Song Qiming used the soup left in the bowl to mix with his rice, barely filling his stomach before setting down his chopsticks to ask,
"What have you been busy with these past few days? You don't come home during the day. Have you finished the assignments I gave you?"
Song Anhao grabbed Song Qiming by the sleeve and pulled him into the room.
"I've been working on movable-type printing these past few days, and I've made great progress."
The room was lined with boxes on both sides. Song Anhao picked up a bronze block from the table and handed it to Song Qiming.
"Elder Brother, look—this is a bronze type mold. Doesn't it look just as good as handwriting?"
Just making these type molds had cost Song Anhao a great deal of effort. The craftsmen he had brought from Songzhou City had failed dozens of times before finally producing a set that worked.
The process of filing and polishing alone had taken seven days.
Song Anhao continued showing off. "I originally planned to make ceramic ones, but they turned out all different shapes after firing. The craftsmen said they couldn't control it, so I had to give up."
"Once the type molds were done, people said I should use pine resin or wax to fix them together, and heat them up to take them apart when not in use. But I thought that was too troublesome, so I came up with the idea of carving a groove at the bottom of each type."
"When they're arranged together, I insert bamboo strips into the grooves to lock them in place. When not in use, I just pull the strips out."
"This is the improved version. You've come just in time—we're testing it this afternoon."
Song Qiming touched the type mold with his fingers. It was square and solid, with smooth edges—no small amount of effort had gone into polishing it.
He picked up another piece and compared them. The blocks were exactly the same size; the naked eye could barely tell them apart.
"How did you come up with this?"
Movable-type printing—he had never heard of it before.
Song Anhao looked at the type molds on the table, stars in his eyes.
"I thought of it last time when I went to the bookshop with our sister. I just felt that since there would be so many novels to sell in the future, carving a new block for every single one would be far too inefficient."
He let out a wry laugh and scratched his head sheepishly.
"But the cost of trial and error has been huge. I've spent a lot of money these days, and I have no idea when I'll break even."
Song Qiming didn't think it was a problem. His eyes and heart were full of pride.
He reached out and put his hand on his younger brother's shoulder.
"The fact that you could think of inventing a new printing method—and actually make it work—is already amazing."
"The cost has been high for now, but the impact will be huge. Like our sister once said, a new invention can drive an entire industry forward. What you're driving here is the printing industry."
Song Anhao blinked, half-understanding.
That sounded like a really big deal.
The first page of The Cry for Justice was soon assembled by the workers.
Foreman Lou picked up a brush, dipped it lightly into the ink bucket, and then brushed it evenly over the type molds.
How much ink he picked up, and how heavily or lightly he brushed—these things had a big effect on the quality of the print.
After laying a sheet of paper over the molds, he used a palm brush to press evenly and firmly across the back. When he carefully lifted the paper, the text was clearly printed on it.
After it dried, he picked it up. The quality was almost identical to the fixed carved blocks they had used before.
Song Anhao proudly handed it to Song Qiming, grinning as wide as could be.
"It works! Next, I'll have the workers make more sets of type molds—especially for frequently used characters. At least twenty copies of each."
Song Qiming lifted his chin, his neck feeling sore and stiff.
"You're in charge of the bookshop you bought, so you make the decisions. But when the government office needs to print something in the future, you'd better give your Elder Brother a discount."
Song Anhao shook his head generously. "No discount needed—I'll give it to you for free."
Seeing his brother putting on such an adult air, Song Qiming reached out and pinched his cheek.
"If you give everything away for free, you're going to lose a lot of money."
