Aoyama

There were only three people on the top floor of Meirui Building. The wind outside blew through the building, making the papers on the table rustle. If it weren't for the paperweights holding them down, the papers would probably fly out of the building like snowflakes.

The gangster sat casually on the table, holding his pipe, and said smugly, "They think they can compete with me in poetry with their mediocre skills? They couldn't do it even if they had ten lifetimes. I don't even need to go to Wen Yuan Bookstore to imagine their expressions. They'll be dumbfounded first, then amazed, and finally look for the author. They'll rack their brains but still not remember when there was ever a person named 'Chen Chong' in the capital."

At this point, the gangster suddenly sighed, "A bright moon rises over the sea, we share this moment though far apart... This is probably a line of poetry that many poets could never reach in their entire lives, a line that is enough to make one's name last for eternity. By the way, do you think that this poem alone would be enough to make Yan, the head of the brothels in Chang Le Fang, Bai Shun Hutong, offer himself to me?"

Erdao said in a muffled voice, "Brother, you're exactly like that now, a petty person who has gotten his way."

The man scratched his scalp with his little finger, then turned to look at Zhang Xia not far away: "Miss Zhang, do I look like a petty person who has achieved success?"

Zhang Xia looked down at the documents on the desk: "It's alright. If I could write a poem like this, I could be proud of myself for a while."

The man laughed heartily and jumped off the table: "Miss Zhang speaks so pleasantly..."

Zhang Xia interrupted without looking up, "But it's a bit difficult to get Yan, the courtesan, to offer herself up. She's been focused on getting Yang Yuan to redeem her lately and hasn't been seeing any guests. Courtesans of her age naturally know that while poetry is good, it can't guarantee a peaceful old age; money is what matters."

The man took a drag of his cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke, and quietly watched the gray smoke rise up the brackets: "Miss Zhang, you really are capable."

Zhang Xia casually remarked, "Not everyone has sincerity."

The gangster wasn't discouraged: "Then I'll find a younger one to swindle... By the way, why hasn't our boss come to Plum Blossom Ferry lately? What's he busy with?"

Zhang Xia picked up his pen and sketched on the article in front of him: "A righteous person can gather people, a kind person can win people over, a self-disciplined person can convince people, and a person who takes the lead can lead people. The brotherhood has the ability to stand alone, so he can naturally trust him."

The man clicked his tongue: "Your praise makes me a little ecstatic."

Just then, footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs.

Zhang Xia finally raised her head and watched Chen Ji walk upstairs: "What brings you here today?"

Chen Ji nodded: "I heard about Wen Yuan Bookstore challenging us, so I came to take a look."

The man laughed and said, "Master, don't worry, those bookworms can't outsmart us... Have you read today's evening paper, Master?"

Chen Ji raised his hand and held up the newspaper in his hand: "I've read it... I've always wanted to ask the Gelaohui something."

The man smiled and said, "Please speak, sir."

Chen Ji pointed to the poem in the newspaper: "How did the Gelaohui (a secret society) manage to memorize this poem? 'The bright moon rises over the sea, we share this moment though we are far apart.' This line isn't hard to memorize, but the rest is not."

The sea is bright and the moon is at this time.

The lover complains about the night, and the lovesickness begins at night.

Extinguishing the candle, I cherish the remaining light; donning my robe, I feel the dew's dampness.

I cannot bear to give you all this; I will return to my bed to dream of our happy reunion.

Chen Ji could recite the first line, but he couldn't come up with the rest no matter how hard he tried. And the Pao Ge were江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the martial arts world) people, so they shouldn't have been able to recite it.

He took a deep breath: "Are there any other fellow villagers?"

The man laughed: "The boss is right. Logically speaking, I shouldn't be able to recite them. Ever since I learned that Shen Ye's poems could lure girls to sleep, I've been racking my brains day and night, but I can only come up with about ten familiar poems, none of which are very relevant to the occasion."

Chen Ji listened quietly.

The man changed the subject: "Until Miss Zhang came up with a method that made everything clear to me."

Chen Ji turned to look at Zhang Xia: "What method?"

Zhang Xia said calmly, "Little monk. Let him see through the eyes of the Gelaohui (a secret society), and then let him write it down. What was once forgotten will be remembered."

Chen Ji was stunned. He turned to look at the little monk, but he never expected that the little monk could use it in this way.

The young monk put his hands together and said softly, "Benefactor Chen Ji is the first to dare to let me look directly into my heart, and Benefactor Chen Chong is the second."

The man said nonchalantly, "In my life, although I have made mistakes, I dare to admit them. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

Chen Ji pondered for a moment, then looked at the Gelaohui: "What does the Gelaohui plan to do about the Wen Yuan Bookstore?"

The gangster grinned and said, "Someone has come knocking on our door, so we have to teach him a lesson. We have to make sure that every time he thinks of us, he remembers the pain he suffered. Boss, that's the way things are in the marketplace."

Chen Ji shook his head: "Don't argue with them."

The man suddenly exclaimed, "Miss Zhang really guessed right."

"Hmm?" Chen Ji asked in confusion, "What did you guess correctly?" The man tapped his pipe on the sole of his shoe, "Miss Zhang said you wouldn't argue with Wen Yuan Bookstore over this matter. I asked her if it was because the owner didn't want to offend the Qi and Xu families, and she said no. I asked her again if the owner felt guilty towards Miss Qi, and she said no again. Miss Zhang said that it's not that you don't value your pride, but that you simply don't take such things to heart... because those people and things are unimportant."

Chen Ji remained silent for a long time before looking out of Mei Rui Lou: "Brother, even if you publish all the poems you remember at once, it'll only give the people of the capital something to watch. No matter how much they complain, they can't prevent us from selling a single copy. With the newspaper and the little monk's telepathic abilities, let's stop getting entangled in these pointless squabbles. Perhaps we can do something more important and meaningful, instead of wasting our time on them."

The man thought for a moment and said, "I understand the reasoning, but I want to publish another poem on the Mid-Autumn Festival. I can't sleep if this poem isn't published."

Chen Ji agreed: "Then let's publish another one to suit the occasion."

The man sat back down at the table: "Now, boss, you can tell us what is more important and meaningful."

……

……

The next morning.

Wen Yuan Bookstore was bustling with activity early in the morning. A green silk sedan chair stopped in front of the door, and the accompanying servant used a bamboo stick to lift the curtain. Cui Qinghe bent down and stepped out of the sedan chair. Before he even entered the main hall of the bookstore, he heard Xu Bin shouting from inside: "Have you found out where Meihua Ferry got its carvings from? Why can they produce two newspapers a day and have four more pages than us?"

Cui Qinghe walked inside and saw that quite a few people had already arrived in the backyard. Qi Zhaoning had also arrived early: "Why are you all here so early?"

Everyone was silent.

At that moment, the cries of a vendor selling his wares from Plum Blossom Ferry came from outside the gate: "Today's morning report from the capital! The small foreign land of 'Siam' has refused to pay tribute and has killed our Ning Dynasty envoy in an attempt to rebel. Yang Xun, the provincial governor of Jiaozhi, has led 8,000 elite troops from 'Annam' to quell the rebellion, annihilating 20,000 elite Siamese soldiers, and is now escorting the King of Siam to the capital. The Annamite envoy has arrived in Jinling and will arrive in the capital within the month!"

Xu Bin waved to the waiter: "Go and buy five portions."

The waiter hurried out and returned with five stacks of newspapers. Yuan Wang stepped forward, took a newspaper, unfolded it, and the first thing he did was to look at the page containing poems and articles.

Others followed suit, and those who didn't get a newspaper gathered around those who did.

They hadn't answered Cui Qinghe's question about why he'd arrived so early, all because yesterday's line, "The moon rises over the sea, we share this moment though far apart," had weighed them down. But after asking around for a while, they learned that this unknown "Chen Chong" was actually the street thug they had looked down upon.

Everyone held their breath, eager to see what poems Chen Chong from the Beijing Morning Post would bring out to compete today.

"Huh?" Yuan Wang asked in confusion, "Why is the poetry section gone?"

Cui Qinghe also wondered, "What kind of mess are these publications? Why did they change the layout for poetry?"

Qi Zhaoning breathed a sigh of relief: "Perhaps Chen Chong only has that one poem, and knowing he can't compare, he retreated to avoid the limelight."

Cui Qinghe nodded in agreement: "First, release a good poem and then change the layout. Even if others ask, they can say that they actually have poetic talent, but they didn't want to hurt the harmony among their peers, so they changed the layout... It's a way to save face and save some dignity."

Qi Zhaoning sneered, "Does he think he can just let it go like this? Brother Xu, tomorrow..."

It was only then that everyone noticed Xu Bin standing there, engrossed in reading a newspaper.

Cui Qinghe called out loudly, "Brother Xu?"

Xu Bin snapped out of his daze: "What's wrong?"

Cui Qinghe asked in confusion, "Why are you daydreaming?"

Xu Bin pointed to the newly changed page of the Beijing Morning Post: "That man from Wuxiang County actually published his Beijing Morning Post's unique technique."

Cui Qinghe paused for a moment, then looked at the newspaper in his hand. The newly printed page contained detailed instructions on how to cast copper type, how to mix ink, and how to improve printing from brush to embossing.

This was exactly what Xu Bin had been dreaming of.

The scholars in the academy looked at each other in bewilderment: "How could the man from Wuxiang County have cut off his own escape route? Could it be that he knows he can't deal with us, so he simply made this unique technique public and will stop publishing the newspaper from now on?"

Qi Zhaoning remained silent.

The improvement of movable type printing only took up half a page; there was still half a page left. She continued reading, and the newspaper detailed how to improve papermaking technology.

Although bamboo paper is now considered inexpensive, it is still unaffordable for many poor scholars.

As the Morning Post stated, the most difficult aspects of papermaking lie in two points: firstly, the soaking and fermentation of bamboo materials takes too long, requiring up to 100 days. To solve this problem, the fastest-fermenting mother liquor can be selected from the bamboo materials and then fermented with lime water, reducing the fermentation time from 100 days to 30 days.

Secondly, the steaming and drying processes require burning a large amount of firewood, resulting in high costs. To solve this problem, a measured amount of wood ash can be added during steaming, which can shorten the steaming time.

The Morning Post, with its thousands of words, only mentioned these two things, and wrote in the last sentence of the page: May all poor families in the world have books on their desks and light in their windows.

This lengthy text, spanning several thousand words, makes no further mention of Mid-Autumn Festival poems. (End of Chapter)