Seventeen Bamboo Chopsticks

Luan Yi hurriedly bowed deeply. “Master Cai, please do not be angry. I am not making light of your concerns. Every word I have spoken comes sincerely from my heart, and I have pondered long and hard to devise this solution.”

Cai Yong’s nostrils flared as he restrained his anger. “I truly cannot borrow seventy thousand strings of cash.”

“Master Cai, you may rest assured. I am willing to help you gather the entire sum.”

“What?” Cai Yong was so shocked that he shot up from his chair. Behind him, Cai Zhao let out a startled cry—whether from his father’s sudden movement or from astonishment at Luan Yi’s generosity, it was hard to say.

Cai Yong’s eyes were wide with disbelief, his hands uncertain whether to clasp before him or behind his back. His lips trembled as he asked, “Nephew, are you truly sincere in this?”

Luan Yi replied firmly, “I swear it is the truth!” He silently calculated in his heart—though he was new to business and his personal savings were not substantial, he had strong backing. The Luan family was the wealthiest in Yingchuan, with vast holdings accumulated over many years; coming up with thirty or fifty thousand should be possible. Beyond that, he could seek help from Xun Yu and borrow from the Xun family. For the remainder, he could approach other local gentry. Normally, these aristocratic families would not easily lend him such a sum, but this was different—he was doing this for Cai Yong, and with the promise of generous returns, he would surely succeed.

“If that is so… Nephew, I must bow to you in gratitude. Should these books be published and restore the study of the classics to its rightful place, you will have rendered the greatest service of all.” Cai Yong was moved to tears. He strode over to Luan Yi and prepared to bow low before him.

Luan Yi quickly dropped to his knees, blocking him. “Please, Master Cai, you must not do this. I am unworthy.”

After much polite insistence, Cai Yong finally agreed to sit back down.

Luan Yi paused for a moment, then changed the subject. “However, there is one matter I must make clear in advance.”

Cai Yong, still in high spirits, waved his hand cheerfully. “Speak freely, my nephew.”

Luan Yi spoke with caution. “This matter of publishing the books must be managed solely by me; no one else may be involved.”

“But of course!”

“And when the ten thousand sets are printed, I will not give them away for free. They will be sold at seven strings per set.”

“What?” Cai Yong shot to his feet again, this time not from excitement but from anger. He glared fiercely at Luan Yi, his expression thunderous. “In that case, it is better not to print the books at all. I will not have my scholarship tainted by the stench of money. Luan Yi, I misjudged you!” With that, he ordered Cai Zhao to begin packing, declaring that he had trusted the wrong person and stayed in the wrong place.

Luan Yi had anticipated that, as a renowned scholar who regarded wealth as filth, Cai Yong would be uncomfortable with his works being sold like common wares. But he hadn’t expected the old conservative to be this furious, erupting on the spot. Luan Yi hurried forward to calm him. “Master Cai, please, hear my explanation before you pass judgment.” At his side, Cai Zhao also pleaded with her father, urging him to listen before making any rash decisions.

Cai Yong finally managed to subdue his anger, sat back down, and gave a curt nod for Luan Yi to proceed.

“Master Cai, do you wish the ‘Hongdu Stone Classics’ to be widely circulated?”

As Cai Yong refused to answer, Cai Zhao spoke for him. “Of course!”

“I have already said, if you wish the ‘Hongdu Stone Classics’ to spread far and wide, publishing is the best method. Am I right, sir?”

Cai Yong nodded slowly.

Luan Yi continued, “Publishing is a costly endeavor. Even with movable type, printing ten thousand copies requires seventy thousand strings. That is no small sum. My family is wealthy, yet even I cannot produce so much money with ease. Across all Han China, few could, and even those who could would not spend such a fortune to print books and give them away. That would be like throwing gold into a lake. So I must say: no one would fund this publication for you, Master Cai.”

Cai Yong nodded again, his expression growing bleak.

“Are you then willing to let the ‘Hongdu Stone Classics’ fade into obscurity, to watch the inscriptions outside the Imperial Academy’s gates wear away in wind and rain until they vanish, and to see heterodox commentaries continue to mislead students? If so, it would be a tragedy for all scholars, a sorrow for the ages!”

Cai Yong pressed his hand to his brow and rubbed it back and forth. “If not this, then what can be done?”

Instead of answering directly, Luan Yi said, “I know, Master Cai, you dislike merchants and do not wish your life’s work to be associated with commerce. But let us consider the matter differently. Suppose you need seventy thousand strings to publish these books, and being short of funds, you borrow the money from me. It is not a gift—you must pay it back eventually. But if you cannot, what then?” Luan Yi answered his own question. “The solution is simple. Everyone who reads your books is, in a sense, your disciple. Is it not fitting for disciples to help their teacher repay his debts?”

At this, Cai Yong’s drooping eyelids flew open in astonishment. He nodded repeatedly, chiding himself for not having thought of this angle.

“Let me put it another way.” Luan Yi picked up several chopsticks from the table, then selected one and snapped it in two with ease. Next, he grasped five together and tried to break them, straining with all his might but making no progress. “What do you see, Master Cai?”

Cai Yong’s expression made it clear he understood, so Luan Yi pressed on. “A single chopstick is easily broken, but five together are strong. Similarly, one man cannot produce seventy thousand strings, but what if hundreds, thousands, or even ten thousand contribute together? For ten thousand sets, each at seven strings, any family in Han China could afford a set. Do you see my point?”

“You mean…” Cai Yong swallowed, “you mean you’ll use seventy thousand strings to print ten thousand sets, and sell them to ten thousand scholars—so that each scholar, by paying seven strings, helps make this possible?”

Luan Yi nodded. “Exactly!”

“There is sense in that.” Cai Yong stroked his beard, lost in thought. Behind him, Cai Zhao could not suppress a laugh—her ever-proud father was being led in circles by an eight-year-old child.

After pondering a while longer, Cai Yong declared with resolve, “Put that way, I feel much better. It means all scholars will unite, each doing their part to spread the true teachings.”

“Precisely.” Luan Yi nodded gently. This was, indeed, a reasonable interpretation—every reader who bought a set would be a benefactor to the author, and their contribution was undeniable.

“Well then, excellent!” Cai Yong laughed aloud. “Let us proceed as you suggest. I will borrow the money from you, and then, as you wish, share the books with the scholars of the realm. A wish of mine will finally be fulfilled.”

Luan Yi was exhilarated. He bowed deeply. “How could I refuse?” He had already calculated—Cai Yong, as a foremost scholar at the heart of the Han Empire, set the standard for the imperial selection of officials. Once this book entered the market, it would surely be snapped up by scholars everywhere. Ten thousand sets would sell out in no time. At seven strings each, that was a profit of five thousand strings… and if he sold twenty thousand sets—heaven!

Luan Yi’s eyes shone with excitement. He could hardly wait to seek out craftsmen and begin at once.

With the matter resolved, Cai Yong’s worries were dispelled, and his mood improved immensely. Their conversation ranged widely—poetry, prose, astronomy, geography, and more. Cai Yong discovered that Luan Yi’s knowledge was astonishingly broad; many things he had never even heard of, yet Luan Yi spoke with clarity and authority, never once seeming to spout nonsense.

Of course, Cai Yong did not realize that, for all his erudition, being born in the third century meant his understanding of the world could not possibly match that of Luan Yi from the twenty-first. Even a smattering of knowledge from an encyclopedia was enough to leave Cai Yong utterly amazed.

“You mean to say,” Cai Zhao asked incredulously, “that Han people have straight and long eyelashes because our land is windy in spring and winter, and the lashes protect us from dust?”

“Indeed,” Luan Yi replied with a smile. “Have you ever seen the tribes of the west or the north? Their eyelashes curl upward and their hair is thick—that is because the frigid northern climate requires extra warmth. Such differences are the result of humans adapting to their environment.”

“I have truly never heard such things!” Cai Yong exclaimed, his admiration for Luan Yi growing ever stronger. Suddenly, he changed the subject. “Nephew, do you have a courtesy name?”

“A courtesy name?” Luan Yi shook his head. “I am but eight years old—not yet of age to receive one.”

Cai Yong smiled, stroking his beard. “Shall I bestow one upon you?”

Luan Yi could hardly contain his delight. In the Eastern Han, a scholar typically received a courtesy name at fourteen, but exceptions were made for special achievements or recognition from a highly respected elder. Luan Yi clearly belonged to the latter case, and Cai Yong was just such a worthy elder. A courtesy name would greatly enhance his reputation. “I am deeply grateful!”

“Luan Yi… born with omens, a peerless talent…” Cai Yong murmured thoughtfully for a moment. “Shall I give you the name Ziqi—‘the extraordinary one’?”

“Ziqi? Luan Yi, courtesy name Ziqi? Wonderful! Truly, I am most fortunate!” Luan Yi bowed repeatedly in thanks.

Cai Yong laughed heartily, then told Luan Yi a little about his work in Luoyang. From his words, Luan Yi gathered that, after a lifetime of study, Cai Yong had achieved much, and now that the publication of the “Hongdu Stone Classics” was assured, he was relieved of a great burden. Only one regret remained: he had not yet found a true successor to whom he could pass on his understanding of the classics and histories.