars, commoners, merchants, papermaking workshop owners who had heard the news, and even many noble ladies. It was livelier than the Lantern Festival.

The crowd parted to make way for the convoy. Liu Qun looked at the steamer and said, “Open.”

They opened the steamer. The bamboo was still bamboo. Softening was only a soaking process; it did not turn the bamboo into mush. To fully break it down, the next step was pounding in a mortar. The bamboo would be placed in a stone mortar and struck with a pestle until it became pulp.

After pounding, the pulp was poured into a water trough. Using bamboo screens, the pulp was continuously agitated, forming a thin layer on the screen’s surface. This thin layer was what they aimed to obtain.

These steps were quick.

The craftsmen from the Ministry of Works began pounding the bamboo and pouring the pulp into the trough. Everyone held their breath. If the thin layer formed, it meant paper was produced. The quality was another matter. If it didn’t form, this sensational bamboo papermaking project would become a huge joke.

The craftsmen dipped the bamboo screens into the water troughs, producing a crisp, clear sound. The agitation had to be evenly applied to ensure an even thin layer; otherwise, the paper would be unevenly thick. But that did not matter now—the main goal was just to produce paper, preferably very thin.

Silence fell as all eyes widened, staring at the twenty-plus water troughs. Soon, the first craftsman lifted his bamboo screen out...

(To be continued. For more chapters and to support the author, read the official version at dnovel.)