Chương 108: Chapter 106

I am halfway through my first sip of tea when the door of the hall opens with the usual smoothness and my mother enters accompanied by Lingxi, who follows her half a step behind with discretion.

"Good morning, Wen", my mother tells me with that light smile with which she always greets me.

"Good morning, Mother", I reply, lowering the cup carefully and returning her smile. My mother walks around the table with her customary elegance and sits in her place while Lingxi settles beside her and begins to serve her tea. For my part, Lianhua, who has already placed me in my usual spot and served me the congee and the buns just a moment ago, steps back half a pace to remain behind me.

For a few minutes both of us eat without saying anything, in one of those comfortable silences that occur when we have already seen each other in the morning without need of words and we simply enjoy breakfast. I take a bun, give it a bite, and when I finish chewing, I lift my gaze toward my mother, who is calmly raising her cup of tea.

"Mother", I tell her then.

"How is the matter of setting up the printing press going? It has been several days since I last asked you." My mother, who was about to drink, slowly lowers the cup and sets it on the saucer with a small clink before looking at me.

"According to what I have been informed, it is going well", she replies without haste.

"They have finished assembling the new pieces in which they had noticed flaws, and very soon they are going to begin making the first tests." Here she makes a brief pause and, as she picks up her chopsticks again, adds something she has clearly been wanting to comment on me for some time.

"Although there is something they still have doubts about", she continues with a slightly more measured tone.

"They don't know whether to use individual bronze characters, as you had recommended, or wooden plates with the writing carved on them. Apparently, having to manufacture thousands of characters in the case of the first option could raise the initial costs too much, and that is what is holding them back." I nod as I listen to my mother, because the doubt they have is perfectly reasonable, and the truth is that I was expecting someone to eventually raise it sooner or later.

"Either of the two options is valid, Mother", I reply after swallowing the last piece of bun.

"That is why I recommended both of them at the time, and not just one." I make a pause to pick up my chopsticks.

"But in the case of the metallic characters there is one thing that must be kept very much in mind", I continue.

"And that is that it is a one-time investment. Once manufactured, those characters can last decades and serve for many different printings. Today a book of poetry is printed with them, tomorrow a novel, and the following month a compilation of laws, and the same characters serve for all of it." My mother nods slowly, listening, while I pick up a piece of pickled vegetable with the chopsticks.

"On the other hand, with the carved wooden plates a new plate would have to be created for each printing made", I add before eating it.

"And, furthermore, their life cycle would be much shorter. The wood wears out, swells with humidity, cracks with time, and the carved characters lose definition with each use, while the bronze, well cared for, practically does not age." My mother nods again after listening to me and, by the way she does it, I know she has registered the important part of what I have just told her.

"I will communicate your words to the people who are in charge of setting up and testing the printing press", she tells me.

"So that they take them into account before making the final decision." I nod, satisfied upon hearing her, as I hope they make the correct decision. I then pick up the cup of tea and, before taking a sip, I launch the next question I had been holding pending for days.

"And in the end, were they satisfied with the ink I sent them to use with the printing press?" I ask her before drinking. My mother twists her mouth very slightly, in one of those small gestures of hers that normally precede an anecdote that has amused her.

"At first they showed themselves skeptical", she replies, setting the chopsticks down on the table for a moment.

"They saw no sense in changing an ink that had been used all their lives for a new one they didn't know and which, on top of that, came to them from the hands of a girl." The last part she says with a very contained smile that clearly indicates it amuses her, especially because that girl was the one who had given them the plans for the printing press.

"But after some tests", she continues.

"They confirmed that what you had told them was true. The regular ink struggled enormously to adhere to the metal if they chose to use it in the printing press, to the point that half of the characters came out blurry or directly unmarked." My mother now picks up the cup herself and takes a small sip before continuing.

"And the one you sent them is much better for that use", she concludes, setting the cup again on the saucer.

"It adheres to the bronze without problems and, on top of that, it comes out much better when printing. The tests they have done with it, according to what they told me, come out clean and crisp."

I nod, satisfied upon listening to my mother, glad that the oil-based ink formula that I said I had invented based on the knowledge about talisman ink that I learned from Master Mu has worked as well as in my old world, since it was one of the reasons why Gutenberg's printing press was much more popular than the previous attempts.

"I'm glad to hear it, Mother", I tell her after taking another sip of tea.

"And precisely for that reason I wanted to ask you for something." My mother slightly raises her gaze toward me, attentive.

"When they have finished and are at last ready to truly begin, I would appreciate it if you would tell me", I continue.

"I am writing a work that I want them to print for me and that I am willing to hand over so that they can use it as a sample of what the printing press can do." My mother arches an eyebrow upon hearing me and sets the cup on the saucer with a care that is clearly deliberate.

"A work?" she repeats with a tone where the surprise is genuine.

"Do you mean that now you have gone from being purely a reader to being, additionally, a writer?"

"It's only an idea I had, Mother", I reply, shrugging slightly and taking a bite of another bun to have an excuse not to extend myself too much.

"And I still have to finish writing it." And while I tell her this last part, a part of my head, the part that has been suffering in silence for weeks, lets out a more than justified complaint. Because I would already have it written if it weren't for the fact that I have gotten myself into the marvelous task of adapting the contents of Journey to the West, so I have to eliminate all the Buddhist references and substitute them with references to cultivators and the Celestial Realm as they understand it here.

At the time it seemed like a brilliant idea to me. An epic, entertaining story, with unforgettable characters, a charismatic protagonist and adventures that are practically begging to be read. The perfect thing, in short, to inaugurate a printing press. What in that moment of enthusiasm I did not calculate well was the absurd quantity of religious details I would have to redo from scratch.

Every time Sun Wukong confronts a demon, every time Tang Sanzang prays, every time a Buddha, a bodhisattva, or a reference to the sacred scriptures appears, I have to stop, breathe deeply, and rewrite the entire scene looking for the appropriate equivalent within the framework of cultivators, sects, Elders, cultivation techniques, and the Celestial Realm. And it is not only changing names, it is changing the underlying logic, the motives, the hierarchies, and, above all, the powers.

And that is not even mentioning having to rewrite a good part of the beginning, since the origin of the Monkey Master as a stone that gains consciousness after centuries of absorbing celestial essence is something that here fits with very few changes, but his apprenticeship with the Patriarch Subodhi of the Seventy-Two Transformations requires a complete adaptation to convert him into a cultivator, with his cultivation technique, his spiritual roots, and his differentiated techniques.

My mother, completely unaware of the small editorial hell I carry in my head, smiles at me with that kind smile of hers after listening to my reply.

"I will be delighted to read what you have written, Wen", she tells me with sincerity.

"I appreciate it, Mother", I reply, returning her smile.

"But don't expect too much, since it is only an invented work that has nothing to do with reality." I make a small pause before adding a nuance to cover myself in case the final result doesn't quite live up to what I have in my head.

"In truth", I add trying for it not to sound like a preventive excuse.

"It is more a story to entertain than anything else. Adventures, journeys, and some colorful character. Nothing that deserves a very deep analysis." My mother nods with that expression of hers that indicates she has registered my warning but has not changed her expectations in the slightest, and picks up her chopsticks again to continue with her breakfast. I, who despite the conversation have not stopped eating at any moment, finish off the last piece of bun and finish the cup of tea with one long sip.

Then I set the cup down with care on the saucer and look toward my mother.

"Mother, if you will excuse me", I tell her with a small gesture.

"I have things to do and I should get to them as soon as possible."

"Of course, Wen", she replies with a gesture of assent.

"Have a good morning." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Lianhua", I tell her turning my head slightly back.

"Take me to my study."

"Yes, Zhāohuán Wen", Lianhua replies in her usual tone as her hands settle on the handles of the chair. Lianhua gently pulls the chair to take me away from the table and, after one last nod of the head toward my mother, takes me out of the hall.

The trip through the palace corridors passes in the accustomed silence, with the morning light filtering through the windows and the handmaidens bowing discreetly at our passing, until at last we cross the threshold of the study and Lianhua positions me, with the usual precision, in front of my desk. And then, once in front of the desk, I look at what I have before me and I sigh. Because on the surface of the desk there are papers.

Papers scattered across absolutely the entire table, in piles more or less orderly, some with annotations in the margin in red ink, others crossed out from top to bottom, others with arrows connecting loose ideas in a tangle that only I am capable of interpreting. There are drafts of chapters, lists of characters with their original names crossed out and replaced by new versions, schemes of the adapted celestial hierarchies, and a heap of small notes with ideas for scenes that I have not yet found time to modify.

And, in some corner of that organized chaos, is the list that gives me the most headaches, the list of pending Buddhist references to substitute, which doesn't seem to shrink no matter how many lines I cross off it. I curse myself internally, once again, for having come up with the brilliant idea of trying to bring the story of Sun Wukong to this world.

I had a thousand options, a thousand shorter works, simpler and with vastly fewer religious references to adapt, and out of all of them I had to choose precisely the longest, the most complex, and the most loaded with Buddhist elements that exists. But I have already started, and now that I have started, I am not willing to leave it half-finished.

I sigh one last time, more out of habit than out of discouragement, and I extend my hand toward the first sheet of paper of the pile I have closest to me, since Journey to the West is not going to adapt itself. I caress once more the cover of the manuscript, and for the umpteenth time so far this morning I allow myself the luxury of staying looking at it with that satisfaction one reserves for the projects that cost more than expected and which, despite everything, have turned out well.

There, on the desk, bound provisionally with a cover of thick paper lined in ivory-colored silk that Lianhua offered to find for me when I asked her for something presentable to wrap it in, is my final version of Journey to the West. As I suspected shortly after beginning, it is, in its final form, almost a new novel, since I have had to directly rewrite more than half of the original text and reorganize a good part of the rest.

Patriarch Subodhi has become an eccentric Elder of a sect lost in the mountain range who teaches the Monkey Master seventy-two combat and transformation techniques, each attributed in detail to a specific spiritual root and a phase of cultivation.

The search for the sacred scriptures in India has become the search for a compendium of techniques sealed in the deepest part of a Celestial Fragment particularly difficult to reach, guarded by an elderly cultivator whose sole role is that of impartial guarantor, while Tang Sanzang, the monk, has become a young and obstinate cultivator, belonging to a minor but respected sect, who receives the charge from an Elder of the Celestial Realm to make that journey as a trial to attain the next step in his path.

And the demons, each of the demons that appear in the work, have had to be rewritten as evolved spirit beasts or renegade cultivators whose cultivation has taken a particularly dark path. But the result, and here I allow myself to be proud in every letter of the word, could not be more satisfying. The episodic adventure structure of the original remains intact. The humor, especially the irreverent humor of Sun Wukong, survives practically unscathed.

The dynamic among the four travel companions, with their tensions, their reconciliations, and their small disputes, remains the heart of the work. And the great scenes, the ones that almost any reader from my previous world would remember even if they had not read the book, are all there, only modified so that the readers of this world can comprehend them without need of footnotes.

I slide my fingers across the cover once again, almost with affection, when the door of the study opens and Lianhua enters with her habitual discretion. I lift my gaze toward her, surprised, because at this hour I normally don't see her unless I call her.

"Lianhua", I tell her with a small furrow of my brow.

"Has something happened? I didn't call you."

"Guifei Xiang has sent me to find you, Zhāohuán Wen", she replies in her neutral tone as always.

"She requests your presence in her study as soon as possible." And upon hearing those words, my head launches headfirst into producing an entire list of possible reasons why my mother might have called for me, and of course, none of the ones that come to mind include their being good news, since if they were she would not have sent for me urgently.

"Take me quickly, Lianhua", I tell her as I reach out a hand toward the manuscript that is still on the table. I pick it up carefully, rest it on my knees, and hold it there with one hand while I think, with an almost halfhearted pragmatism, that since I'm going on a visit to my mother's study and I will probably receive some bad news, at least I can take advantage to deliver it to her and kill two birds with one stone. If the printing press is still working, perfect.

And if not, at least my mother will have something to distract herself with after giving me the bad news.

"Yes, Zhāohuán Wen", Lianhua replies as she positions herself behind the chair and, without further preamble, begins to push it toward the door. We leave the study and travel through the corridors of the Pavilion until stopping in front of the door of my mother's study, after which Lianhua knocks and, almost immediately, Lingxi opens it from the other side.

"Come in", Lingxi tells us as she steps aside to let us pass. Lianhua pushes the chair across the threshold and, as soon as we cross the door, my eyes shift automatically toward the desk where my mother is.

She is seated in her usual place behind the table, and she has spread out in front of her a document of unmistakably official appearance, with seals visible in one of the margins and a calligraphy that, even from my distance, I identify as the formal calligraphy that is only used in correspondence between departments of the Imperial Palace.

The image, far from reassuring me, makes my internal list of catastrophes expand once again with a couple of new additions, so I decide to cut it off at the root by asking what I have been thinking ever since Lianhua mentioned that my mother wanted to see me.

"Mother", I tell her with a more worried tone than I intended.

"Has something happened to the printing press?" My mother lifts her gaze from the document upon hearing me and, when she registers the question, her expression, which until an instant ago was that of someone concentrated on reading something important, transforms into a genuinely surprised expression.

"To the printing press?" she repeats as she arches an eyebrow.

"Why do you think something has happened to the printing press? Everything is perfectly fine, Wen. The first tests continue advancing without setbacks." And upon listening to her, I cannot help but feel a small warmth rise to my cheeks, because I realize immediately how precipitous my conclusion has been and how I have mounted an entire drama out of absolutely nothing.

"Forgive me, Mother", I reply lowering my voice a bit.

"It was the first thing I thought of as soon as Lianhua told me you had sent for me. If we have been speaking of the printing press so often lately, my head has decided on its own that any unexpected summons had to be related to it." My mother laughs slightly upon listening to me, a small and contained laugh that doesn't carry malice but rather a gentle amusement.

"In reality, Wen, it is about something else", she tells me once the laughter passes.

"And it is something that can be either good news or bad news, depending on the point of view of whoever receives it."

"And what is that news, Mother?" I ask her, leaning slightly forward in the chair, intrigued by what my mother has said. My mother, instead of replying with words, lowers her gaze toward the document she has spread out on the table and points to it with elegance.

"You have been invited to the Emperor's birthday", she tells me.

"And, not only that, in the invitation there comes an express request that during the party you perform the same musical piece that you played at your birthday." I take a couple of entire seconds to process what my mother has just told me, and in those two seconds I review mentally, with an almost surgical clarity, the faces of the guests at my birthday when I finished playing it.

"Mother", I tell her slowly, wanting to make sure I have not been mistaken at some point in the reasoning.

"Are you telling me that the court wants me to perform, at the Emperor's birthday, a musical piece that practically no one liked when I played it at my birthday?"

"That seems to be the case, Wen", my mother confirms with a small smile. I let out a snort after listening to her and let myself drop slightly back against the backrest of the chair.

"Then this is my father's doing", I assert without the slightest doubt, because I doubt that a single courtier of the Empire would have dared, on their own initiative, to suggest that that piece be performed at the Emperor's birthday.

"If he wanted so much to hear it, he could have asked me on any of the days he comes to visit, he had no need to mount this whole spectacle." My mother maintains the smile, completely imperturbable in the face of my protest.

"That is why I told you it was good or bad news depending on the point of view of whoever receives it, Wen", she replies with a tone that combines amusement and a pinch of affectionate irony. She makes a brief pause before adding the following, and by the way she slightly adjusts her posture, I know we are entering practical territory.

"And, taking advantage of the occasion", she continues.

"Since this is going to be the first time you are going to attend an official reception at the Imperial Palace in your status as Zhāohuán, during the next Etiquette lessons your teacher is going to focus specifically on what is expected of your behavior during that kind of events."

I nod in silence as I listen, because no matter how much the recital still seems to me like a joke in bad taste on my father's part, the matter of the lessons makes complete sense and, in any case, is not something that can be negotiated.

"Very well, Mother", I reply without offering resistance.

"I will try to pay special attention in those lessons." And just as I finish saying those words, my hand, which throughout the entire conversation has been resting on the manuscript that I have on my lap, reminds me of its presence with a suddenly more conscious weight. I take advantage of the brief silence that follows to lift the manuscript with both hands and I deposit it on my mother's desk, right in a free margin of the official document she has spread out.

"I take advantage of the visit, Mother, to deliver the pending manuscript", I tell her as I withdraw my hand.

"It is finished, ready to be passed on to the printing press whenever you consider it appropriate." My mother lowers her gaze toward the ivory silk cover, observes it for a couple of seconds with that discreet attention of hers, and lifts her eyes again toward me. And then, just when I am about to take my leave and return to my study, a sudden idea arises in my mind with that forcefulness ideas have when they appear suddenly.

"Mother", I add then, leaning slightly forward.

"One more thing. Tell the people at the printing press to do it as fast as they can. It has to be ready before the Emperor's birthday party." My mother looks at me, lowers her eyes once more toward the manuscript, raises them again to me, and this time her expression is not one of surprise but of rapid comprehension.

"Wen", she tells me with a small inclination of the head.

"Are you thinking of doing what I think you're thinking of doing?"

"I suppose so, Mother", I reply with a smile I can't quite hold back.

"The gift of the model of the Celestial Fragment of the Sands I sent him a while ago, but the model is too large to present in the middle of a court reception. On the other hand, presenting to the Emperor, in front of the entire court and as a birthday gift, the first book created by the printing press is a very different matter." I make a pause and lower my tone half a step, because the next part I don't feel like letting out in too loud a voice.

"On the one hand", I continue.

"It is a gift that more than fulfills what the court expects of me at that reception. A unique object and one with an evident symbolic value, which covers all the flanks of protocol.

But, on the other hand, and this is what truly interests me, no matter how hard one searched, it would be impossible to find in the entire empire better publicity for the printing press than that which is going to be generated when all the nobles and high officials present at the party see the Emperor receive the first book printed by it."

My mother looks at me for a couple of entire seconds without saying anything, and then her lips curve slowly into a small smile that is not only of approval, but also of something that resembles quite a lot a genuine enjoyment.

"Understood, Wen", she tells me as she rests her hand softly on the ivory silk cover of the manuscript.

"This very afternoon I will send word to the printing press. They will have the book ready for that date even if I have to go personally to demand it of them." The smile with which I take my leave of my mother is, without a doubt, considerably broader than the one I was wearing when I entered the study.

And while Lianhua pushes me back through the corridors of the Pavilion, a small part of me begins to think with a quiet satisfaction that, after all, the matter of the recital may not be such a bad idea as I might have thought at first, and that I have to check whether I have enough time to be able to find, and train, some dancers.