Chapter 905 – Books from Australia

Besides A Record of Four Continents, there was also the Thirteen Classics with Qing Dynasty Commentaries series, which had earned such praise from Wang Ci and others. This pirated edition of the Zhonghua Book Company series had not only impressed Wang Ci; even Liu Dalin, widely acknowledged as the most learned man in Lingao, had admitted his own inferiority after seeing it—the Qing scholars' accomplishments in philology were truly outstanding.

Zhou Dongtian had originally planned to bring The Complete Tang Poetry and The Complete Song Ci as well. But these two works were vast in scope, and the Lingao printing house, still short on lead type, hadn't yet scheduled them for typesetting.

Mengzi Zhengyi had been printed from the Zhonghua Book Company edition of the Thirteen Classics stereotype plates shipped this time. As soon as the set went on sale, scholars rushed to buy it. Some scholars of limited means, having purchased one volume and then seeing the others, couldn't bear to leave without having the bookshop set them aside for later purchase.

Cai Shi sized up these gentlemen. Apart from Wen Huai, who was pedantically scholarly, none of them seemed interested in works on "Sagely learning." But he couldn't very well ignore Wen Huai either. So he first selected a dozen or so sets of "novel and interesting" books, then added three or four Confucian titles. He had them wheeled over on a small cart and placed on the table one by one.

Everyone eagerly picked up books and began browsing. The most eye-catching, of course, was A Record of Four Continents. The Lingao edition, because it included several copperplate-printed maps, was published in sixteen-mo format with a thick paper hardcover. Zhang Dai was quick and snatched it up first. It was heavy in his hands.

But when he held it, he was puzzled: the book opened to the right. He paused and said:

"The Australians print books just like the Westerners!"

Opening it, he found that—sure enough—the text was laid out horizontally, running left to right, like Western books. It looked quite awkward. He turned to the black-and-white maps inside: extraordinarily detailed, capturing the finest details within a small compass.

The maps in A Record of Four Continents had all been revised and redrawn based on twenty-first-century maps. Because Australia and New Zealand were considered the Senate's "ancestral lands of the dragon rising," the maps had been doctored: New Zealand was entirely deleted, and Australia was marked in the wrong location with completely inaccurate topography.

Because of his connection with Fang Yizhi, Zhang Dai often visited the Catholic church in Hangzhou. He'd seen the world maps and globes in its collection, so the world map itself didn't produce much of a shock. He was merely astonished at how the cartographic precision exceeded even the Westerners'—though he'd had a similar reaction when he first saw the maps the missionaries brought.

Sun Chun, Wen Huai, and the others were craning their necks to see, so after a quick browse, he passed the book to Sun Chun. He picked up another. It too opened to the right. Zhang Dai was mildly surprised. Looking at the books that had been brought, he noticed that all those dealing with Confucian learning opened on the left and were set vertically from right to left, while the "Australian learning" books followed the Western format.

Perhaps this signifies a fusion of China and the West? Zhang Dai wondered. Setting down the Confucian volume in his hand, he specifically chose an "Australian learning" book. On closer inspection, it wasn't a scholarly text at all, but a novel: The Legend of the Condor Heroes. He leafed through a few pages—it was set during the Southern Song, written in a half-classical, half-vernacular style. Modern vernacular wasn't too different from Ming vernacular; Zhang Dai could follow it without difficulty. After a few pages, he was captivated.

Though Ming fiction stood at a pinnacle of traditional Chinese novel-writing, traditional novels tended toward loose, formulaic plots, and many authors had a habit of inserting dialects, folk songs, and arias. They were nothing like modern novels, with their tight plotting and vivid characterization. And The Legend of the Condor Heroes was a representative masterpiece of modern martial arts fiction. Zhang Dai was soon so engrossed he couldn't put it down. When he reached the part where Wanyan Honglie takes a liking to Bao Xiruo and the Song officials, eager to curry favor, frame the Yang and Guo families—destroying both households—he couldn't help thinking of the Liaodong war. The Jurchens also called themselves "Jurchen" and named their state "Jin." And the current military situation in Liaodong was precarious as a pile of eggs. He heaved a long sigh and set down the book.

He was, by nature, a man devoted to pleasure, seeking sensory and spiritual gratification. But he was not oblivious to the Ming's impending collapse, nor was he the sort to simply lose himself in wine and dreams. As a member of the Restoration Society, Zhang Dai knew perfectly well—from his fellow members and from friends and kin—the state of the court and the condition of the realm.

When Sun Chun noticed his forlorn expression, all his earlier excitement gone, he couldn't help asking, "Zongzi-xiong...?"

"It's nothing." Zhang Dai was reluctant to show "concern for the nation and the people"—it clashed with his habitual persona of carefree detachment. He adjusted his mood and said, "I just happened to think of something."

But the book had to be purchased. He gave his order immediately: "This Condor Heroes—I'll take it."

"Understood, sir!" Cai Shi was all smiles. "Sir, there are two more volumes here—sequels to this book..."

"Oh?" Zhang Dai flicked his fan. "Wrap those up too!"

"Yes, sir." Cai Shi had just made a decent sale. According to the rules Zhao Yingong had established, each clerk received a 1.5% commission on the cover price of books sold, pooled at month's end and divided among the staff.

Cai Shi wrapped the books and produced a woven-straw tote bag—a product of the Lingao Woodware Factory—with the words "Wanbi Bookshop" woven in dyed straw on the side. Both practical and attractive.

Having purchased the Condor Heroes trilogy, Zhang Dai browsed the other books. They dazzled him. Some covered Western mathematics—a subject he wasn't familiar with and had no interest in. But one called Elementary Optics caught his attention.

It caught his attention not because Zhang Dai had any expertise in optics, but because Fang Yizhi had long held a keen interest in Western material sciences. Ever since he'd obtained a telescope from Johann Adam Schall von Bell, he'd been trying to understand its structure and principles but had never succeeded.

Elementary Optics was actually a popular science pamphlet from the 1960s, containing a superficial introduction to basic optics and the principles of common optical instruments, with simple illustrations. Zhang Dai intended to buy it as a gift for Fang Yizhi, to console him for his lost telescope.

Sun Chun asked the attendant, "Where does your master hail from? Where do these books come from? Every one of them is extraordinary!"

Cai Shi replied respectfully, "My master is surnamed Zhao, of Sanshui County, Guangdong. He is a government stipend student..."

Hearing that the proprietor was a linsheng, the group's expressions showed increased respect. A linsheng, though still a xiucai, held an official place in the county school—the cream of the first-degree holders.

"...These books—many were brought from Guangdong. I've heard they were..." He lowered his voice. "...bought from the Australians."

Zhang Dai laughed. "You rascal! Australian goods may not be everywhere in Jiangnan, but they're hardly rare novelties. Liaodong ginseng is sold in pharmacies all the same. Is there any need to be so secretive about a few Australian goods?"

Cai Shi laughed apologetically and explained that besides the books wholesaled directly from the Australians, there were also books printed by Wanbi Bookshop itself.

"...Those with woodblock-style typefaces are our own. My master is studying how to learn the Australian printing methods—"

Wu Zhixiang now felt even more certain this was an Australian-run establishment. Seeing that this servant spoke with a Hangzhou accent, he knew the man was probably a local hire with limited knowledge. Questioning him further would yield nothing, so he kept silent.

Sun Chun said, "These few books hardly count. Hurry and fetch more—or do you fear we gentlemen can't afford to pay?" Though unremarkable in appearance and plainly dressed, he too came from a wealthy Jiangnan gentry household.

Cai Shi agreed repeatedly and hurried off with the clerks to search the shelves and gather more books.

Just as they were browsing and selecting, Cai Shi announced, "Gentlemen, my master has come to greet you."

The group had been brimming with curiosity about the bookshop; now, hearing the proprietor had come to receive them, they all rose to their feet in anticipation.

After the announcement, Zhao Yingong quickly appeared. He was a tall scholar. Though fair-skinned and beardless—his features refined and scholarly—his height and physique struck Sun Chun and the others as more like a military man's. His long, striding gait, in particular, was completely at odds with the measured demeanor expected of a Confucian gentleman.

Though he was a Guangdong man, his appearance was completely unlike the Cantonese they'd met before. He wore a carefree headcloth and a blue fine-cloth straight robe—the attire of a wealthy, cultured young man from a scholarly family.

Since they were meeting for the first time without a proper introducer of standing, they had to go through the formalities: exchanging visiting cards, modestly refusing to accept them, then kowtowing to one another—the usual elaborate ritual.

After everyone had exchanged courtesies, Zhao Yingong instructed Cai Shi to escort the honored guests to the Wisteria Courtyard for tea.

"Brother Tianyi, we've come today first to pay respects to one whose renown we've long admired, and second to view this Australian bookshop and hear your refined discourse," said Zhang Dai.

"Ah—I don't deserve such praise! Rather, it is I who earnestly hope the gentlemen will not withhold your instruction!" Zhao Yingong replied modestly, then graciously asked, "Please, let us adjourn to the back for tea."

He led the group to the Wisteria Reading Room at the back of the bookshop. This was a VIP reception room Zhao Yingong had specially outfitted for major clients, decorated in the Victorian parlor style—opulent yet tasteful. Most striking was the enormous bay window facing the courtyard, glazed on three sides and the top with glass panels. Standing within it was like being inside a crystal palace.

Outside the bay window lay a small courtyard done up in Western style. Flowers of many kinds bloomed there, and above was a wisteria arbor—a remnant from the old ruined garden, grown immensely lush. The flowering season had passed; now only verdant greenery remained on the trellis. Beneath the wisteria stood a small marble fountain, trickling with a fine spray of water. The view was utterly refreshing.

Before they'd even sat down, Sun Chun exclaimed, "What a blessed retreat!"