Movable type printing

Late at night. Luan Yi was summoned by Cai Yong for questioning.

As he entered the room, he saw Cai Yong dressed in a grand robe, holding a bamboo scroll and reading by lamplight. His cheeks were ruddy, and his graying hair was still damp—clearly, he had just enjoyed a soak in the hot springs. Standing behind him was Cai Zhao, whose slender, fair hands gently massaged Cai Yong’s shoulders. When Luan Yi pushed open the door, Cai Zhao greeted him with a kind smile, so beautiful that it made Luan Yi, whose physical age had just passed eight but whose soul was over thirty-three, utterly captivated.

Cai Yong set the scroll gently on the table and, beaming, motioned for Luan Yi to sit beside him.

Luan Yi obeyed with respectful composure.

Cai Yong then inquired about Luan Yi’s studies. Ostensibly casual, the conversation was in fact a subtle examination of his scholarly foundation. Luan Yi responded with the “correct answers” as taught by Master Cen at the academy.

However, Master Cen, being a scholar of the old school, inevitably passed on some outdated and even erroneous knowledge. Cai Yong corrected these points, explaining the authentic interpretations of the classics to Luan Yi in detail.

To receive guidance from such an eminent contemporary scholar was a tremendous gain for Luan Yi.

Cai Yong stroked his beard and sighed, “The ways of annotating the classics are as varied as they are confusing—leading the youth astray! If I had not given you advice, you might easily have been misled.”

Luan Yi, too, was full of emotion. He praised Cai Yong’s endeavor in erecting the Stone Classics of Hongdu, an act that set scholarly understanding aright. “Sir, your action will benefit generations to come.”

“Alas…” Cai Yong’s sigh was long and sorrowful. “Though the Stone Classics of Hongdu in the Imperial Academy can correct the texts, their reach and influence are lacking, and the effect is far from ideal. I fear it will be hard to remedy the current misinterpretations of the classics.”

From the deep furrow in Cai Yong’s brow, Luan Yi could see he was genuinely distressed by the deviation of the scholars from the true meanings of the classics. The air in the room grew heavy with sadness, and Luan Yi’s own heart tightened with empathy. He began searching his memories from his previous life for a way to help Cai Yong disseminate the correct interpretations.

The room fell into a silence so profound that one could hear a pin drop. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration darted through Luan Yi’s mind, but he could not quite grasp it, leaving him with a throbbing headache. After much fruitless thought, he calmed himself and started to reason logically.

The root of Cai Yong’s frustration was that the classics and histories, with their brevity and ambiguity, could be interpreted in many ways, creating confusion. The only solution was to select a single, authoritative explanation and promote it widely. That was precisely what Cai Yong was attempting. His greatest obstacle was the lack of effective means to disseminate his commentaries; many scholars, including Luan Yi and most students at Yingchuan Academy, had never read his Stone Classics.

Yingchuan Academy was a renowned institution of the late Han dynasty; if even its scholars had not read Cai Yong’s Stone Classics, it was needless to mention students in more remote regions.

Moreover, the Stone Classics, though correcting the texts, were limited by the space available on the stone tablets, leaving many important points unrecorded and thus unknown.

In summary, Cai Yong faced two main problems: first, his teachings were constrained by narrow channels of dissemination; second, the medium itself was insufficiently capacious to convey all necessary information.

These were the problems Luan Yi urgently needed to solve for Cai Yong. “Channels… capacity…” he muttered repeatedly, and suddenly the flash of inspiration returned, clearer this time. “I have it!”

Cai Yong, hearing this, brightened with delight. He had long suspected that Luan Yi, famed as a prodigy, might be able to solve his difficulties, though he had not expected an answer so quickly. Feigning ignorance, he asked, “What have you come up with?”

“I have a way to ensure the Stone Classics of Hongdu endure for ages,” Luan Yi declared with confidence.

“Speak quickly!” Cai Yong’s excitement made his eyes blaze and even his beard bristle.

“Why not have the Stone Classics of Hongdu printed into books?”

“Printing? Printing… printing…” At these words, the previously elated Cai Yong suddenly wilted, his disappointment palpable. “Do you think I haven't considered making books? But printing costs a fortune; to print ten thousand volumes would require an astronomical sum. Nephew, your suggestion is not feasible.”

Cai Zhao behind him looked equally deflated. He had hoped Luan Yi would come up with a miraculous plan, but this seemed all too ordinary.

“Don’t be anxious, sir. I have a way to reduce the cost. Please let me explain.” Luan Yi, smiling serenely, continued. The high cost of printing, he said, had two main causes: First, in block printing, each page requires its own engraved wooden or stone block—one block per page, as many blocks as pages. Even without considering craftsmen’s wages, the blocks themselves are costly. Moreover, with hundreds of characters per page and hundreds of pages per book, mistakes in carving are inevitable, and a single error ruins the entire block, resulting in significant waste. Second, books require a material to print on. At present, most books in Han China are made of bamboo slips, followed by silk, and lastly the paper invented by Lord Cai. Of these, bamboo slips are the cheapest but unsuitable for printing; silk is expensive; Cai’s paper is the most costly, and too fragile for preservation.

Luan Yi paused to sip the warm water Cai Zhao handed him, then continued: “Thus, if we are to print books, silk is currently our only option, though it is costly. But as for block printing, I have a means to minimize its expense.”

“Oh?” Cai Yong had already investigated the matter in the capital and learned that to print ten thousand silk books would cost thirty thousand strings of cash; with fifty pages per book, ten thousand sets would be one hundred and fifty thousand strings of cash. He had also found that the major cost came from the printing blocks, which accounted for seventy percent of the total, while silk was only ten percent—of a fifteen-string set, only one and a half strings paid for the silk, and this could decrease with larger print runs, while block costs increased the more one printed.

With his modest salary and assets, even selling everything would not raise such a sum!

Therefore, when he heard Luan Yi claim to have a way to cut the cost of blocks, his spirits revived and he pressed for details.

Luan Yi stood, pacing as he replied, “A trifling skill. I call it movable type printing.”

“Movable type printing?” Cai Yong and Cai Zhao exclaimed in unison.

“That’s right, movable type printing.” Luan Yi then explained its principles to them in detail. Movable type printing, he said, uses individual metal or clay types, each engraved with a single character—much like the seals used in daily life. Once the types are prepared, they are arranged according to the text, fixed in a frame with pine resin, inked, and pressed onto the medium. After printing, the types are removed and kept for future use. This method avoids the need for countless carved blocks and eliminates waste from carving errors. Thus, the cost of printing would be drastically reduced; by Luan Yi’s estimate, at least half that of block printing.

“Block printing? Movable type printing?” Cai Yong, a man of broad experience, immediately grasped the value of this invention. “If this saves half the cost, printing ten thousand sets would require only seventy-five thousand strings?”

“Seventy thousand is enough!” Luan Yi replied with a smile.

“Seventy thousand?” Cai Yong was overcome with joy, but after a moment, his head drooped in shame. “Even seventy thousand is no small sum. I have lived simply all my life—where would I find such money?”

“What? Sir, must you pay for the printing yourself?” Luan Yi was shocked. He had assumed that, as rector of the Imperial Academy—the Han dynasty’s highest institution—Cai Yong would have official support for his publication. Only now did he realize that the old man intended to pay out of his own pocket! Luan Yi sighed; he had hoped to secure a lucrative government contract. The seventy thousand he had quoted was inflated; by his calculations, sixty-five thousand would suffice, netting him a tidy profit of five thousand. Five thousand! His four businesses—Qifeng Pavilion, Mujin Residence, Ru Home Inn, and Yimu Workshop—together barely earned that in a month!

“Wait…” In the midst of his frustration, a sudden idea struck Luan Yi, startling Cai Yong.

Catching his breath, Cai Yong looked at Luan Yi with hope. “Do you have a solution?”

“I do,” Luan Yi replied, glancing at Cai Yong.

A flicker of hope returned to Cai Yong’s disappointed heart. He urged, “Tell me quickly.”

“Sir, you may lack funds, but you can borrow from others!”

“What? Are you mocking me? I have neither friends who would lend me seventy thousand strings for nothing, nor any way to repay such a sum!” Cai Yong let out a long sigh, his expression falling, with even a hint of anger.

Luan Yi immediately understood. Not only did Cai Yong lack the money, but even if he could print the books, he intended to give them away for free! No wealthy man would simply throw away seventy thousand strings. “Scholars of old, how rigid in their ways! Cai Yong is a master of learning, but when it comes to business, he is sorely lacking!”