At 1 AM, the sky hadn't yet brightened, and the entire Sanshan Street was still quiet, but the Glazed Bookstore at the end of the long street was already bustling with activity.
The clerks were shuttling back and forth with stacks of bamboo paper, and someone shouted loudly: "Er Tong, the bamboo paper is ready."
In the courtyard, steam rose from the pot cooking the ink, and an old master held a feather above the pot, carefully observing its curl: "Er Tong, the ink is ready too."
The man who went to meet Zhang Xia yesterday, "Er Tong," turned his head toward the room, where the old master was meticulously arranging the movable type carved blocks, occasionally tapping them with a small wooden hammer to make them fit snugly.
Wang Dong urged, "Old Li, we're just waiting for you."
