Chapter Seventy-Five: Reviving Tang in the Wilderness, Silent Nourishment (Part Two)

The present city of Chang’an was constructed under the command of Emperor Yang of Sui. With the Grand Canal excavated, one can only imagine the scale of Daxing City. It was truly vast—larger even than the later city of Xi’an, with a considerable population. The entirety of Yongzhou boasted over two million inhabitants, and within Chang’an itself there were more than a million citizens. If one included the transient population, it was a number unimaginable to the people of other nations in this world.

Yet despite this, the northern wards were densely populated, while the southern wards were sparsely inhabited. Along the main street from Zhuque Gate to Mingde Gate, the situation was somewhat better, but in the southwestern wards—Yongyang, Heping, and Chang’an—they resembled the outskirts, and historical records exaggerated tales of roaming leopards and wolves. In truth, creatures like weasels and wild foxes were quite common. The southeast fared a bit better, benefiting from the proximity to Qujiang Pond, yet compared to the north, it too felt desolate.

Li Wei selected a site for soaking bamboo in the southeastern Xiuzheng Ward, not far from the Great Ci’en Temple and separated from the Jiang family’s Shengping Ward by only one cultivation ward. This allowed him to tend to the process at any time. Xiuzheng Ward itself had the advantage of Huang Canal, with a small channel extending from Qujiang Pond. Papermaking required far more water than crops.

Xiuzheng Ward was itself quite lonely; because of the canal, the south bordered Qujiang Pond, and there were many trees, while the rest was made up of fields where citizens grew vegetables and grains. There was also a scenic spot—the banquet for newly-appointed scholars, held within the ward. Near the canal stood several stone pavilions and flower gardens, attracting scholars who visited for leisure.

The bamboo soaking site was not far from the scholar’s banquet, and occasionally a few students would wander over, baffled by the sight and left guessing.

The pools were divided into more than ten sections. They knew to use tender bamboo, but not precisely how tender it should be. The difference in tenderness affected the fibers and thus the quality of the paper. Bamboo fibers made the paper very thin, but there was a drawback—high brittleness. If the right tender bamboo was not chosen, the paper would tear easily, which was less than ideal.

Testing it by hand, Bi’er exclaimed joyfully, “Your Highness, the bamboo is soft now.”

“Mm,” Li Wei replied. The bamboo had been soaking for over forty days; it was time for it to soften, since it wasn’t mature bamboo. He felt some regret, having left for Luoyang a bit early—if he’d waited another month or two, he could have brought the new paper to Luoyang, gaining more credit for himself.

Li Xian, skeptical, stared at the tender bamboo submerged in water. “Brother, do you really think this bamboo can be made into paper?”

“It can, and it will be very thin. The production cost is also extremely low.”

Thinness alone made it cheap, and as for materials—bamboo—how much was there throughout the Tang Dynasty? In some southern regions, whole mountains were covered with bamboo. Li Xian was thinking further: with thinner, cheaper paper, more people would be able to read. And with thinner paper, books would be less bulky—take the Classic of Poetry, which, even when written in tiny script, was very thick. Thin books would be easier to carry.

And the benefits didn’t end there.

Consider printing: currently, woodblock printing was costly. Carving a stone slab with characters—if a single character was wrong or the chisel slipped, the slab was ruined. Carving so many characters on a slab took immense labor, and after one print, the slab was no longer useful.

Paper was expensive; few could afford books, so the number of printed books was limited, making costs even higher. But with thin paper, costs dropped, and more people would buy books. The possibility of block printing increased.

Li Wei even considered movable type printing using copper plates, but feared being accused of heresy, so he restrained himself—otherwise, books would be even cheaper.

For Tang Dynasty culture, this would be a milestone; Li Wei believed its significance surpassed even Tao Yuanming’s “Peach Blossom Spring.”

Li Xian remained doubtful, pacing before finally asking, “Brother, are you sure it can produce thin paper?”

“I’m certain,” Li Wei replied. It was due to the bamboo fibers; it would be hard not to make thin paper.

“Brother, where did you get this idea—from some ancient book?”

Li Wei’s experiments with new crops at the imperial manor had become known, which was easy to explain—“The Essential Techniques for the People” recorded many such methods. But papermaking with bamboo?

“It’s rather strange—I recall the day we went to the Eastern Market together, do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“That day, Wei Siwen spoke disrespectfully to Father and Mother, which I found very offensive,” he said, trampling Wei Siwen’s reputation. What could he do? Even if he hadn’t done it, his parents would have heard of it. And even then, they might have only laughed; the people in the wards bore grudges against his mother, but as for her—

That thought wasn’t quite right; later, the empire was rife with informants, and wasn’t this part of it? The resentment existed, but Wu Zetian kept it to herself, never acting on it.

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He continued, “Later, we went to that paper shop and saw all kinds of paper. Suddenly, an image appeared in my mind: I saw the Emperor Taizong, Father, and Mother standing before rows of bamboo. The tender bamboo was placed in water, then transformed into sheets of thin, white paper.”

White paper was not guaranteed; without the technology from “The Exploitation of the Works of Nature” and the addition of lime, the initial bamboo paper would be brittle and yellowish.

Li Xian exclaimed in surprise, “Are you saying Heaven, seeing Taizong and our parents’ virtue, granted you this inspiration?”

“But—but,” Bi’er grew anxious; this was clearly the crown prince’s achievement—if it was said this way, the credit would go to the emperor and empress. As for Taizong, his merits were already far too great.

“But what? It’s the truth,” Li Wei replied gravely.

People at that time were superstitious, and this story would spread—most would believe it. It wouldn’t fool his parents, especially his mother. She might think he had acquired the method elsewhere, and thus the credit would be transferred to her and his father.

Was this wrong?

Perhaps not. A mother who loved fame, who even insisted on participating in the Fengshan ceremony, would be most pleased.

Li Xian looked skeptically at his elder brother, opened his mouth, but said nothing. He decided to wait two months until the new paper was produced before speaking further.

After watching for a while, Li Wei said, “Let’s go beyond the city for another look.”

At the imperial manor, the seedling rows were well tended. Two tenant farmers were even assigned to catch pests on the leaves, and as for the sparrows that might eat them, they were chased away at any distance. In truth, farmers came daily to observe.

The manor’s staff knew better than to interfere—these farmers helped, curious to see how much grain the crown prince’s new method would yield.

The seedlings grew well; soon they had three leaves, and under the warm late spring breeze, flourished robustly.

The steward said, “Your Highness, the seedlings are thriving.”

“Mm,” Li Wei agreed. There was a clear comparison: other fields had sorghum seedlings with three or four leaves, but the ones in these small plots were much taller. Wouldn’t they be? One person subsists on porridge and salted radish; another eats beef and drinks milk—the difference speaks for itself.

The steward added, “But, Your Highness, wasn’t the transplanting a bit sparse?”

This steward, who managed the manor’s operations, was skilled in agriculture. Such fine seedlings, wasted by sparse planting, would be a pity.

Li Wei regarded him and said, “There’s another method—these seedlings are plentiful. We could experiment: plant them even more sparsely, or more densely, to see which spacing yields the best results.”

The seeds were different; later generations wouldn’t have such careful cultivation—the difference would be the use of fertilizer. Now, fertilizer was applied liberally, so there was no shortage. But the seeds themselves raised doubts: if the later spacing didn’t suit these seeds, what then?

The steward hesitated.

Li Wei reassured him, “Don’t worry. I care not for fame, but for practical cultivation methods. If the people can harvest better, even if only a dou more per mu, what impact would that have for the court?”

“Understood!”

Seeing the manor staff so attentive, Li Wei felt reassured and glanced at the main fields. They were beginning to dry; the vetch and wormwood had decayed, but the bean stalks weren’t fully rotted, leaving withered brown stems.

Yet, because of the green manure’s decay, the exposed earth gleamed with a dark oily sheen.

At least the land was fertile now.

---

This was the true hope of the Great Tang. Gazing at these dozen acres, Li Wei grew pensive, thinking of the empire’s strength; in truth, he felt little desire—so very little—to escape…

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“Li Sister, why have you grown so thin in just a few days?” Pei Yuhé asked.

“Hé Sister, I was disgusted with other men that day, so I let the crown prince carry me—was that wrong?” Xu Li asked.

For half a month, the capital had been abuzz about the incident at Mount Zhongnan, where the crown prince was attacked. Helan Minzhi was like a rat crossing the street—no need to mention him. The main targets of criticism were Yang Min and Xu Li; people said she was thoughtless, for the crown prince’s health was frail, and under such circumstances, to let him carry her was an affront to the reputation of the virtuous and affectionate Xu Hui.

Xu Consort also played coy. Consider her poem: “In the morning before the mirror stand, dressing done, I linger and hesitate; a thousand gold buys a smile, but a summons cannot bring me forth.”

Taizong sent someone to summon her; other concubines would be delighted, but she showed a touch of obstinacy. In ancient times, a thousand gold bought a smile—now, was the emperor to expect her to come at a mere summons?

But she took the broader view. In Taizong’s later years, when he embarked on grand construction and campaigns against Goguryeo, she wrote a memorial urging him to cease war and end labor: “...Thus, humble palaces and plain fare are what bring peace to a sage king; golden houses and jade terraces only delight the proud. The ruler who follows the way finds pleasure for his people; the ruler without the way seeks pleasure for himself… If laws are made in frugality, one still fears extravagance; if laws are made in extravagance, what can restrain excess?”

Her literary skill and reasoning rivaled Wei Zheng’s famous “Memorial of Ten Reflections to Taizong.”

Compared to that, Xu Li fell far short.

But Tang was an open era—even the emperor and empress could be discussed, and scholars might tease with poetry, let alone a minor figure like Xu Li. With so much gossip, she dared not go out.

Pei Yuhé thought for a moment and said, “I don’t really know, but the situation was truly dangerous at the time.”

Her words were a gentle rebuke, essentially saying Xu Li was wrong.

“I—I—I don’t know either. It’s just that when I see the crown prince, I—I want to be close to him,” Xu Li struggled to voice her feelings, then burst into tears.

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“Big Black, Little Black, we’re leaving now,” Bi’er said reluctantly, gazing at the two circling swallows.

Li Wei comforted her, “It’s only a trip to the Eastern Capital. In two or three months, we may return to the Western Capital. Besides, next year they’ll fly back again.”

“But we won’t see Little Black anymore.”

That was a regret; swallows grew quickly, and if they stayed a while longer, they could watch Big Black and Little Black teach the fledglings to fly. But they couldn’t linger in Chang’an just for that.

“Let’s go,” Li Wei said.

“Mm.”

The group boarded the carriage and began to leave the capital. Yet before the crown prince’s departure, so much had happened that many citizens cared and worried…

PS: At last, the time to meet Old Wu has come. Strictly speaking, this should be the first volume, but this novel isn’t as long as “Talented Scholar,” so I won’t bother dividing it into volumes.