Chapter 69: Establishing a Study in the Valley of the Crouching Dragon

Ye Chang held his cheek, lifting his head with a hint of gloom. Clouds rolled and unfurled in the sky, flowers bloomed and faded before the hall. This secluded life was certainly pleasant, but after the upheaval of Chang’an, Ye Chang felt he might no longer be content with the status quo.

Wu Ze Bei was too small.

He knew, however, that now was not the best time to leave. He couldn’t rely forever on witty speech and copying poems to support himself.

“My lord, what are you thinking about?”

A gentle voice sounded by his ear—Xiang’er approached with a tray bearing pears, apples, and dates.

“Hmm, have you finished today’s lessons?”

Xiang’er pouted at the question.

After dealing with the Liu family, Ye Chang had moved into the valley. Locals compared him to Zhuge Liang, thus naming it Hidden Dragon Valley. After moving, there were more hands in the valley, and Xiang’er and Chunming were spared many chores. But this didn’t mean their lives grew easier—what awaited them was a host of studies and exercises.

Ye Chang was helpless. In this era, the vast majority were illiterate; Xiang’er was semi-literate, Chunming wholly so. Ye Chang had spent much effort, only to get them started on recognizing characters. Both had missed the best time to form study habits, and their learning was awkward.

Two months had passed, yet together they knew barely three hundred characters, and could only add or subtract within two digits—multiplication and division were too advanced even to mention.

Their progress was slower than little Cinu’s.

“Uncle! Uncle!”

Just as he thought of Cinu, a loud call echoed, followed by the little girl’s “Piggy, Piggy,” mimicking him. Ye Chang straightened; if the little girl was here, then the sister-in-law must be as well.

Indeed, Lady Fang walked over, carrying the little girl and following behind Cinu with graceful steps.

After Ye Shu’s funeral, Lady Fang kept her distance from Ye Chang, and he too felt awkward around her. Yet Cinu, pure and adorable, won him over; Ye Chang was fond of children, so he had Chunming fetch Cinu each morning to learn reading and arithmetic.

“Eleventh Brother.” Lady Fang’s brows carried a smile, her lips pressed gently. Though still in mourning dress, she was cheerful.

“Sister-in-law, what brings you here today?” Ye Chang rose to greet her.

“There is happy news.” Lady Fang smiled softly.

Ye Chang sensed something amiss. The weather was cooling—what happiness could there be?

“Eleventh Brother, I have been asking around these days and learned that the Zhang family in the county has a daughter of exceptional grace, in her prime, yet unmarried.” Lady Fang looked at him with a bright smile. “You are now seventeen—after the New Year, you’ll be eighteen, perfect for marriage. I plan to send a matchmaker. What do you think?”

Ye Chang was stunned.

This, in the eyes of most, was indeed an auspicious event. But in Ye Chang’s heart, the idea never occurred!

To marry a wife?

He had not lacked dreams or longing for companionship, yet the notion of actually marrying had never taken root. In some corner of his mind, he treated Cinu, the little girl, and Xiang’er as his own children. Life was full enough; marriage had never entered his schedule.

“Sister-in-law, you must be joking.”

“How could it be a joke? Of all filial duties, none is greater than having an heir. Now your brother is gone, I must worry for you.” Lady Fang’s words reminded Ye Chang of the awkward day he kept vigil for his brother. His thoughts were clear; he instantly understood why Lady Fang was eager to arrange a match for him.

“I have no such intention for now.”

“That’s not up to you. If you aren’t wed by eighteen, even the authorities won’t allow it—an official matchmaker might forcibly pair you.” Lady Fang smiled, thinking Ye Chang too shy. “Rest assured, I’ve seen the Zhang family’s daughter myself. Though not a peerless beauty, she is lovely, well-read, courteous, gentle—truly a match made in heaven for you.”

This sister-in-law had the makings of a matchmaker, her words vivid and persuasive. Clearly, she was determined to see it through.

“Well… this matter is not entirely up to you either. I am of the third branch, and my father is above me.” Ye Chang didn’t know how to refuse, so he stalled.

Lady Fang nodded. “That’s true. I’ll write to your third uncle right away—I’m sure he’ll agree.”

Hearing Lady Fang would write to his nominal father, Ye Chang nodded but was deeply unconvinced. His supposed father had gone to Bianzhou, reportedly to manage affairs. Ye Shu had written before going to Chang’an, explaining the family’s situation and asking him to return. Yet there had been no word since.

Lady Fang’s letter would likely yield no results.

“Sister-in-law, don’t rush this. There is another matter I need your help with.” Ye Chang sought to give Lady Fang something to occupy her, so she wouldn’t dwell on matchmaking. Besides, he was short-handed, and Lady Fang was among the few capable and trustworthy people.

“What is it?”

“You know I hired craftsmen earlier this year to experiment with papermaking. Now the paper is finished—Chunming, bring some paper here, every type!”

Chunming, who had been catching shrimp with Cinu by the stream, responded and ran off. Soon he returned with a basket containing several sheets of paper.

Lady Fang, born to a noble family—her mother was a princess—was no stranger to fine paper. So when Chunming presented the sheets, she was astonished.

“This… is bamboo paper?”

Previously, paper made from bamboo was brittle and useless. Ye Chang used the method recorded in ‘The Exploitation of the Works of Nature.’ The resulting paper was not only beautiful and sturdy but had high yield. While not as fine as top-quality hemp paper, it was among the best available.

“Yes, bamboo paper. The cost for a hundred sheets is about fifteen coins. If produced on a large scale, it can be reduced to ten—a great deal cheaper than what’s sold now!”

Currently, paper sold for forty to fifty coins per hundred sheets, depending on distance from production, and was inferior to what Lady Fang held. This excited her—she caressed the paper, pondering for a moment. “How much paper can your workshop make?”

“With only two craftsmen and just trial production, this year’s output is limited—about a million sheets. I’ve contracted with the Qin family to buy their young bamboo next year; production can rise fivefold.”

Lady Fang gasped, her eyes shining, cheeks flushed with excitement—an involuntary hint of allure.

She couldn’t help it. The blood of the Li family flowed in her veins—she was actually Wu Zetian’s great-granddaughter. Though stripped of power by brutal court strife, her interest in power had shifted to wealth.

She didn’t realize it herself, but by her calculation, each hundred sheets could profit twenty coins. A million sheets would yield two hundred thousand coins—two thousand strings of cash. Next year, it would be ten thousand strings; and if the workshop moved south to the land of abundant bamboo, it could earn tens of thousands each year!

Ye Chang’s football league in Chang’an brought profit, but everyone knew it couldn’t be monopolized by a single family. Papermaking was different—if the Ye family controlled the secret of bamboo paper, they could have stable, immense income for years or generations, becoming as wealthy as a state.

“However, I don’t plan to release so much paper to the market at once. Do you know why?”

Lady Fang’s breath quickened; she mentally tallied the profits again and again. Hearing Ye Chang’s question, she came to herself: “I know—when supply exceeds demand, prices fall. Now, there are at most several hundred thousand scholars in the Tang, using only a few million sheets a year. If too much floods the market, prices will collapse, and profits will suffer.”

Ye Chang looked at his young sister-in-law with new respect. She was indeed sharp and farsighted—a woman of this era who understood supply and demand. Choosing her to run papermaking and related industries was ideal.

“You’re right, but selling paper has its limits. I have another idea—printing books.”

“Printing books? You mean woodblock printing?”

“Not woodblock, but movable type!” Ye Chang explained movable type to Lady Fang. He didn’t consider wooden type; he opted for ceramic. His brother-in-law Liu Kun worked at a pottery kiln, and Ye Chang had tasked him before leaving for Chang’an to develop ceramic type.

But ceramic type tended to expand and deform during firing, and Liu Kun, working in secret, spent over four months to produce usable type—only about fifteen hundred characters, clearly insufficient.

“Those fifteen hundred ceramic types are in my storeroom now. Uncle Zhi has been busy making wooden frames to fix them, and I plan to have my brother-in-law open his own kiln to make tools for me.”

“Ah?” Lady Fang calculated rapidly. At present, woodblock-printed books were becoming popular. A hand-copied volume was worth a string of cash; a printed one, about a hundred and ten coins. With small-sized printing, a volume used only ten sheets of paper. The cost of ceramic type was a one-time investment—so the cost was about ten coins, and it could sell for a hundred and ten. That’s a hundred coins profit per volume!

If all million sheets were used for printing, that’d be a hundred thousand volumes—profits reaching ten thousand strings…

At this thought, Lady Fang felt her heart blossom, almost unable to resist grabbing Ye Chang’s hand to ask if it was truly possible.

But she soon worried, “Eleventh Brother, how do books printed with movable type compare to woodblock?”

“With ceramic type, it’s better than woodblock, though not as fine as hand-copied small script. With lead type in future, it’ll rival the best hand-copied. I’m refining ink for printing, and you’ll see it soon.”

“You’re telling me this?” Lady Fang hesitated. She was clever, and understood Ye Chang had a purpose in bringing it up.

“I have many affairs and need someone to oversee this—someone who can manage the paper and printing workshops, keep the accounts in order. No one but you can do it. Moreover, my brother entrusted me to care for Cinu and the little girl; I intend to give the printing workshop to Cinu, the paper workshop to the little girl—what do you think?”

Lady Fang was shocked. “How can this be? This is your wisdom and hard work, how could Cinu and the little girl…”

“Sister-in-law, are Cinu and the little girl any different from my own children?” Ye Chang interrupted. “And it’s not to give them now, but when they are eighteen. For these ten-plus years, I ask you to manage them for me.”

“No, no, this must not be… If you give them away, what about you? You’ll eventually marry and have children!” Lady Fang still protested, though her tone was weaker.

Ye Chang knew she was tempted, so pressed the point, “Don’t worry, sister-in-law. If I can run a paper and printing workshop, I can run others. With my ability, do you doubt I’ll earn money?”

Thinking of Ye Chang’s football league in the capital, Lady Fang fell silent. After a long while, she sighed, “Eleventh Brother has the talent of a prime minister—what a pity, what a pity…”

Had she still been a princess’s daughter, a crown prince’s sister-in-law, she could have recommended him to the court. Now, court intrigue had frightened her; she only wished for peaceful days.

She flipped through the paper, then noticed another roll—narrow, only a palm wide, soft and wrinkled. Curious, she asked, “This paper… what is it for?”

Clearly unsuitable for writing, Lady Fang had a vague feeling; after asking, she felt uneasy.

“For use in the privy,” Ye Chang answered solemnly. “No more need for bamboo chips.”

Ordinary Tang folk used bamboo or wood chips as toilet paper. Some used paper—high monk Daoxuan forbade monks to use old written paper for such purpose. Lady Fang flushed at Ye Chang’s words, shooting him a glare.

Ye Chang pretended not to notice.

Both knew well—besides privy use, this paper could serve women’s monthly needs. But saying the former was embarrassing enough; mentioning the latter would make Lady Fang lose composure.

“You’re full of clever contrivances and strange ideas!”

Lady Fang gave Ye Chang another glare, about to scold him further, when suddenly a voice shouted from afar, “Where is Ye Eleventh? Where is Ye Eleventh?”

“A visitor?” Lady Fang asked in a low voice, certain she’d never heard the voice before.

“I don’t know who it is. Let me go see.” Ye Chang felt the voice was familiar, but couldn’t place it at once, so he rose.

Who would disturb his quiet in Hidden Dragon Valley?