A wave of heat, carrying the strange odor of lye and fermented bamboo, rushed over, making people dizzy and nauseous.

That large cauldron was like a greedy giant beast, the thick, churning slurry within its belly its very guts.

Su Yang gritted his teeth, pouring all the strength in his body into his arms, then transmitting it through that heavy wooden pole into the pot of seemingly congealed paste.

“Huff… huff…”

Beast-like gasps escaped his throat. Every stir felt like dragging a heavy demon up from hell.

Zhao Dazhuang and Zhao Eryong weren’t faring much better. They took turns, joining several other men whose fighting spirit had been roused, stubbornly wrestling with this pot of bamboo pulp.

The wooden poles stirred the slurry, producing muffled sounds of “gurgle… plop,” slow yet resolute.

That massive vortex, under the life-or-death efforts of everyone, finally began to rotate steadily.

Su Ming stood a little further away, his gaze tightly locked onto the figure of his Second Brother, Su Yang.

Lin Yu chuckled softly. “Brute force alone isn’t enough. The timing is about right.”

Su Ming immediately understood. He stepped forward and raised his voice. “Second Brother! Uncles and brothers! The timing is right! You can rest now!”

Su Yang and the others heard this as if it were heavenly music. They almost simultaneously let go of the wooden poles in their hands, collapsing to the ground one by one like fish out of water, gasping for air in great heaves.

The next step in the process was paper forming.

This was delicate work, requiring patience and skillful hands. Su Ming took charge personally. Holding a wooden frame strung with a fine bamboo screen, he dipped it into the slightly cooled paper pulp, gave it a gentle shake and a sweep, then lifted it steadily.

A thin, damp, unevenly colored yellowish-brown layer of fibers evenly adhered to the bamboo screen.

He carefully flipped the screen over, laying it onto a flat wooden board, then gently peeled it away.

A damp, coarse, even slightly tattered-edged piece of paper was born.

The workshop fell deathly silent.

Everyone’s gaze was fixed on that thin, damp, ugly thing.

One of the men, who had just been half-dead from exhaustion, struggled to get up, craned his neck, rubbed his eyes in disbelief, and stammered, “This… this is… paper?”

No one answered him.

Because everyone was stunned by the sight before them.

Those worthless, abundant tender bamboo shoots from the mountains, after being pounded, fermented, and steamed and boiled, had actually transformed into paper that could be written on!

This was even more incredible than the ghost stories passed around the countryside!

“It’s done…” Su Shan was the first to regain his senses. His lips trembled as he stretched out his hands, calloused and cracked, wanting to touch it, but stopped mid-air as if it were some sacred creation.

“It’s done! It’s really done!”

Someone shouted first, and the long-suppressed excitement erupted instantly like a mountain torrent.

“Hahaha! My goodness! Bamboo really can turn into paper!”

“We made it! We made it!”

The men forgot their exhaustion, jumping up one after another, pounding each other’s shoulders, laughing and shouting like a bunch of madmen.

Zhao Dequan happened to walk into the workshop at that moment, hands clasped behind his back.

He saw the damp paper on the wooden board and the ecstatic faces of the men at a glance. He didn’t smile, his face still wearing that inscrutable, authoritative expression, but a distinct flame burned fiercely within his shrewd eyes.

He walked to the wooden board, crouched down, reached out a finger, and gently, carefully, rubbed the edge of the damp paper.

Feeling the coarse yet resilient texture of the fibers.

“Shut up, all of you!” he said without looking up, his voice not loud but like a heavy hammer, instantly smashing all the clamor to pieces.

The workshop fell silent again, not a sound to be heard.

Zhao Dequan slowly stood up, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping over every face.

“Remember! From today on, if any of you dares to let a single word slip, don’t blame Zhao Dequan for not caring about fellow villagers! I’ll have you thrown in the river!”

A chill ran through everyone’s hearts. The wild joy on their faces quickly faded, replaced by deep awe and fear.

“Xiao Ming.” Zhao Dequan turned to Su Ming. “How long does this thing need to dry?”

“It needs to be pressed to remove water, then each sheet pasted onto a heated wall for baking. Fastest, one day; slowest, two days.”

“Good!” Zhao Dequan waved a hand decisively. “Su Yang! You take some men and build that wall immediately! Su Ming, you’re responsible for teaching them how to press and bake! In three days, I want to see dry paper we can take to town to sell!”

…

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

Under Su Ming’s guidance, the first batch of nearly a thousand sheets of bamboo paper was finally fresh out of the oven.

These papers were far from exquisite. Their color was a dull, earthy yellow, the surface was coarse, and one could even see tiny bamboo fibers that hadn’t completely dissolved. But they had one huge advantage—they were thick and tough!

Zhao Dequan took one sheet, pulled it hard with both hands. The paper only stretched and deformed, making a “crack” sound, but did not tear.

“Good! Good!” Zhao Dequan’s eyes shone with a brilliant light as he said “good” twice.

He carefully selected the best-looking hundred or so sheets from this batch and wrapped them meticulously in oilcloth.

“Dazhuang, Eryong, guard this place well! No one is to come near!”

“Shanzi, Xiao Ming, you two, father and son, come with me.”

Zhao Dequan didn’t bring anyone else, only calling Su Shan and his son. He personally drove the ox cart, taking advantage of the dim, pre-dawn light, heading straight for Qingshi Town.

Lin Yu commented in Su Ming’s mind, “See that, disciple? This is the way of an old fox. Core technology must be kept in his own hands, and sales channels must be personally established. Bringing you is so you, the ‘technical supervisor,’ can answer questions at critical moments. Bringing your father is to let this honest man witness with his own eyes how this immense wealth comes about, so he’ll be utterly devoted from now on.”

Su Ming remained silent but mentally noted down everything his master said.

Arriving at Qingshi Town, Zhao Dequan habitually started driving the ox cart towards the general goods market area. Su Ming suddenly spoke up, “Uncle Zhao, wait.”

“Hmm?” Zhao Dequan reined in the ox and looked back, puzzled.

Su Ming took a deep breath, his gaze firm as he looked towards the direction of the County School. “Uncle Zhao, we… should go to the Xu family bookstall first.”

Zhao Dequan’s brow furrowed slightly, clearly somewhat unconvinced. “Old Xu? How much can his little stall take? Thirty, fifty sheets at most. Better to go to the general goods market first; the volume there is larger.”

“Uncle Zhao,” Su Ming’s tone was sincere yet insistent, “the bookstall might not take a large quantity, but its significance is extraordinary. Think about it. Xu Qing is a County School student; his classmates are also scholars. If our paper gains their approval, it means we’ve established a reputation within the scholar community. This is a long-term business.”

He paused, then continued, “Moreover, Mr. Xu is an upright person. Dealing with scholars is always better than haggling with those shrewd merchants. Although our paper is sturdy and durable, it’s ultimately coarse. Using it for scholars to write on better reflects its value than selling it to general stores for wrapping things or pasting windows.”

Zhao Dequan narrowed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously tapping the cart shaft, clearly weighing the pros and cons.

Seeing this, Su Ming added more fuel to the fire. “Uncle Zhao, as long as Xu Qing and the others use it and say it’s good, are we afraid big buyers won’t come knocking in the future? We need to establish this reputation first!”

Su Shan, who had been silent all along, also cautiously spoke up, “Brother Zhao, Third Son makes sense… The approval of scholars is precious indeed.”

Zhao Dequan’s gaze lingered on Su Ming’s determined young face for a moment. Suddenly, he laughed heartily and turned the ox cart around. “Fine! I’ll listen to you this once, kid! Let’s go meet that Old Mr. Xu first!”

The ox cart creaked as it turned, heading towards the County School.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep