Hot flashes

The notice was simple: the printing shop is reopening today and is hiring five engravers and five printers. Wages will be paid daily, and all applicants will be accepted.

The day the notice was posted, a crowd gathered at the school gate. After reading it, they whispered among themselves for a while, and then slowly dispersed. No one signed up.

Chen Shen stood beside Zhou Heng and whispered, "Young Master, the bookstores have already informed those engravers and printers. Whoever comes here can forget about working for those other companies."

Zhou Heng nodded.

He turned and went into the school, where he found Old Bi in the backyard.

Old Bi was squatting on the ground, picking up the smashed typeface piece by piece, wiping it clean with his sleeve, and placing it aside. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, his eyes still red.

"grown ups."

Zhou Heng squatted down beside him, picked up a piece of broken wood and examined it.

"How long did it take to carve these words?"

Old Bi said, "More than a month. My apprentices and I worked day and night, and our eyes are almost blind."

Zhou Heng put the piece of wood down.

"How long will it take to carve it again?"

Old Bi was stunned for a moment.

Zhou Heng looked at him.

Old Bi lowered his head and remained silent for a while.

"Sir," he said, "it's not that I'm unwilling. My apprentices all have elderly parents and young children at home. The bookstore has spread the word that anyone who engraves characters for the school will no longer be needed by the printing industry in the entire Jiangling City."

Zhou Heng nodded.

"I understand," he said. "I won't force you. Take your apprentice back and rest for a few days; you'll still get paid."

Old Bi raised his head, looked at him, and moved his lips as if to say something.

Zhou Heng had already stood up and was walking out.

He walked to the courtyard gate and suddenly heard a voice behind him.

"grown ups."

Zhou Heng turned around.

Old Bi was still squatting there, his back to him, his voice muffled.

"I'll stay."

Zhou Heng remained silent.

Old Bi slowly stood up and turned around.

"I've been in the printing business for forty years," he said, "and I've never been in charge of anything myself. I work for a bookstore, and they tell me what to print, how many to print, and how much to charge. My whole life has been that of a laborer."

He paused.

"But this time is different. This time, the books printed are for children who can't afford to go to school. My grandson is in them too."

Zhou Heng looked at him.

After Lao Bi finished speaking, he squatted down again and continued picking up the pieces of wood.

Zhou Heng stood there for a while, then turned and left.

Chen Shen followed and whispered, "Young Master, it's not enough for just Lao Bi."

Zhou Heng nodded.

"I know."

He walked out of the school, stood at the door, and watched the people coming and going on the street.

Some people were selling vegetables, some were carrying loads on their shoulders, and some were sunbathing in the corner. A young man squatted against the opposite wall, engrossed in reading a tattered book.

The pages were all curled up, and there was no cover. He just kept turning the pages, occasionally looking up and glancing at the school.

He had someone bring the young man over.

The young man walked over, somewhat reserved, still clutching the tattered book in his hand.

Zhou Heng glanced at the book—the Thousand Character Classic—which was missing its first few pages.

"What's your name?"

"Zheng, Zheng Da Niu."

Zhou Heng nodded.

"Can you read?"

Zheng Daniu shook his head: "No, I don't really know much about it. I just flipped through the pages and looked at the pictures."

Zhou Heng reached out, took the book, and flipped through a few pages.

Do you want to learn to read?

Zheng Daniu paused for a moment, then nodded vigorously.

Zhou Heng returned the book to him.

"Come to the school tomorrow, and I'll have someone teach you. It's free."

Zheng Daniu stood there, looking at him, his lips trembling, unable to utter a word.

Zhou Heng didn't say anything more and turned to leave.

Chen Shen followed behind and couldn't help but ask, "Young Master, what about Zheng Daniu...?"

Zhou Heng said, "He's not a carver. But he's a living advertisement."

Chen Shen was stunned.

Zhou Heng offered no explanation.

The next day, Zheng Daniu arrived.

On the third day, three young men came with Zheng Daniu. They were all from the south of the city. They had heard from Zheng Daniu that the school was really free, so they wanted to give it a try.

On the fourth day, seven people arrived.

On the fifth day, more than a dozen people arrived.

Old Bi stood in the courtyard, looking at the young people, his eyes reddening again. He tugged at Zhou Heng's sleeve, his voice trembling, "Sir, this...this...I can't teach them all by myself."

Zhou Heng nodded.

"Then hire another teacher. Your apprentices who are willing to come back will have their wages doubled."

Old Bi was stunned for a moment: "Double?... "

Zhou Heng patted Lao Bi on the shoulder and left.

On the sixth day, Lao Bi's two apprentices returned.

On the seventh day, three more returned.

On the eighth day, Zhou Heng opened a type-carving class at the school. Old Bi taught, and the young people who wanted to learn to read learned to recognize characters and carve characters at the same time. The carved characters were crooked and uneven, but at least they were usable.

On the ninth day, the first batch of movable type was recarved.

On the tenth day, the first batch of textbooks was reprinted.

Zhou Heng stood in the printing workshop, watching the newly printed books being piled up one by one. The paper was still rough, but the print was clear. Old Bi rubbed his hands together beside him, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out.

"Sir, this batch is printed better than the last batch."

Zhou Heng picked up a book, opened it, and looked at the words on it.

Then he put down the book and walked outside.

Chen Shen caught up: "Young Master, where are we going?"

Zhou Heng said, "Let's take a walk around the city."

The streets of Jiangling were much narrower and less crowded than those of the capital. Zhou Heng rode his horse slowly through several streets and stopped in front of a teahouse.

Inside the teahouse, someone was telling a story, an old tale. Zhou Heng went in, sat down in a corner, and ordered a pot of tea.

The storyteller is telling the tale of an upright official from a previous dynasty. He offended powerful figures by seeking justice for the common people, and was eventually dismissed from office, returned to his hometown, and died in poverty.

At this emotional climax, the storyteller slammed his gavel and sighed, "In this world, good people don't always get good rewards."

Someone chimed in, "That's right. Look at Lord Zhou, he set up a school, didn't charge tuition, and even provided meals—what a kind person. And what happened? The bookstore was constantly causing trouble, and the printing shop was vandalized."

Another person said, "Then why isn't Lord Zhou leaving?"

The first person said, "Why are you leaving? He's still here. I heard he's rebuilt the printing workshop and hired a group of apprentices, teaching them how to carve characters every day."

"Really?"

"It's true. My second uncle's neighbor's third son works there. They said they'd provide meals and even pay him wages."

A buzz of discussion arose in the teahouse.

Zhou Heng sipped his tea, listening to those words, his face expressionless.

The storyteller struck the gavel again and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I won't tell the old stories today. I'll tell you something new."