/
Ch58 - Anew
“Master, this is the newly assembled book,” kneeling before his desk, Zhaoyu merrily presented the book to him.
The Liang Estate’s bookworks, formally established half a month ago, had begun printing new texts. Unlike the scrolls that most people of this era were familiar with, these were neat rectangles of woodblock-printed pages. Zhaoyu’s eyes had lit up in astoundment when she’d first laid eyes on a printing block. Who could’ve imagined that one could create books by carving reversed characters onto wooden blocks?
It was utterly ingenious! Since Zhaoyu was keenly interested in book printing, as she had come from a somewhat impoverished family, and literate, the master had assigned her to the task of inspecting and binding the new books.
Binding a book into a heretofore unseen format was not easy. It had taken Zhaoyu much trial and error, and some advice from her master, before she succeeded. Zhaoyu was confident that there was no better bookbinding method than the one that she’d worked out, and that even her master wouldn’t have any criticisms.
Liang Feng opened the cover. The printing blocks for the Diamond Sutra hadn’t been fully completed yet; this was only a mock-up made from raw drafts. Unlike the previous mock-ups, this one was put together using wrapped-back binding, which entailed: folding the sheets of paper in half with the printed sides facing outwards and the blank sides facing inwards, gluing the blank sides together, stitching the leaves together along the spine, then encasing it in a dyed paper book cover. Though it was only a prototype, Zhaoyu had assembled it with such utmost care that it looked rather high-class. To Liang Feng, however, who was used to modern books that had double-sided pages, it was knockoff goods that tempted him to pry apart the pages.
Still, even Liang Feng had to admit that there weren’t any better options. The cost of making the carved blocks was just too great, and the ink and paper weren’t ideal; double-sided printing was impossible with how much the ink seeped through the page. This type of bookbinding was both aesthetically pleasing and practical. Plus, it gave thickness to the slim Diamond Sutra. Zhaoyu had really poured her heart into its making.
Liang Feng set the book down and nodded, “This will do. How long does it take to bind a book in this manner?”
“Only two days,” Zhaoyu answered.
The most bothersome part of woodblock printing was the amount of time and labor required to carve the blocks. One mistake meant the whole board had to be scrapped. Woodblocks aside, the printing and bookbinding was far less hassle. Let the ink dry, fold the pages, paste the cover on, and you had yourself a fine book. Just the thought that she could teach a bunch of uneducated women to make such gorgeous texts made Zhaoyu uncharacteristically excited. Her master was surely heaven-blessed, to have had such inspiration!
It was an acceptable timeframe. The five bookbinding women could likely increase their efficiency if they adopted an assembly line process. After a moment of thought, Liang Feng grabbed a blank sheet of paper, folded it in opposite directions several times, then handed it to Zhaoyu, “Assemble the Diamond Sutra meticulously, but don’t go to such trouble for the ‘New Treatise on Cold Damage.’ Just glue the pages together and fold them like so.”
The Diamond Sutra was the main product, no amount of effort spent on it was wasted. The “New Treatise on Cold Damage” was a free complement, its production cost had to be minimized. Plain hemp paper, bound concertina-style, was both neat and simple.
“Also, you must take extra caution with the ‘New Treatise on Cold Damage.’ There mustn’t be any misprinted or missing characters. This is something that will save lives; don’t take it lightly,” Liang Feng stressed.
Liang Feng had spent an inordinate amount of work on the “New Treatise on Cold Damage” because it was a medical text. It would be the first book to be printed with “end marks.” Ancient books didn’t come with any punctuation; one needed the guidance of a teacher in order to learn what the text actually meant. Though periods and commas, known in olden eras as “end marks,” were used in personal annotations. This, of course, was one of the ways that the ruling class restricted access to knowledge. But an ambiguous medical text was a pitfall just waiting to happen. Even if he would be denounced for it, Liang Feng wouldn’t allow a perfectly good medical text to be misinterpreted. It was free anyway, so he’d do as he pleased.
It went against tradition, but Zhaoyu knew how much the lack of “end marks” impacted the readers’ comprehension. She nodded in assent and took her leave.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
Ktf ybbxkbgxr kjr qgfrfcais ibmjafv klatlc atf wjlc gfrlvfcmf, rjwf jr atf ajlibgs. Itjbse aegcfv j mbgcfg, mbnfgfv tfg ojmf klat tfg riffnf, jcv fcafgfv atf mbegasjgv. Ktf jlg lcrlvf kjr mtbxfv klat rjkvera. Pc j mifjg vlnlrlbc bo ijybg, rbwf bo atf mgjoarwfc rjcvfv kbbv, rbwf famtfv vfmbgjalbcr, jcv atf obeg wbra rxliifv qjlcrajxlcuis mjgnfv mtjgjmafgr bcab atf yibmxr.
It was a task that required absolute focus; Zhaoyu didn’t dare disturb. She waited in a corner as Wei Fonu sat alone at his desk, intently carving an image.
It was a painting, “Preaching in the Jetavana-Vihara,” that the master had specially commissioned; Buddha sat cross-legged under a Bodhi tree, a flower in one hand, a faint smile upon his lips, the golden wheel behind him outshining the swaying shadows cast by the Bodhi tree. Below, his disciples sat or kneeled, looked up in reverence or drooped their heads in ponderance, as they listened with raptly to Buddha’s sermon. Exotic temples towered hazily in the background.
The art itself was rather mediocre, it made up for its shortcomings in its jam-packed characters and distinct composition. Placed in the center, Buddha was the most striking element; the simple lines comprising his face made his visage all the more graceful and otherworldly. In the pity and mercy in his downcast eyes, there was a faint likeness of the head of the Liang family.
Was that what Buddha had looked like in other paintings? Zhaoyu silently glanced at Wei Fonu. No one knew what Buddha truly looked like, but to the serfs of the Liang Estate, their master was their god. Only a depiction like this was deserving of being printed in their exquisite book!
Zhaoyu watched for a while more, then headed for the shelf of completed printing blocks by the side.
※
Yiyan spent over ten days on the journey back from Wuxiang. His lord had allocated more than enough provisions for the trip, but it was exhausting all the same.
Such a large crowd of barbarians would easily attract unwanted attention. It was thanks to those five outstanding steeds and the identification tokens that Liang Feng had prepared that they hadn’t been searched and questioned by the soldiers they passed along the way. When the freshly harvested fields and the refugees thronging the shacks outside the Liang Estate finally came into view after several days and nights of uneasy travel, many were moved to tears. Having been farmers for generations, they could tell that this was a thriving paradise.
Knowing that Yiyan had returned, Liang Feng personally went to the gates to welcome them. Upon seeing his face, as wan but as lovely it had always been, Yiyan kneeled and was heartened.
“My lord, I have brought my people. Too many of them fled famine; the old and feeble are the only ones left. I deserve to be punished for my failure, my lord…”
Less than a third were young men of working age, most of them were women, children, and elderly. Looking out at all the kneeling figures, Liang Feng walked up to Yiyan and extended his hand, “What failure do you speak of? They’re all human; they deserve to be saved.”
It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but there were odd jobs that weren’t too physically taxing for the children and elderly to do. In chaotic times like these, every life was valuable. And with all their family members waiting for them, the men who ventured out would always return one day.
Yiyan knew more than anyone how much the estate spent each day, how much it cost to support so many people. He remained kneeling steadfastly before Liang Feng as he said, “You want to save everyone, my lord, regardless of whether they are Jie or refugees.”
The journey back to his hometown was the first time Yiyan had willingly left his lord’s side. Without the daily training, the menacing enemies, the man to whom his gaze inevitably gravitated, Yiyan began to open his eyes and look around him.
He saw countless people living in hopeless misery; they, like his people, were cold, starving, desperately clawing sustenance from the withered land. He saw ravenous beasts staring the eyes of bony, emaciated soldiers, armed with sabers and spears. He saw the slain corpses of refugees who’d unwillingly left their homes to escape the ravages of war lying by the roadside.
Such was the state of the world, the same as his hometown’s at the time he’d left. It’d never gotten better; it had only become more terrifying. The Liang Estate had been a screen blocking his view, allowing him to wallow in his own little happiness. But the illusion had never ensnared his lord. The words he’d once said boomed like thunder in his ears.
“A massive ship sinks into the water; thousands weep. To save them or not?”
“I can continue tomorrow? Who knows what will happen tomorrow?”
Every word and every peculiar decision pointed towards the same direction. His lord wanted to save people; to exert his all, exhaust every option, in order to save more people.
Before, Yiyan couldn’t understand why the commoners in Jinyang had been so frenzied and fervent. But now, after days on end of prayers ringing in his ear, Yiyan understood. Oh how those who agonized in living hell needed a savior. Perhaps it was because his lord really was the incarnation of a deity, that he would concern himself with the fate of man and show compassion to such profane beings as they.
That was why, this time, Yiyan kneeled on both knees.
Liang Feng looked upon his youthful face and nodded slightly, “Yes, to the best of my ability.”
His words were even and dispassionate, but to Yiyan, they were like a lash. He bowed his head to the ground in prostration.
“May that I be your instrument, my lord.”
All the Jie behind him prostrated as faithful believers prostrated in worship to their god.
Liang Feng softly patted his head, “I am very gladdened that you say so.”
He no longer hung the words “willing to die” by his mouth, nor worried only for his own safety. He’d become capable of bearing more weight on his shoulders after his journey. He had learned to hide his edge, like a fine sword that finally found a sheath. This young fellow had grown up.
Liang Feng looked up and addressed the kneeling Jie people, “From now on, this will be your home. I will provide you with livestock and tools; you must set about building your own houses, tending to fallowed land, digging irrigation channels, and constructing defensive fortifications. If you want to survive, you must labor industriously to earn your livelihood.”
He hadn’t claimed them as slaves or serfs; he’d merely said that this was their new home. Those who knew the Han language choked with sobs. Those who didn’t could also hear the kindness in his voice.
An old man kneeling on the ground struggled to lift his cloudy eyes. He saw, standing in the sun’s brilliant rays, a flawlessly beautiful man. His bearing was regal, but his smile was so gentle and warm that he was the buddha with a flower in hand and downcast eyes.
The old man lowered his head hastily as if he’d been burned by the light and began a prayer; it spread infectiously as those around him joined in. Buddhist sutras sounded incessantly, the Jie and Han languages intermingling together.
Liang Feng smiled insouciantly and said to Yiyan, “Alright, let’s return. I expect it’ll take some time to get them all settled.”
Yiyan stood up and led his Wusun steed over, “How about riding it back, my lord?”
Liang Feng raised a brow. He was allowed to ride larger horses now? But it was to his preference anyway. He mustered up his strength and stepped on the stirrup. Just as he was about to mount the horse, someone propped him up effortlessly onto the saddle.
Yiyan retracted his hand, took the horse’s bridle, and went inside the estate.
The author has something to say:
The wrapped-back binding method used on the Diamond Sutra books in this chapter appeared around the Song Dynasty. The medical texts use concertina binding, which existed since the Tang Dynasty; just imagine what the memorials to the emperor look like.
As for punctuation, it’s the same punctuation as modern-day punctuation. They’re mentioned in the “Shuowen Jiezi.” People would use these symbols to punctuate their private notes/annotations, but even until the Song Dynasty, very few books had punctuation marks. In ancient times, they really tried everything they could do to prevent people from learning how to read 囧