Chapter 102: The Drought Spirit Outshines Fire, Bamboo Paper Brings Joy (Part Two)

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A heavy rumble of thunder rolled in from the horizon, then descended over the imperial residence. A torrential rain was coming, but, as usual, it only managed a few drops before abruptly stopping.

The post-rain scenery, however, was enchanting—bamboo leaves and tree foliage adorned with droplets that shimmered with myriad colors once the sun reappeared.

Sitting within the palace, Di Renjie sighed in disappointment, “The rain hasn’t truly fallen.”

In truth, some rain had touched the ground; the earth was damp, and puddles lingered, though the amount was scant. Still, it was better than none at all. Such was the state of the Guanzhong region—there was water for drinking, but the nourishment for crops remained insufficient.

Wei Yuanzhong remarked, “Henan’s prefectures are still functioning, but Guanzhong…”

“When I left the Eastern Capital, I proposed an idea,” Li Wei revealed his earlier suggestion of granting noble titles to certain merchants to stimulate commerce.

Di Renjie said, “His Majesty surely did not agree.”

“No,” Li Wei confirmed.

“Your Highness, it’s best to speak less on such matters in the future. Though awarding minor baronies to a few insignificant merchants might save countless Guanzhong residents and lower grain prices, have you heard of the tale of King Chu’s fondness for slender waists?”

“I have.”

“When the sovereign acts, all beneath heaven follow suit. Today, a few merchants are ennobled, yet the world believes His Majesty legitimizes commerce. Droughts are temporary; even if this year is harsh, next year will not be so. But once this trend begins, it shakes the very foundation of the nation’s morality—that is the eternal legacy.”

Could it really be so grave? Li Wei pondered silently.

Since commerce was undervalued, the state had to extract taxes chiefly from the farmers, who were already impoverished. Regardless of regime changes, the burden remained on the peasantry. To value commerce, given the scale of industry and trade now, would not eliminate farmers’ taxes but could alleviate some pressure.

If even Di Renjie thought thus, others would be even more cautious.

Li Wei wanted to share something to comfort Di Renjie: the Abbasid Caliphate regarded merchants and artisans highly, encouraging their trades. Prosperous commerce meant wealth, which funded campaigns; skilled craftsmen produced superior weapons and ships, enabling expansion.

But mentioning the Abbasids now was futile; to the Tang people, they were just a backward realm beyond civilization, proving nothing.

Di Renjie gazed out the window again. “But if the drought persists, His Majesty and the Empress will surely grow anxious, fearing they might eventually yield to your proposal…”

Yielding wasn’t necessarily bad. It might save millions in Guanzhong, lower grain prices, and otherwise, the modest pleas for aid have already pushed rice prices in Chang’an up by over sixty wen per dou. If prices rise further, even ordinary citizens may not afford rice.

It was truly a difficult position—his aging parents made him tread carefully. Even when striving for change, he was bound by entrenched orthodoxies.

Di Renjie continued, “Your Highness, is it time to unveil the bamboo paper?”

“Almost,” Li Wei replied casually.

Many eagerly awaited the bamboo paper, yet its initiator hardly noticed the passing time.

“Your Highness, do you think it will succeed?”

“Di Qing, I have said it many times—trust me.”

“Success would be good,” Di Renjie sighed, leaving unsaid some thoughts. As the bamboo paper’s arrival approached, the atmosphere grew tense. Rumors in the Eastern Capital suggested this was no longer a grassroots movement. Upon reflection, he finally understood the Empress’s intentions.

Success would be beneficial, of course. Though the drought remained, this noble cause would soften public perception. Moreover, the Empress’s methods extended far beyond this; if successful, she could amplify its effects, ensuring peace.

Di Renjie welcomed this. After all, the Crown Prince could not ascend the throne anytime soon; no drastic changes were possible.

But failure, amid such hype, would focus criticism on the bamboo paper and the Crown Prince’s folly. The Empress could then distance herself from the drought’s fallout. Neither the Empress nor the Crown Prince could be seen as incompetent. Would they replace both simultaneously?

Not even the chancellors—nor the Emperor himself—would dare to do such a thing.

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The Empress—oh, the Empress—had such deft strategies. Yet few could perceive them. The Empress, cautious and gravely ill, was flailing in desperation. In truth, this move was a double-edged sword.

Thinking thus, he added, “Your Highness, I fear after this bamboo paper affair, both His Majesty and the Empress may feel remorse, perhaps even summon you back to the Eastern Capital.”

“Being here suits me well; I have no desire to return,” Li Wei said.

Though hunting was forbidden, the scenery was splendid—lush mountains and forests made it a perfect summer retreat, free from supervision or constraints.

“You will have to return eventually; otherwise resentment will fester. Slight dissatisfaction is acceptable, but not bitterness. Moreover, your prolonged stay here is unwise. You must think about dealing with Master Xu. For that, you need to be back at the Supreme Court.”

“Master Xu, Di Qing, handle him if you can; if not, so be it. Do not force matters.”

That Xu Jingzong was a formidable minister, countless officials and chancellors had fallen under his hand, regardless of maternal or paternal influence.

“I am not Shangguan Yi,” Li Wei said, pointing at Shangguan Wan’er playing outside with Li Lingyue.

……………………………….

Several junior officials already took pens to paper, recording the moment.

This was Li Wei’s instruction to Liu Qun, who in turn told Dai Zhide. The process involved adjustments: different bamboo types, precise fermentation times, lime proportions, drying temperatures and timing. Although the current trial was large-scale, discovering the optimal formula required many repeated tests.

Once promoted nationwide, further trials would be necessary due to bamboo variety, lime quality, and water differences—all affecting the paper.

But once the grand plan was settled, these were minor matters.

The craftsmen slowly lifted the bamboo screen, revealing a thin, uniform layer—still pulp, translucent enough to see clearly through to the other side. The gathered crowd stirred, pushing forward to get a better look. Fortunately, the guards were numerous, maintaining order.

Had it truly succeeded?

Dai Zhide and Jiang Ke exchanged glances.

Their expressions were grave; the common folk could not discern much, but these officials had the privilege to approach and examine the thin sheet.

Indeed, it was very thin—though perhaps not as thin as later Xuan paper. The latter was both thinner and more resilient than bamboo paper, and costlier.

Currently, the paper was thin enough to make garments—a testament to its thickness. Compared to bamboo paper, the difference was like heaven and earth.

The emergence of bamboo paper was arguably the second revolution in papermaking. This technique appeared again in the Tang dynasty, crude at first, maturing only in the Song dynasty, yet still flawed until the Ming dynasty perfected it. Even in the industrial age, bamboo paper did not vanish, though techniques grew more complex and quality vastly improved beyond this early marvel.

This was not complete success yet; some processes remained.

The craftsmen placed the thin layer on a finely planed wooden board, then pressed another board atop and began the beating process. After repeatedly beating out many sheets, they placed a massive rectangular stone on the boards, using its weight to press out most of the water.

No officials left, and the clerks brought boxed meals.

Since the area was sparsely populated and spacious, everyone squatted down to eat while waiting.

Not every batch of bamboo pulp succeeded; some failed to form sheets for various reasons. However, several batches had succeeded. The bamboo paper definitely existed, with adequate thinness; now the quality was the question.

The drying oven was a tunnel built with earth bricks. The craftsmen lit firewood. Once the sheets no longer dripped water, they removed the stone and boards. The paper, still moist, remained translucent but thinner, with a faintly pleasing white hue.

The crowd stirred again.

Dai Zhide approached, gently stroking the paper, whispering, “New paper.”

It was soft and smooth to the touch.

He calculated the costs mentally: ignoring lime and bamboo, which were abundant throughout most of Tang, labor and firewood remained. After reckoning, he said, “It’s truly inexpensive.”

Sighing, “No need for the quality of Yizhou hemp paper, as long as it can be written upon.”

The craftsmen, seeing the chancellor’s interest, left one sheet for their scrutiny and placed the rest into the drying oven.

The sun blazed fiercely; even handling caused some drying. Large-scale production necessitated drying, as the sun alone could not provide such vast spaces.

The sun gradually set.

The crowd did not disperse but grew larger. Some literati already pondered verses in their minds, preparing to describe this grand occasion.

The drying oven opened; the craftsmen retrieved the paper.

“So white!” the crowd exclaimed, pressing forward, nearly overwhelming the guards.

“Your Majesty, since summer began, from the Eastern Capital to Fenzhou, Jinzhou, Puzhou, and Ruzhou, the rain has been scant,” Wu Zetian reported.

“Hmm,” Li Zhi rubbed his head. These prefectures belonged to Henan and Hedong circuits, showing slight drought signs but with connected rivers, so water supply was convenient. “What about Guanzhong?”

Wu Zetian’s face darkened. “Guanzhong is worse.”

After speaking, she glanced at Li Zhi’s expression. As expected, his face immediately clouded.

“Report! Report!” Li Cheng, clutching several rolls of white paper, rushed in excitedly. He tripped over the threshold and fell but clung tightly to the papers, ignoring any injury.

Li Zhi, brooding, scolded, “What a disgrace!”

Feeling aggrieved, Li Cheng said, “I did not expect your Majesty’s comfort, nor your reprimand.” Rising despite the fall, rubbing his aching face, he said, “The bamboo paper is here. This is the bamboo paper, sent by urgent courier.”

“Oh,” Li Zhi stood as well. If the bamboo paper truly succeeded, it would benefit his son, himself, and his wife. He took the rolls, unrolled one, and said, “Empress, look, it’s truly thin.”

“Yes,” Wu Zetian replied softly, then collapsed weakly. After so many anxious days, she had never imagined the bamboo paper would succeed. Her son could not have achieved this—was this a blessing from heaven for their family?

“Bring a brush,” Li Zhi instructed.

It was indeed very white and thin, but its appeal depended on usability. If it bled ink, even the finest paper was useless. Thick paper could also bleed ink extensively.

A eunuch hastened to grind ink. Li Zhi picked up a brush and wrote. The bamboo paper lacked strong resilience but accepted ink well. The strokes were vivid and brisk. Though Song dynasty bamboo paper still had flaws, it was beloved by literary giants like Su Dongpo and Wang Anshi.

In terms of ink absorption, this bamboo paper rivaled famed products like Yizhou hemp paper.

Looking at his writing and the ink’s tone, Li Zhi declared, “Good paper.”

Li Cheng said, “Yes, good paper, but unfortunately, it must be made from tender bamboo harvested around the Grain in Ear solar term. Though we have mastered the method, immediate nationwide promotion is impossible. Bamboo varies by region and requires adjustments. Realistically, it will take until the year after next for full distribution. However, Zhongnan Mountain will produce large quantities starting next year.”

“The year after next—I can wait that long.”

In truth, Li Zhi no longer cared about precise timelines. Bamboo paper existed, it succeeded beyond all expectations, and so the righteous cause was secured.

“Come bring the grape sugar tribute from the Western Regions. I want to drink a few cups,” he said.

As the eunuch turned to leave, Li Zhi called him back, “Wait. Issue my edict immediately—have the Crown Prince return to the Eastern Capital.”

Only now did he consider the benefits for his son.

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