Chapter Eleven: Printing the Book

PS: I truly never expected to hold the second spot on the popularity ranking. Without the generous support from so many readers, I could never have climbed so high on my own. Yet, once this week passes, I doubt I’ll ever reach the list again. So, with four days left, I ask everyone to gather up any remaining recommendation votes and support me one last time! This book is the most heartfelt work of my eight-year writing journey—I bought over a dozen reference books for it, and I believe it will be a worthy read!

For months now, every residence within Songyang Temple has been filled to capacity. Fortunately, though the days have grown ever hotter, the mountain itself is a natural retreat from the heat, and the dwellings, nestled amidst groves of bamboo, are cooled by gentle breezes, making the days quite bearable.

These lodgings were once only temporary quarters for guests coming to offer incense, but now those who reside here do not go to the main hall for worship; rather, they stay in these tastefully arranged chambers, burning fragrant incense and transcribing books that have been treasured for over a century. With their status, such tasks could well be entrusted to literate servants or professional scribes at bookshops. There is no need for them to do it themselves, yet every book was quickly claimed, and no one thought it too much; instead, they wished there were more manuscripts to copy. Not only that, but each person applied themselves with utmost care, determined that not a single character could be found wanting. Of course, besides copying books, paying respects to the renowned Master of the Shangqing Sect of Mount Mao was an essential part of their visit.

Among these, Liu Ximing was the most diligent. Yet, no matter how cleverly he displayed his knowledge and talent before Sima Chengzhen, the master treated him no differently from the others. Especially when he learned that Du Shiyi, instead of going to Sun Zifang’s tea room, had visited Sima Chengzhen and departed without notice, and that Sima had even made greetings on Du’s behalf to Song Fuzhen and Sun Taichong. Jealousy and frustration welled up within him. At this moment, he had once again come to the front of Yangxing Residence to seek an audience, but instead of Sima Chengzhen, it was that broad-browed attendant—said to be close with Du Shiyi—who came out.

“My master is about to meet with Head Song and Daoist Sun, as well as several elders from Songyang Temple. He won’t have time today, Master Liu. Please come another time.”

Though his face remained calm, Liu Ximing recalled the various polite refusals he had received lately, and his heart smoldered with frustration. With a forced smile, he said, “Since Master Sima is meeting my uncle, perhaps I could accompany him?”

Sima Heyun, already aware that this persistent young man was Song Fuzhen’s own nephew, could only clasp his hands and reply, “I appreciate your kind offer, but my master is still recovering from a cold, so he’s asked Head Song and Daoist Sun to come here instead.” As he spoke, seeing a group of people approaching along the stone path, he excused himself and went to greet them, leaving Liu Ximing behind.

In front of Yangxing Residence, Song Fuzhen saw his nephew coming forward with an expectant look and knew at once that he had been rebuffed again and was seeking support. But at that moment, news had just arrived from Chongtang Temple at Shuangquan Ridge, and someone would soon be sent over; he had no time for his nephew now. He nodded lightly and said, “Have you finished transcribing the ‘Annotations to the Baopuzi’ that Master Sima gave you? Everyone is staying in and concentrating on copying, so you should apply yourself as well.”

After his uncle’s rebuke, Liu Ximing reluctantly withdrew. Only then did Song Fuzhen lead the Daoists into Yangxing Residence. Upon entering the courtyard, he saw Sima Chengzhen standing with hands behind his back before an ancient locust tree, gazing thoughtfully at its crown as though pondering something profound. Song approached with a smile and remarked, “It seems Master Sima has recovered.”

“It was merely a touch of cold from the journey; I am versed in medicine and have long since recovered. Now, I simply use it as an excuse to decline visitors,” Sima Chengzhen replied, turning to greet each of the Daoists in turn. Then he said, “All this commotion at Songyang Temple for my small wish—it is truly too much.”

Sun Zifang laughed, “These books are usually locked away, hidden from view. Now that the Head is letting everyone see them, not only the heroes from afar but even we local Daoists won’t be left out. Perhaps Master Sima doesn’t realize that everyone tasked with copying is making two sets: one for you and one to keep for themselves. Moreover, I hear many have agreed to lend their copies to each other afterwards. After this event, every household will benefit greatly. Master Sima and the Head have truly provided a great convenience.”

“You sly one, Zifang. Clearly, I am reaping the fruits of everyone’s labor, and yet you make it sound as though I am granting favors,” Sima Chengzhen replied, knowing Sun’s words were but polite banter. In truth, the books at Songyang Temple were always available for noble families to copy; it was only natural. Seeing the others echo Sun with laughter, Sima waved his hand, “Enough with formalities. Today, I’ve invited you here for another matter related to these books. As members of Songyang Temple, you all know its history—once hailed as the foremost temple of Song Mountain. A hundred years ago, this grand palace with its hundreds of splendid halls was in fact a Buddhist monastery.”

At these words, some frowned, others were puzzled or surprised. Sima Chengzhen spoke calmly, “We cultivate ourselves and should not harbor disputes. Since Master Tripitaka translated the sutras and the Empress promoted Buddhism, the Dharma has flourished. Buddhist scriptures are in great demand, and woodblock editions are produced; a single sutra can cost a whole string of coins, yet devotees spare no expense to acquire them for recitation and worship. But our ancestral writings are often withheld and never shown. I do not criticize Head Song, for these texts are precious, and ordinary folk may not comprehend them. Still, books on cultivation, if kept from those with little fortune, are wasted. But medical texts, left to gather dust, are a pity. For example, common ailments are often poorly treated by mediocre doctors. Even those as skilled as Zifang cannot devote themselves entirely to healing—that would neglect their own cultivation. Thus, our ancestor’s medical works, such as ‘Collected Annotations to the Herbal Classic,’ ‘Effective Prescriptions for Practical Use,’ ‘Essential Rules for Medicinal Application to the Viscera,’ and others, should be published.”

At this, Sun Zifang was suddenly enlightened. Seeing that this would benefit Songyang Temple, he was first to voice support, “Master Sima’s benevolence is admirable! I am willing to assist!”

“Then I entrust it to you, Zifang!” Sima Chengzhen bowed to him before anyone else could respond. As Sun hurried to accept, Sima bowed to the others in turn, “Since my mind is made up, this is not just about copying; annotation and proofreading are needed, which means you all will share the burden. I thank you in advance.”

The Shangqing lineage of Mount Mao, since the ninth patriarch Tao Hongjing, had each leader honored by emperors. With Sima Chengzhen’s prestige, his bow and thanks were of great significance—even Head Song Fuzhen, the elder, hastily expressed humility. Only then did Sima smile and say, “Before I left Mount Tiantai, I asked my disciple Xue Jichang to oversee affairs, and sent word to another disciple, Li Hanguang, to come to Song Mountain. By my reckoning, he should arrive soon. This way, you will have more help.”

At this moment, Song Fuzhen sensed something amiss. He narrowed his eyes slightly and ventured, “Then, Master Sima…”

“I am already quite old. If my disciples can labor on my behalf, I hope you’ll allow me this small laziness.” Seeing Song understand, he laughed it off, and the others joined in with playful compliments. Sima Chengzhen nodded, then continued serenely, “But since I am back at Song Mountain, I’d like to visit some old friends I haven’t seen in many years.”

The carriage left Songyang Temple. Remembering the relief on everyone’s faces when he said he’d remain, Sima Chengzhen frowned slightly. As a recluse, he had met two generations of emperors, but sought neither further fame nor favor, knowing well how perilous it is to serve a king. Discussing philosophy with rulers is not always a blessing. This visit, too, was a way to withdraw and avoid lingering attention—especially from the throne. After a long contemplation, he finally instructed Sima Heyun, who was driving the carriage, “Go to the cottage beneath Junji Peak where young Du resides. Once the annotation and proofreading are finished, we’ll use his method to bind the books in stitched volumes. His suggestion will bring about a worthy deed, and I’ll lend him a small helping hand.”