Chapter Ten: The Thread-Bound Book

The days spent copying books in the thatched cottage passed with remarkable tranquility.

Of course, this was merely Du Shiyi’s own perception. Whether it was Sima Heiyun, who was assigned to accompany him during the day, or Du Shisan-niang and Zhuying, all were amazed by some of his actions. That day, in front of them all, he drew a rough design with a wooden stick on the muddy ground, then explained it at length to Tian Mo. After this Kunlun slave selected materials from the bamboo grove and fashioned a bamboo chair, along with four sturdy bamboo posts, Du Shiyi then asked Sima Heiyun to go down to the marketplace and purchase a sanded, lacquered plank of fir wood. Upon its return, he nailed it to the four bamboo posts, creating a simple square table.

And now, Du Shiyi sat in this strange chair with a back and armrests, spreading the sheets of yellow hemp paper used to copy the "Collected Annotations on the Materia Medica" across the small table, concentrating fully on his work. For more than ten days, he copied diligently for four hours each day, and his efficiency had more than doubled compared to the first day when Zhuying had to stretch the paper for him. Besides these four hours, he would climb the mountain each morning and stroll through the bamboo grove after supper. This early-to-bed, early-to-rise routine, combined with the physical and mental exertion of copying, and taking short breaks every half-hour, left his body and mind greatly improved.

Most importantly, in his previous life, he had been forced by his father to copy countless ancient texts and inscriptions as a child, and he had discovered then that once he had copied a text, every word and phrase was etched into his mind. Now, to his delight, this ability remained. In other words, when he finished copying the "Collected Annotations on the Materia Medica," he would know it by heart.

As for Sima Heiyun, at first, since these were rare originals borrowed from Songyang Temple, he would come each morning to check on Du Shiyi’s progress. But seeing how swiftly Du Shiyi worked—producing over eight thousand neatly written characters of the preface in less than three days—he was so astonished that he ceased his daily visits, instead appearing at odd hours as he pleased, sometimes even lingering for a meal. Every five to seven days, he could deliver a copied scroll back, and in less than a month, Du Shiyi was already working on the final volume of the "Collected Annotations on the Materia Medica"!

At this moment, Sima Heiyun sat cross-legged on a mat, watching Du Shiyi with interest as he worked intently, and remarked to Zhuying, “Young Master Du truly is full of ingenious ideas. When I took those previous scrolls back to Songyang Temple, my master was amazed to find the handwriting so neat and the work done so swiftly and well. He was utterly astonished by this method of transcription.”

Hearing her master praised, Zhuying replied with a smile, “Our young lord is gifted and has always excelled in his studies without a teacher, so naturally he can devise such clever methods.”

“It’s merely an expedient way to save time and effort,” Du Shiyi replied, noticing the incense in the table’s brazier had burned out, signaling a break. He rubbed his wrist as he stood up, and seeing Sima Heiyun rise as well, he smiled and said, “Brother Sima, we’re not strangers here. Let me ask you honestly—do you find it inconvenient to read books in the usual way?”

Sima Heiyun, though a retainer, was literate—a fact Du Shiyi had observed as he wrote, noticing Sima’s interest. As expected, Sima paused in surprise, then gave a wry smile. “I grew up in hardship, and if not for a kind teacher who took pity on me, I would never have learned to read, much less to appreciate books. So I’m already grateful to have books at all, never mind convenience. Even now, I’ve seen many poor scholars unable to afford books, forced to copy them by hand. But hand-copying is slow: this ‘Collected Annotations on the Materia Medica’ is seven volumes, plus a preface—copying it all is no small feat. If they could do as you do, it would certainly save them much time.”

Du Shiyi hadn’t expected Sima Heiyun to speak from personal experience, let alone realize that his method could benefit impoverished scholars. He sighed. The words “movable type printing” flickered in his mind, but he quickly suppressed the thought.

In his memory, the family’s books were almost all hand-copied, with only the Four Books, Records of the Grand Historian, and the Book of Han in printed editions. The classics he brought with him were all hand-copied by his ancestors. Besides, clay movable type required skilled carving and typesetting. More importantly, demand determined output, and few were literate; he was not a man of power or influence.

So, after a moment’s silence, he sighed, “Books are as precious as gold, truly a cause for lament. And even now, these scrolls are inconvenient in many ways—hard to read, hard to store. Moths and mildew are the bane of books, and even with careful maintenance, it’s not easy to preserve them. Do you remember the other day when my sister and Zhuying spent all day airing and perfuming the books from the chest? Both were aching by the end.”

Realizing the true issue Du Shiyi wished to raise, Sima Heiyun was taken aback. “Then, young lord, you mean to say…”

“In the pre-Qin and Han times, bamboo slips and silk books were used. Now, bamboo slips are obsolete, and even silk books are rare due to their cost. Official documents are mostly on hemp or rattan paper, yet they are still mounted into long scrolls with a rod, just like the old slips and silk. This makes storage and retrieval difficult. Scrolls can’t bear weight; you must either insert or stack them. It’s one thing in a chest, but on a shelf, they’re hard to find at a glance. And private libraries are not so well kept as the imperial archives. My family’s heirloom scrolls, though carefully preserved, are not what they once were. And another thing: rolling and unrolling scrolls is tedious.”

At this, Du Shiyi instructed Zhuying, “Go to the book chest and bring me the oil-paper bundle I put there before.”

Zhuying obeyed at once, and soon returned with the parcel. Even Du Shisan-niang, who had been listening from the inner room, was intrigued. She recalled how, after copying each day, her brother would mysteriously send her and Zhuying away to tinker with something in the room, later carefully wrapping it in oil-paper. She slipped out of the room, and as Du Shiyi opened the parcel and revealed its contents, Sima Heiyun stepped forward to see, and she curiously joined them.

“What is this…”

She saw a sheaf of papers, each six inches long and four inches wide, all uniformly cut, with neat holes punched along the left edge, then sewn into a book with thread, the cover wrapped in tough paper. Flipping through from back to front was simple and convenient; stacked together, it was much thicker than a scroll. Unlike Sima Heiyun, who was scrutinizing the binding, Du Shisan-niang, sharp-eyed, noticed a slip of paper fall from the book as her brother leafed through it. She stooped to pick it up, and found it was a poem titled "Pity the Farmer." Her eyes lit up at once. Nowadays, good poems are popular everywhere, yet she had never heard this one. Moreover, her brother had scarcely interacted with anyone outside since his illness. Unless it was someone else’s work, there could only be one explanation.

Her brother could compose poetry again!

She could scarcely contain her delight, and, with a face full of joy, retreated quietly, beckoning to Zhuying. Once outside, she paid no heed to Tian Mo tending vegetables, and said, beaming, “Zhuying, I just saw my brother has written a new poem!”

“Oh…” Zhuying gasped, then quickly covered her mouth, before smiling radiantly. “Congratulations, my lady! That the young lord has recovered and can write poetry again is all due to your devotion moving heaven and earth!”

Du Shisan-niang shook her head vigorously, said nothing more, and sent Zhuying back inside. She herself knelt in the dust, hands clasped, and prayed softly, “Heaven and earth, all gods and ancestors, my father, my mother—my brother is finally recovered, cleverer than ever, and I am content. If hardship must come again, let it fall on me, not him…”

No one else heard her gentle prayer, but Tian Mo, tending the seedlings, looked up at her. Seeing this lovely young mistress and thinking of her heartfelt prayer, he could not help but smile, his eyes shining.

Inside, Du Shiyi watched as Sima Heiyun turned the stitched book over and over, deep in thought. Du Shiyi then took more books from the oil-paper bundle—these were the preface and first six volumes of the "Collected Annotations on the Materia Medica." Seeing Sima Heiyun still pondering, he finally asked, “Brother Sima, what do you think of these methods?”

“From the perspective of reading and use, it’s certainly more convenient than scrolls, though at first it might seem unfamiliar…” Sima Heiyun suddenly stopped, and looked up at Du Shiyi. “How did you think of this? And these—are these not the preface and first six volumes you already copied?”

“Indeed. I had you take the previous copies, but in fact, I made a second copy of each volume for myself, binding them like this as an experiment. I’ve read many books since childhood, and always found them inconvenient. During my illness, being bedridden for months and unable even to speak, I kept thinking about such matters. This stitched binding—once the paper is cut, it’s easy to assemble a book after copying. It’s square and easy to store, needs no fancy rods of sandalwood, jade, ivory, or wood; even poor scholars can sew it themselves, sparing themselves the trouble of mounting scrolls.”

He paused, then continued, “Moreover, I’ve heard that Buddhist ceremonies are flourishing in both capitals, and there’s a shortage of scriptures. Common folk, even if they obtain many sutras, find scrolls hard to store and even harder to recite daily. Some monks have suggested changing the scroll format—making books cheaper and more convenient for daily use. I remember seeing, in a temple, a concertina-bound Buddhist scripture. It was convenient, but easily damaged. And we scholars should not always let the monks have the lead. Especially texts like the Materia Medica—if they could be as widely circulated as Buddhist scriptures, many lives could be saved.”

At this, Sima Heiyun’s eyes brightened and, after a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Could you lend me these books for a day?”

“Of course.”

When Sima Heiyun had packed the books back into the oil-paper bundle and hurried away, Du Shiyi returned to his desk, dipped his brush in ink, and, settling his mind, resumed copying.

The successive leaders of the Shangqing Sect had all been scions of noble families, broad-minded and learned. Since Sima Chengzhen had come for Tao Hongjing’s lost works, perhaps this suggestion might lead to action. After all, the medical treatises, pharmacopeias, and even chemical and philosophical texts authored by Daoist sages were no less valuable than the Buddhist scriptures.