Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

”Xiao Ming, have you gone mad from all that reading?” Mrs. Chen put down her bowl, looking at him with concern. ”Making paper is work for the big workshops in the city, it’s the skilled craftsmen’s livelihood. How could we farmers know how to do that?”

Su Shan still didn’t speak, but the motion of smoking his pipe paused. He looked at Su Ming, his turbid eyes revealing a scrutinizing gaze.

Su Ming ignored the others’ astonishment. His gaze was fixed directly on his father. He knew that in this household, only if his father nodded could things possibly proceed.

”Father, I’m not talking nonsense.” Su Ming forced himself to calm down. ”Last time I went to town, while browsing an old book in that bookshop, I found a damaged page tucked inside. On it... on it was recorded a simple method for making paper.”

He had rehearsed this excuse countless times in his mind. No evidence, perfectly reasonable. A book-loving child discovering something strange and curious in an old book was nothing out of the ordinary.

”A recipe from an old book?” Su Yang finally caught his breath, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. ”Really? What did it say?”

”It said to use tender bamboo from the back hill, pound it to a pulp, then soak it in water boiled from our cooking stove’s wood ash. It needs to soak for many days, then be boiled again to make paper pulp, and only then can paper be made.” Su Ming explained, half-truthfully, according to Lin Yu’s simplified version, deliberately emphasizing the need for longer processing time.

”Nonsense!”

Su Shan finally spoke, his voice low and powerful. He knocked his pipe heavily against the table leg, making the bowls and chopsticks jump.

”Has all that reading addled your brain? You take a few scribbled, ghostly words seriously? If making paper were that easy, would paper in town still be so expensive? Wouldn’t everyone in the world go to the back hill to cut bamboo and get rich? And it needs to soak for several days? Where would we find that kind of idle time!”His words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing the flame Su Ming had just ignited.

”Your proper business is to study your lessons diligently and prepare for the County School entrance exam! Don’t spend all day thinking about these unrealistic, far-fetched things!” Su Shan’s voice carried an unquestionable sternness.

Su Ming’s heart sank. He had expected his father to oppose it, but not so decisively.

”Father!” Su Yang couldn’t help but speak up for his younger brother. ”Xiao Ming just wants to give it a try, why are you so angry? The bamboo on the back hill is free anyway, and the wood ash from the stove is readily available. Even if it doesn’t work, we haven’t lost anything, right? We can always squeeze out some time!”

”What do you know!” Su Shan glared at Su Yang. ”Full of energy with nowhere to use it all day! With that time, it’s better to hoe two more rows of weeds in the field or cut two more bundles of firewood on the mountain! Soaking for several days?”

The atmosphere in the courtyard instantly dropped to freezing point.

Su Ming clenched his fists, his nails digging deeply into his palms. He knew that if he gave up today, this opportunity might be lost forever.

He took a deep breath, raised his head, met his father’s stern gaze, and said word by word, ”Father, last time you bought me those few sheets of hemp paper, it cost a hundred wen, right?”

Su Shan was stunned, seemingly not expecting him to bring this up.

”That hundred wen, Second Brother chased a wild boar in the mountains for a day and a night before he could trade it for that money.” Su Ming’s voice wasn’t loud, but it clearly reached everyone’s ears.

Su Yang’s expression also became complicated.

”Father, I don’t want to use money my brothers risked their lives for to buy such expensive paper anymore.” Su Ming’s eyes were slightly red, but his tone was exceptionally firm.

”That recipe might be fake, or someone might have written it carelessly. But, just like Second Brother said, what do we lose by trying? The bamboo grows wild in the mountains for free. The wood ash is burned in the stove for free. All we’re investing is a bit of effort and a few days’ time.”

”If we succeed, even if the paper we make is just the lowest quality straw paper, only good for wrapping things, or... or for use as toilet paper, it can still be sold for money! Then the paper I need for studying won’t cost the family any more money! My brothers won’t have to work so hard for me anymore!”

”If we fail,” Su Ming paused, looking into his father’s eyes, ”then I’ll completely give up on this idea, study diligently, and never mention it again!”

After his speech, the entire courtyard fell silent.

Mrs. Chen looked at her youngest son, her eyes moist. She didn’t understand anything about papermaking; she only knew that her son had grown up, knew to care for his brothers, and cared for this family.

Su Yang, even more excited, stood up, walked to Su Ming’s side, and patted his shoulder heavily. ”Father! Just let Xiao Ming try! I’ll help him! All the heavy work, I’ll do it! Xiao Ming doesn’t need to lift a finger! Even if it doesn’t work, just think of it as me keeping my little brother company while he tinkers with something new!”

Su Shan fell silent.

He lowered his head, refilled his pipe with tobacco shreds, lit it with a flint, and took a hard, deep drag.

Thick smoke completely enveloped his face; no one could see his expression.

After a long while, he finally took the pipe from his lips, exhaled a long smoke ring, and said in a hoarse voice, ”Seven days.”

”Starting tomorrow, I’ll give you seven days. You two brothers, tinker in the corner of the backyard. Don’t get in the way of proper work.”

”If after seven days, I don’t see this ’paper’ you’re talking about, no one is allowed to mention this matter ever again.”

After speaking, he stood up, put his hands behind his back, hunched his body, and walked out of the courtyard, heading towards the field ridge.

Su Ming and Su Yang exchanged a glance, both seeing wild joy in each other’s eyes!

Success!

”That’s great, Xiao Ming!” Su Yang excitedly hugged Su Ming, almost squeezing the breath out of him. ”Let’s go cut bamboo right now!”

Su Ming was shaken until dizzy, but he smiled brilliantly.

Lin Yu thought to himself, ”Done! Step one, ’project approval’ passed! The timeline was even extended to a week! This kid, not bad, didn’t waste all my talking. Knows how to play the emotional card, knows how to calculate costs, knows how to make a military pledge. Hmm, has the flavor of my project proposals back in the day. The student is teachable, the student is teachable indeed!”

Lin Yu, in Su Ming’s mind, contentedly ”stroked” his non-existent beard.

...

Action followed words immediately.

Su Yang shouldered the firewood knife, Su Ming carried a worn-out bamboo basket, and the two brothers quietly headed straight for the back hill.

The bamboo grove on the back hill was communal land for the village. Usually, if any family needed bamboo to make a fence or weave a basket, they would come here to cut. The bamboo grew fast and thick, seemingly inexhaustible.

”Xiao Ming, what kind of bamboo does that book say to use? Old or tender?” Su Yang asked as they walked, full of enthusiasm.

”Tender, newly grown bamboo from this year is best.” Su Ming answered. This was what his mentor had specifically instructed. Tender bamboo had finer fibers, less woodiness, and was easier to process.

The two quickly found a patch of newly sprouted bamboo. The bamboo stalks were only as thick as a wrist, lush and green. Su Yang raised his knife and brought it down. With a ”crack,” a tender bamboo stalk fell. He was quick and nimble; in no time, he had cut over a dozen stalks, cutting them into sections about a person’s height.

”Is that enough? I can cut more if it’s not!” Su Yang wiped his sweat, his face full of smiles.

”Enough, enough, Second Brother. Let’s try with this first.”

Each brother dragged several bamboo stalks. Taking advantage of the afternoon when most villagers were either in the fields or resting, they quietly returned home and moved everything directly to the corner of the backyard.

For the next few days, the corner of the Su family’s backyard became the brothers’ secret workshop.

On the first day, the brothers found a large stone slab and two wooden mallets, laboriously pounding all the bamboo into loose fibers. The ”thump thump” sounds of pounding were masked by the backyard’s high wall and the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind, not attracting outside attention.

On the second day, Su Ming directed Su Yang to stuff the pounded bamboo fibers into a large wooden bucket, weigh them down with stones, then fill it with strong alkaline water boiled from wood ash, covering it with a wooden plank to soak. A faint, slightly sour, rotting smell similar to composting fertilizer began to permeate the air, but confined to the backyard corner, mixed with the scents of earth and vegetation, it wasn’t too conspicuous. Occasionally, neighbors passing behind the house just assumed the Su family was making ordinary farm compost.

On the third and fourth days, the wooden bucket just sat there soaking quietly, occasionally bubbling. Su Yang would curiously lift the cover to look every day; the color of the bamboo fibers inside gradually deepened and turned yellow. Su Ming strictly followed his ”mentor’s” instructions, patiently waiting. During these days, the brothers went to the fields and cut firewood as usual, not arousing any suspicion.

On the fifth day, Su Ming felt the soaking was about right. The brothers then fished out the bamboo material, which had turned deep brown and felt soft and mushy to the touch. They rinsed it repeatedly with clean water, trying to remove as much of the alkaline liquid and impurities as possible. The wastewater from rinsing was directly poured onto the vegetable plot in the backyard, leaving no trace.

On the sixth day, the brothers set up the largest iron pot in the backyard corner. The washed bamboo material was poured into the pot, water was added, and it was simmered over low heat for an entire day until the bamboo material completely dissolved into a pot of yellowish-brown, viscous paper pulp paste. The faint steam and the smell of boiling plants dissipated with the wind, not attracting any inquiry.

The seventh day, evening. The setting sun dyed the sky a shade of orange-red.

The paper pulp, after settling and being rinsed again, was placed in a wooden basin. Su Yang was carefully scooping something out of a wooden basin using a sieve with a hole in it. And Su Ming was using his hands to spread out what Su Yang scooped, bit by bit, flattening it on a door plank.

It was a thin, wet, yellowish-brown layer of fibers.

Su Shan returned at this moment. Pushing open the courtyard gate, he didn’t hear the usual noise, only seeing Mrs. Chen busy in the kitchen and Wang Chuntao sewing under the eaves. He paused, as if remembering something, and silently walked around to the backyard.

He saw the mess in the corner at a glance, and his two sons who looked like mud-covered monkeys.

He stood there, not speaking, just watching quietly.

”Father, you’re back.” Su Yang saw his father and called out nervously.

Su Ming also looked up, his face smeared with paper pulp, but his eyes were astonishingly bright.

”Father, this is paper pulp. Spread it flat, let it dry, and it becomes paper.” He pointed at the few palm-sized, uneven, mud-colored wet paper membranes on the door plank.

The courtyard was very quiet, only the faint sound of the evening wind rustling through leaves. No onlookers, no mocking laughter.

Su Shan seemed not to notice the surrounding silence. He just stared fixedly at the yellowish-brown thing on the door plank. He extended a rough finger and gently touched the wet ”mud cake.”

His fingertip felt a peculiar, soft yet resilient texture of interwoven fibers.

He slowly withdrew his hand, walked into the house without a word, brought out his pipe tobacco pouch, squatted in the corner of the courtyard, and smoked one puff after another, his eyes never leaving that door plank.

The sun slowly set behind the mountain. The moisture on the door plank gradually evaporated in the evening breeze. The few yellowish-brown ”mud cakes” dried, hardened, their color becoming lighter, turning into an earthy yellow.

When the last bit of afterglow disappeared, Su Shan stood up. He walked to the door plank and carefully used his fingernail to peel off one piece of the ”paper” that had completely dried.

”Rip—”

A soft sound.