Qin Xiaoman assumed Du Heng meant selling the bamboo to another buyer, and smiled wryly.
He felt guilty. The hired farmers had helped, the firewood had been delivered, and in the end there was no profit. It felt like good intentions had only caused trouble.
With the autumn harvest approaching, putting effort into this felt doubly frustrating.
Determined to understand why the gentry would break their word, Qin Xiaoman inquired further. He learned the family’s surname was Meng, and the master had a nephew named Meng Huaishan.
Qin Xiaoman didn’t know if the nephew was the problem, or whether there had been a past disagreement with Du Heng. From what Du Heng explained, it seemed likely someone had tampered with things. Qin Xiaoman couldn’t help cursing in frustration.
“Such a petty person! A few words of argument with classmates and they create obstacles. If he were born in this village, everyone would speak against him behind his back, and it’d be a mess for the whole place!”
Du Heng hadn’t expected the interference to reach this far. But for a family like that, causing trouble for a hardworking farmer was just a flick of the finger. If they couldn’t buy the bamboo, another buyer would take it.
No real loss to them, yet the farmer’s hard work could be ruined in an instant.
Du Heng reassured him. “Don’t bother fretting over someone with such a rotten heart.”
After venting, Qin Xiaoman felt a pang for Du Heng. If he had known Du Heng would be dedicating himself to study, he wouldn’t have made him go sell in the market, doing work that invited ridicule.
Du Heng didn’t mind; he was coarse and from a farming background, used to that kind of life. But it still hurt to think people might mock him for it.
“Why would you think that way? I don’t feel ashamed of small work. Besides, this is how I earned the recognition of Senior Mu and Master Xiang. We can’t just take the easy way all the time.”
Qin Xiaoman pressed his lips together. He didn’t entirely like it, but he accepted Du Heng’s reasoning.
For now, their focus was on solving the bamboo problem.
Du Heng had a solution: two words—paper-making.
The world esteemed scholars for government positions and wealth, but true opportunities were rare. Scholars, however, were abundant.
Study required writing, producing texts. Written works needed a medium—paper was essential.
Since beginning his studies, Du Heng had first used leftover paper from Mr. Qin. Later, he purchased from bookstores, spending tens or even hundreds of wen at a time.
Once paper was made, it always had a purpose. Even if sales were slow, they could keep it for themselves, saving the household the expense of buying paper.
Qin Xiaoman agreed wholeheartedly. Paper was in demand, if only they could produce it.
The prerequisite was skill. If production were possible, opening a small shop in the future wasn’t out of the question.
Du Heng, seeing Qin Xiaoman’s impatience, explained further: “Paper-making is complex and time-consuming. You won’t see results immediately. If you sent Da Zhuang to the city to sell bamboo, maybe it would sell quickly. But do you think I have such short-sightedness? Paper is a long-term business, not a one-time profit.”
A single stalk of bamboo was worth little, but a ream of paper could be worth dozens or hundreds of wen. The numbers spoke for themselves.
Seeing Qin Xiaoman’s interest, Du Heng resolved to tackle the bamboo issue properly.
He already knew the basics of paper-making. But with the idea of a long-term livelihood in mind, he borrowed several books on the subject from the academy library and studied them carefully.
Since arriving at the Qin household, he had dabbled in small trades—selling novelty items, quick and clever products—but nothing enduring.
Simple food items cost little to make, easy to learn, but couldn’t sustain a livelihood. Plus, with little social backing, such ventures were vulnerable to exploitation.
If they could run a shop with a skill like paper-making, Du Heng, with a modest scholarly reputation, could make business far easier than before.
Encouraged, he devoted part of his mind to business. Qin Xiaoman, less interested in reading and often bored, sat beside him at night with the child, watching him summarize and organize the steps of paper-making.
The first step was “cutting and soaking the bamboo”—preparing the raw materials.
Bamboo from the mountain was cut into segments, split into chunks, and soaked in ponds for up to a hundred days.
After soaking, the bamboo was pounded and washed.
Next, the softened bamboo was boiled to further break it down.
Then lime water was added and the mixture cooked for eight days and nights.
The final step was forming the paper. The bamboo, now softened, was no longer rigid. It was pounded into a pulp, poured into a paper mold, and pressed with a screen to create sheets.
Finally, the paper had to go through a process called “夹巷” to dry it properly, making it suitable for everyday writing.
No wonder paper in the bookstores sold at such high prices. Nowadays, a ream of 500 sheets went for at least 1,200 wen, which meant a single sheet cost roughly two to three wen.
At first glance, it might seem reasonable, but a single square sheet could only hold so many characters. Scholars cared deeply about neat handwriting; producing beautiful writing required effort, and that effort showed in both brush and paper.
Supporting a scholar was no easy matter. It wasn’t just that the household lost a capable worker from the fields. Every brush, ink, and sheet of paper had to be obtained—none of it grew like cabbages in the field.
Du Heng spent two days and nights straight, recording the paper-making process in detail.
Without delay, he first dug ponds by the creek behind their house and began soaking the bamboo.
It was already the busy harvest season. Qin Xiaoman managed the remaining ten acres of fertile land with Da Zhuang. With just an ox and a horse, the crops were gathered quickly. Whenever he had spare time, Du Heng helped process the bamboo.
After the bamboo was placed in the ponds, three months had to pass. The process itself was simple, leaving them free to handle the autumn harvest.
They had cut a fair amount of bamboo, filling three large ponds for soaking. By this time, the household’s corn had been harvested and spread out in the courtyard to dry.
The work on the two or three acres was easy. By estimation, this year’s fertile land would yield roughly two shi per acre. After paying taxes on the ten acres, there would still be enough rice and corn to feed the family.
As for the rest of the income, it depended on the thirty acres managed by the hired farmers.
Half a month passed quickly. Du Heng finished tending to the bamboo ponds, and just as the rice harvest began, the school break ended, and it was time to return to the academy.
Late summer and early autumn were always busy. Officials were occupied with tax collection, farmers with the harvest, merchants with purchasing, while scholars had a bit of leisure, spending the days composing poems and couplets.
Amid the bustle, the autumn harvest drew to a close with a final rainfall by late September.
In the meantime, the Qin family held a simple hundred-day celebration for Chengyi. After some back-and-forth with the household, Qin An had also married by the end of autumn and established his own household.
Qin Xiaoman’s family had no time to fuss over Qin An’s matters. On this particular day, it was a rest day. Light rain fell, and the harvest had been gathered and stored in the granary.
Du Heng held Chengyi on his lap while tallying the household’s autumn harvest.
Of the remaining ten acres, four acres of fertile rice fields yielded ten shi of rice this year. Four acres of corn produced a similar amount, and the remaining two acres planted with seasonal vegetables and melons produced nine shi.
Overall, it wasn’t bad. After paying roughly six shi in taxes, all that remained was for the local official to come and record the grain.
The official didn’t show up, but Er Dan Shu arrived with the five households of hired farmers.
Du Heng handed Chengyi, who was chattering away, to Shuiqin Cai. Perhaps warmed by her embrace, the child began to fuss as soon as he was picked up by someone else.
“Chengyi, be good. Daddy has something important to attend to,” Du Heng soothed, patting the little one’s back until he settled, then allowed Shuiqin Cai to take him back inside.
“Autumn harvest is over. We’ve come to submit the grain for the master,” Er Dan Shu said respectfully.
“This year, serving both of you has been exhausting. Were it not for Master Du’s kindness in allowing us to finish the other employer’s harvest first, we might not have managed it at all,” he added.
“Don’t worry about it,” Du Heng replied. “Every household’s yield is recorded. With families settled here and registered in the county, no grain will disappear.”
Er Dan Shu nodded in agreement. “Still, we must thank Master Du for his understanding.”
He then handed over the grain ledger for Du Heng to check. They compared records, verifying the harvest accounts.
The thirty acres of rented land included six acres and twenty-four acres. The rice yield was eight shi, and the corn twenty-eight shi, totaling thirty-six shi.
With a collection rate of one-third, the landlord would receive about eleven shi.
Compared to last year’s forty-nine shi, this was a smaller yield. However, this was grain delivered to the granary, different from the labor-intensive crops the family had harvested themselves.
“This year’s yield isn’t great. If Master Du doesn’t mind, we’d like to contribute fifteen shi,” Er Dan Shu said cautiously, after Du Heng verified the accounts.
“Oh? What do you mean?” Du Heng asked.
“This is just our small gesture. If we can continue serving you next year, all the better. We’ve agreed that next year we’ll work only for Master Du’s family. If anything comes up, we’ll be the first to help.”
Du Heng understood their intent. They were showing loyalty and goodwill.
He and Qin Xiaoman had already agreed that if the farmers were trustworthy, they wouldn’t rotate them unnecessarily. Less hassle, and the household didn’t require extra labor.
“I’ll accept your gesture. Next year, continue managing the land as usual,” Du Heng said.
“But these thirty acres are divided among five households. Each one won’t have much land. How can you manage?”
“The other employer’s land was only a few acres. Managing two households has been too much. Next year, we only want to take care of Master Du’s land properly,” they explained.
Du Heng replied, “My studies at the academy are demanding, and there’s a small child at home. Xiaoman also can’t spare much time for the fields.”
“We’ve seen your diligence this year. I won’t manage the ten acres myself next year; we’ll lease it out. If you’re willing, we’ll deliver this year’s grain first, sign, and then take over the lease.”
Hearing this, the farmers were overjoyed. The most eager among them even wanted to kneel, their hearts full of gratitude.
An acre of fertile land was worth two acres of thin soil. With a better harvest, keeping one-third for themselves would make them comfortably well-off.
“You all shouldn’t just be thanking me. These fields are good farmland; each year they can yield about two dan of grain if properly tended. You must diligently plow and manage them.”
“Yes, yes, we will treat the master’s fertile fields as if they were our own children.”
Du Heng responded, “As long as you work earnestly and come when called, you’ll be well taken care of. Fertilizer and firewood won’t be an issue.”
The hired farmers were overjoyed, feeling that leaving the other master under pressure had truly been the right choice. Working for a kind and fair master meant life would be considerably easier.
That afternoon, the farmers delivered the agreed fifteen dan of grain to the household, complete and without a single ounce missing.
Du Heng inspected it, and the drying was well done—truly convenient.
The remaining tasks involved grain and tax payments. This year, two long-term workers had joined the household. Since they lived in the household and were provided food and lodging, no wages were given; however, their personal taxes still needed to be paid.
Previously, the family had no servants and had been unaware, but when paying the long-term workers’ taxes, Du Heng realized the amount was twice what ordinary commoners paid.
He sighed. This year alone, the household’s taxes had increased by five hundred wen compared to previous years.
Fortunately, Xiao Chengyi, being young, only owed twenty wen in tax.
Qin Xiaoman kept the yield from ten acres for the household and sold the fifteen dan of grain delivered by the farmers through last year’s grain merchant.
All at once, twelve taels of silver came in. The grain price had fluctuated slightly from last year, but overall it was not bad.
Being a benevolent household, they did not exploit the farmers, so naturally they did not earn as much as families who squeezed every bit from laborers, but their conscience was clear and at ease.
Moreover, this year was much easier than last year in hiring help. Next year, with all the land rented out, life would be even more leisurely, freeing time to pursue small business ventures.
Once the autumn harvest was over, the bamboo materials were nearly ready.
That day, Du Heng brought several large oak barrels from the county. They built an earthen stove in the courtyard and, after mixing lime water, began boiling the bamboo.
The boiling process would take eight days and nights. Luckily, with the late autumn being free of other duties, and with plenty of people at home to watch over it, it was manageable.
Qin Xiaoman tended the boiling daily, watching the firewood burn and feeling a bit pained at the waste.
Even the corn stalks the household had once looked down upon were dug up by Da Zhuang and used as firewood, which somewhat eased his conscience.
“Ah, ah… Yaya…”
Qin Xiaoman held Xiao Chengyi at the entrance of the stove room, watching Da Zhuang add firewood to the stove while wearing a bamboo hat. The courtyard was soaked from the rain.
The little one reached out with tiny hands, opening and closing them as if trying to catch the raindrops.
“Your father hasn’t returned yet. He left this morning without an umbrella. I wonder if he got wet in the rain.”
Xiao Chengyi didn’t understand what his little father was saying, but seeing Qin Xiaoman moving his mouth, he started blowing bubbles again.
“Master, I can take the hat and raincoat to look for the master. Maybe I’ll catch him on the way.”
“There’s no need for you to go. I bought an umbrella in the county on my way back.”
No sooner had he spoken than Du Heng appeared under a low wall, holding an umbrella amidst the gray drizzle.
Da Zhuang quickly went forward to take the book box from Du Heng. Du Heng shook off the rain from his umbrella. “It’s getting close to winter; it really is cold.”
Xiao Chengyi saw a man under the eaves and stretched out his arm, then both arms, clamoring for Du Heng to hold him.
“Your father is soaking wet; you can hold him after he warms up.”
Seeing Du Heng half-soaked, Qin Xiaoman knew the cart ride had not protected him from the rain, even with the umbrella.
“Maybe this afternoon we should have Da Zhuang fetch you instead, with the raincoat, so you won’t get wet on the way back.”
“That would be too troublesome. Someone still needs to watch over the paper-making.”
Qin Xiaoman pressed his lips and frowned. “Qin’er, quickly make some hot water for the master.”
This year, the post-autumn rain was particularly persistent, a constant drizzle. Du Heng’s outings to the academy in the morning or returning in the afternoon always left him soaked.
Xiao Chengyi was accustomed to his father being held immediately upon returning home. Now, he could first warm up in a bath to drive out the chill and wash his clothes for drying, ready for the next day.
The little one was very dissatisfied, and at night Du Heng had to entertain him on the bed before he would sleep, the child kicking so vigorously that Qin Xiaoman found it amusing.
Seeing Du Heng exposed to rain and cold daily, Qin Xiaoman could not help but worry. No matter how sturdy his body, wet clothes in late autumn or early winter could easily bring a chill.
One day, hearing Du Heng cough, he could no longer bear it.
Resolute, he took out five taels of silver and had a craftsman make a small horse-drawn carriage that could shield from wind and rain. The household’s horses were strong enough to pull it without issue.
Now, the household had both ox and horse carts. Du Heng could continue his studies without suffering from the cold.
When the weather was clear for a day of rest, Du Heng opened the oak barrels. The boiled bamboo was transferred to the stone mortar used for rice pounding and mashed into bamboo pulp.
The pale yellow bamboo, softened over time, quickly became pulp under the heavy pounding in the stone mortar.
The prepared bamboo pulp was poured into a papermaking trough.
The trough, rectangular in shape, was sized according to the paper used in their bookshop.
Once the pulp was in the trough, water was added to suspend the bamboo fibers. The crucial step was adding an herbal juice made from peach and bamboo leaves, which ensured the final paper would be pure white.
A fine bamboo screen, prepared in advance, was gently dipped into the pulp. The bamboo fibers formed a thin layer on the screen, which, when inverted onto a wooden board, detached to become a sheet of paper once dried.
Du Heng first tested a small amount of pulp. Once the sheet detached onto the board, he placed a small fire beneath it. The thin, initially translucent and slightly yellow sheet gradually turned white, becoming lighter and able to flutter in the wind.
“Done!”
Qin Xiaoman stood by watching. Seeing a sheet of white paper completed, he was as joyful as at New Year and could not help but exclaim aloud.
Du Heng picked up the paper and gently tugged it. The sheet was thin and fragile, prone to tearing. Though purely white, faint traces of bamboo fibers were still visible on its surface.
It was not like the snow-white xuan paper sold in bookshops; the quality could not compare.
But achieving this effect was already very good. Xuan paper was expensive; unless one came from a wealthy household or had special needs, ordinary families would rarely buy it just to practice calligraphy.
Paradoxically, paper of this moderate quality—better than yellow paper but not the finest—was more popular with buyers.
The more paper they made, the more skill and intuition they gained. The thickness of the paper could be controlled by how the bamboo pulp was agitated on the bamboo screen: “Press firmly, and the paper is thick; stir lightly, and it’s thin.”
Du Heng demonstrated the technique to Da Zhuang. With the household’s abundant bamboo, one person alone could not complete the work.
The sheets of paper formed on the bamboo screens were stacked neatly. Hundreds of sheets created a thick pile, which could then be pressed with a weight to remove the water, eliminating the need to spread each sheet individually and occupy much space.
After pressing, the sheets were separated with fine tweezers and dried individually.
With a large amount of paper, they needed to build a drying “alley.”
This drying alley was essentially a very narrow passage, hollow with walls on both sides.
They first built a rack from bamboo, then covered the sides with smooth wooden boards as walls, leaving a small fire channel at the base.
Fires burned in the channel, sending heat upward to the wooden walls. Once the walls were hot, the wet paper could be stuck to them to dry.
The wider the walls of the alley, the more sheets could be dried at once. However, the walls could not be too tall, or it would become difficult to stick paper and for the heat to reach it properly.
With ponds dug and stoves built, the household now had a drying alley standing in the courtyard. Such a large setup could not go unnoticed in the village.
They had soaked bamboo in the pond early in the morning, and everyone had been busy with the autumn harvest, so they hadn’t paid much attention. But now, in the quiet of late autumn and early winter, villagers began flocking to Qin’s gate to see this novelty.
Du Heng was not worried that others might steal the technique. Only those who made paper understood how intricate the process truly was. One needed materials, step-by-step methods, and constant practice to succeed; no casual observer could learn it just by watching.
It was like tofu in the market: everyone said it was delicious, but not everyone could sell it successfully.
During a day off, he even called in idle hired farmers to help with drying the paper.
“Can it really become paper? Look at these sheets—so white, much prettier than yellow paper. I had no idea all this time they were making paper!”
“Brother Man, how exactly do you make this?”
Qin Xiaoman stood at the doorway and explained to the crowd, “My husband learned this while studying. It’s quite troublesome.”
“The academy teaches this?”
“Of course not. You have to borrow and buy books, study them bit by bit, record experiences and methods, and slowly experiment until you figure it out.”
The villagers were astonished by Qin Xiaoman’s words. Seeing the snow-white paper, with household laborers busy drying it, they were envious. “This is such fine paper. We could never make it ourselves. Could you spare two sheets for us, just to see what it’s like?”
Qin Xiaoman crossed his arms. “Auntie, you can’t read, and there’s no scholar in the house. What would you do with the paper? Use it as toilet paper?”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Still, the villagers persisted with a cheeky grin. “Well, just in case we need to write something, it’s good to have some on hand instead of searching for it later.”
Qin Xiaoman nodded. “Alright. Anyway, our household plans to sell the paper. Today we’ve opened the door for business. Everyone here is a neighbor; white paper is five wen for two sheets, very affordable. Even bookshops in the county cannot match this price. Auntie, how many sheets would you like? I’ll fetch them for you. Being neighbors, you can even pick and choose.”
Hearing they had to pay, the villagers immediately became shy.
In the cold winter, news spread quickly. Soon, surrounding villages heard of the paper-making, and within two days, scholars came to inquire about buying it.