Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

Chapter 286 The Printing Technique

It was the ninth day of the fifth month in the third year of the Qiming era. Summer had begun, and the locust trees in Chang'an were in full bloom, filling the city with a faint, sweet fragrance.

In Chongwenfang, southeast of the city, a new plaque has been hung at the entrance of a three-courtyard house, bearing the three characters "Yinshuju" (Printing Bureau). The characters are in the imperial handwriting, personally inscribed by Chen Xing. On either side of the plaque hangs a lantern, which is lit even in broad daylight, as if to proclaim: here, the lights are always on, day and night.

In a side room at the far end of the courtyard, Lin Wan'er was leaning over a long table, her brows slightly furrowed.

On the table were two stacks of paper. The stack on the left was a sample copy of the woodblock-printed primer "Enlightenment Primer," with clear characters and a neat layout, but the pages were yellowed and the ink was of varying shades. The stack on the right was the same book, printed using the same paper, but the characters were slightly lighter, some strokes were missing, and several pages were stained with ink and blurred together.

"This is the third batch," said an elderly man in his fifties behind Lin Wan'er, his head bowed, his voice full of frustration, "It's still not working."

The old man's surname was Wei, and his given name was Pu. He was said to come from a family of printing masters from the previous dynasty, with several generations of his ancestors being renowned engravers. When the previous dynasty fell, he fled to Guanzhong and lived in anonymity in the countryside for twenty years. Only last year, when the Ministry of Education posted a notice recruiting talented individuals, did he dare to show his face. Lin Wan'er personally tested his skills—his engraving was fast and precise; with each stroke, the characters were as sharp as if cut by a knife, without the slightest hesitation. But when the "new methods" were mentioned, he waved his hands repeatedly, saying that they were "heretical and crooked practices," things not passed down from their ancestors, and that he couldn't touch them.

Lin Wan'er did not insist. She simply asked Wei Pu to continue printing elementary textbooks using woodblock printing, and set up a separate courtyard for several young craftsmen to work on the "new method".

After tinkering for half a year, all I produced was this pile of waste paper.

Lin Wan'er picked up a piece of paper stained with ink and examined it closely against the window light. Where did the ink come from? After looking at it for a while, she suddenly pointed to a blurry mark on the edge of the paper: "This is... this printing plate wasn't laid flat?"

A young craftsman approached, examined the work carefully for a moment, and blushed slightly. "Your Highness, it's...it's because the movable type wasn't properly secured. It loosened during printing, and the ink spilled out."

"The typeface wasn't properly secured," Lin Wan'er repeated, then looked up at the young craftsman. "How many times have you tried to fix this?"

The young craftsman lowered his head and stammered, "I've tried... I've tried dozens of times. Every time I manage to get it tight, it comes loose again as soon as I press it."

Lin Wan'er didn't blame him. After a moment of silence, she suddenly asked, "What kind of material cards did you use?"

"Bamboo strips," the young craftsman replied, "shaved into thin wedges and inserted between the movable type. But bamboo strips are elastic; they spring open when pressed and don't hold firmly."

Lin Wan'er nodded, her gaze shifting to the pile of movable type on the table. It was made of clay, each piece about an inch square, engraved with characters written in reverse, and fired until hard. Clay movable type was a method someone had tried in the previous dynasty; it was said to be reusable and a hundred times more flexible than woodblock printing. However, the record left by that person was incomplete, only stating that "movable type is easy to move, but difficult to form into printing blocks," and then nothing more.

"Bamboo strips won't do," Lin Wan'er said slowly. "Then let's try something else."

The young craftsman was stunned: "Change...change what?"

Lin Wan'er thought for a moment and asked, "Have you tried using iron plates?"

The sheet metal arrived quickly.

When the blacksmiths of the Military Works Bureau heard that the printing house needed iron sheets, they immediately forged dozens of them overnight. They were as thin as bamboo strips, but much harder and had no elasticity.

The young craftsman carefully arranged the movable type, secured it with iron plates, then inked it, laid out the paper, and pressed it flat.

The moment the paper was lifted, everyone held their breath.

On the paper, the writing is clear, the strokes are complete, there are no missing edges, and there is no ink smudge.

The young craftsman stared blankly at the paper, his hands trembling slightly. He turned and looked at Lin Wan'er.

Lin Wan'er also looked at the paper. She didn't smile, but simply nodded slightly.

"Print one more copy."

The second one is just as clear.

The third one is just as clear.

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth—

When the tenth sheet was printed, one of the characters began to blur. The young craftsman took a closer look and saw that the edge of the movable type had become stained with ink and had thickened, making it loose from the adjacent type card.

The joy on his face faded, and he lowered his head again.

Lin Wan'er walked over, looked at the character "活" (huó, meaning "alive" or "living"), paused for a moment, and said, "Take it out, wash it, polish it, and it can still be used."

The young craftsman paused for a moment, then suddenly looked up.

"Your Highness, you mean... this thing can be repaired?"

Lin Wan'er looked at him calmly.

"Living characters, living characters. Characters are alive, and so are people. If they're broken, repair them; if they're no longer suitable, replace them. That's what living characters are all about."

On June 15th, in a side room in the backyard of the printing house, the first batch of books printed using the "new method" officially came out.

It was a thin booklet with only twenty-odd pages. It contained the "Thousand Character Classic"—the first volume of elementary school textbooks. It had a small number of characters, making it perfect for practicing.

Lin Wan'er personally turned to the first page and examined it closely in the window light. The handwriting was clear, the ink even, and the paper clean. She turned to the second page, the third page, the fourth page—all the way to the last page; not a single page was blurry, not a single ink stain.

She closed the book and remained silent for a long time.

No one in the room dared to utter a sound. Wei Pu stood in the corner, his expression complex. For the past six months, he had been printing elementary textbooks using woodblock printing, managing only a few dozen pages a day, his hands calloused from the effort. Meanwhile, those young craftsmen, using that "unorthodox method," printed three hundred pages a day—three hundred pages! And every single one was crystal clear!

"Master Wei," Lin Wan'er suddenly spoke, "come and take a look."

Wei Pu paused for a moment, then stepped forward and took the thin book. He flipped through it once, then again, and by the third time, his hands began to tremble.

"This...this was really printed using movable type?"

The young craftsman couldn't help but say, "Master Wei, you saw us print it with your own eyes, how could it be fake?"

Wei Pu ignored him. He simply held the book, turning it over and over, his gaze lingering on the clear handwriting. After a while, he suddenly sighed.

"I'm old," he said. "I'm decrepit."

Lin Wan'er looked at him and said gently, "Master Wei, woodblock printing has its advantages. For large-format illustrations, documents with fixed formats, and classics that need to be preserved for a long time, woodblock printing is still the most reliable. Movable type also has its uses. Both of these things have their strengths, and neither is superior to the other."

Wei Pu was stunned for a moment, then looked up at the young yet composed woman.

"Your Highness, you...you really think so?"

Lin Wan'er nodded.

"Your Majesty often says that things in the world are not simply a matter of either/or. If something can be done in parallel, then it should be done in parallel; if something can be complementary, then it should be complementary. Whether it's woodblock printing or movable type, the goal is to enable people to read books. The more people who can read books, the more benefits there are."

Wei Pu remained silent for a moment, then suddenly bowed deeply.

"This old man...has learned a great deal."

In early July, the first batch of "Enlightenment Primer" printed with movable type was officially released.

Five thousand copies were transported to official schools in five cities: Chang'an, Luoyang, Bianzhou, Suzhou, and Chengdu. In the backyard of the printing house, a dozen young craftsmen worked in shifts day and night, typesetting, printing, and binding, so busy that their feet barely touched the ground, but they all had smiles on their faces.

Wei Pu also came. He wasn't there to steal the work—he couldn't handle the delicate typesetting anymore. He just sat in the courtyard every day, watching the young people busy themselves, occasionally offering a word or two of advice: "That '之' character, it's upside down, turn it around." "Too much ink, use less."

The young people were a little awkward at first, but they got used to it over time. Although Master Wei was old-fashioned, his skills were genuine. A single word of advice could save half a day of work.

In mid-August, news came from the official school in Luoyang that the new textbooks had been distributed to the students in sufficient quantities, with each child having their own copy, so that several children no longer had to share one book.

In early September, news came from Bianzhou: the new textbooks were printed clearly, much better than the blurry copies of the past, and the children were learning to read much faster.

At the end of October, news came from Suzhou: booksellers rushed over upon hearing the news, willing to pay a high price for books printed with movable type, but were politely refused by the official school. However, after the news spread, several bookstores asked through intermediaries whether they could also ask the printing bureau to help print books, paying the market price.

Upon seeing the report, Lin Wan'er remained silent for a moment, then picked up her brush and wrote a line of comments:

"Approved. The fee will be 50% of the official price, and the proceeds will go to the printing bureau to purchase movable type and recruit artisans. Consort Shu."

She put down her pen and looked out the window.

Outside the window, the lights in the printing house's backyard shone from dusk till late at night, and then from late at night till dawn. The dozen or so young craftsmen worked in shifts, and not one of them complained of being tired.

She suddenly remembered when she first arrived in Chang'an last year, the Emperor had said to her, "I'm giving you a printing press. Print the books so that everyone in the world can read them. Can you do that?"

She said at the time, "I will do my best."

Now, she can speak.

done.

The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month is the Little New Year.

After reviewing the last batch of memorials in the Wenhua Hall, Chen Xing suddenly remembered something and asked Jia Wen, who was standing beside him, "How many books did the printing bureau print this year?"

Jia Wen was prepared and took out a folded document from his sleeve, presenting it with both hands.

Chen Xing opened the book, and lines of numbers jumped into his eyes:

Elementary school textbooks: 38,000 copies.

The Thousand Character Classic: 21,000 copies.

The Hundred Family Surnames: 19,000 volumes.

The Analects (excerpt): 12,000 copies.

Enlightenment and Governance (Abridged Edition): 8,000 copies.

Textbooks for various subjects, agricultural books, medical books, and legal codes: a total of 54,000 volumes.

Total: 152,000 copies.

Chen Xing stared at the number and remained silent for a long time.

"150,000 copies," he murmured, "enough for several hundred copies to be distributed to each county."

Jia Wen smiled slightly: "Your Majesty, this is only the first year. Next year, the printing bureau will have more movable type and more manpower, printing 200,000 copies will be no problem. The year after that, 300,000 copies. Ten years later, one million copies."

Chen Xing looked up at him.

"Prime Minister Jia, tell me, what will the world be like a hundred years from now?"

Jia Wen thought for a moment and slowly said, "This old minister cannot guess. But this old minister knows that a hundred years from now, there will still be children reading the books printed today, recognizing the characters engraved today, and thinking about the people and events of today. They may not remember our names, but they will remember—there was once an era when books were no longer so rare."

Chen Xing did not respond.

He simply stood up, walked to the window, and opened it.

Outside the window, the myriad lights of Chang'an stretched as far as the eye could see, like scattered stars. The lights were particularly bright in the direction of the printing house, and shadowy figures could be vaguely seen moving about.

"Books are no longer so rare," he repeated softly, "and people are no longer so rare either."

A cold wind swept by, fluttering his clothes.

The lights of Wenhua Hall reflected his profile, casting a long shadow on the window paper.