roccoschili Chapter 33: Bamboo Paper
Chapter 33: Bamboo Paper
The next morning, Cheng Xiaojin brought the card to Tieguai Li's studio.
"Old Li, can you take a look at this paper for me?"
Tieguai Li took the card, first checked its light transmittance against the fluorescent light tube, then flipped it over and scratched the edges with his fingernail.
"Handmade paper".
"What kind of approach can you tell?"
Tieguai Li rummaged through the tool cabinet and took out a head-mounted magnifying glass, put it on his head, laid the cardboard flat on the white cloth of the workbench, and looked at it closely.
"The fibers are uneven in thickness. Look here, this thick one is right next to two thin ones. Machine-made paper has uniformly arranged fibers, while handmade paper will have this kind of unevenness."
"What kind of paper?"
"Bamboo paper, made from bamboo pulp. Smell it, smell it carefully, it has a very faint bamboo scent."
Cheng Xiaojin brought the card to his nose and took a deep breath.
Yes, it does have a very faint bamboo scent, mostly masked by sandalwood, but still discernible.
"There's another layer." Tieguai Li gently rubbed the paper with his fingertip. "There's a thin layer of wax on the surface, and it feels smoother than ordinary paper. This is a burnishing process, where smooth stones are repeatedly rolled on the paper to compact the fibers and create a glossy finish."
"Does anyone still make this kind of paper?"
"Yes, but not much. There are still a few old workshops in Fujian and Anhui that are making it, but the output is very small. Most of it is supplied to calligraphy and painting supply stores and high-end stationery stores. Ordinary people don't need this kind of paper."
"Can I buy it in Beijing?"
Tieguai Li pushed the magnifying glass to his forehead and thought for a moment.
"Go ask around Liulichang. There are many shops selling the Four Treasures of the Study there. If they sell them in Beijing, they're most likely on that street."
How many are there in total?
"There are only four or five shops selling handmade bamboo paper at most."
Cheng Xiaojin carefully put the cardboard away and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.
I'll make that trip today.
"You're handling things in Liulichang, but who's looking after the shops?"
"Zhao Defa helped me keep an eye on things for a day, and I told him about it."
"Okay, go ahead. Call me when you get the news."
Cheng Xiaojin arrived at Liulichang by bicycle at nearly 10 a.m.
He doesn't come to this street often. Although Panjiayuan and Liulichang are both areas of the antique circle, they are different. Panjiayuan is a street market, while Liulichang is a storefront business. They always talk about old brands and emphasize appearances and prestige.
The first shop was Songxuetang, which was right across from Rongbaozhai. It was a century-old shop that sold Xuan paper and calligraphy brushes. Cheng Xiaojin went in, took out some cardstock, and asked the shopkeeper if they had ever sold this kind of bamboo paper.
The shopkeeper glanced at it and shook his head.
"Our family only makes Xuan paper; we don't deal in bamboo paper."
The second shop was at the entrance of Dongtou Hutong, a small shop called Mogenzhai. The owner was a Fujianese man in his sixties. After looking at the paper, he said it was indeed bamboo paper, but it wasn't made by his family.
"Our bamboo paper is not burnished. This technique is from Jingxian County, Anhui Province. There is a shop that specializes in making Anhui paper if you go 200 meters west."
The third shop was called Guquan Brush Shop, run by people from Anhui. The proprietress examined it for a long time with a magnifying glass and said that the craftsmanship was correct, but the size was wrong.
"Our bamboo paper is all cut from a single sheet, to standard size. The cut edge of your paper is not ours; every manufacturer's cutting edge is different. Please look again."
Cheng Xiaojin thanked the proprietress and left, heading towards the west end of Liulichang.
The fourth shop was in a narrow alley next to Rongbaozhai. It had no storefront sign, just a gray wooden door with a faded red paper strip pasted on the door frame that read "Stationery and Sundries".
Pushing open the door, you enter a space of less than ten square meters. Three walls are lined with wooden shelves, filled with various papers and ink sticks. Behind the counter sits a bald man in his fifties, wearing reading glasses and reading a newspaper.
"Boss, I have a question for you."
The bald man put down his newspaper and looked up.
"Should I buy something or ask the price?"
"Yes, we have them. Let's see if you have this kind of paper here."
Cheng Xiaojin handed over the card.
The bald man took it and touched it, his fingertips tracing the texture of the paper. Then he turned it over to look at the back and held it up to the light from the window.
Yes, this is my goods.
Cheng Xiaojin's heart skipped a beat.
Are you sure?
"I've been selling paper for thirty years, and I can still recognize my own products. Look at the burnishing texture here. It was rubbed from left to right with a bit of pressure. That's my wife's technique. The burnishing texture of her paper is always quite deep."
"Does this type of paper sell well?"
"Not many. Handmade bamboo paper is a niche product to begin with, and burnished paper is even less common. We only produce about ten sheets a year, and most of it is picked up regularly by our regular customers."
"Has a young person, around thirty years old, wearing a linen shirt, come in to buy anything recently?"
The bald man pushed up his reading glasses.
"You mean that young man?"
"Do you know him?"
"I don't know him, but he's a regular customer. He's been coming every month or two for the past six months. Each time he buys two reams of bamboo paper, pays in cash, doesn't haggle or bargain, and just takes it and leaves."
Do you remember what I looked like?
"He wasn't short, around 1.75 meters tall, thin, with long arms and legs. I don't remember his face very clearly. He always wore a baseball cap pulled down low, but I remember his clothes. They were always light-colored linen and quite clean."
"How do you speak?"
"He's mild-mannered and doesn't say much. He'll just say, 'I want two reams of bamboo paper,' pay, and leave. Sometimes he'll stand at the counter for a while, looking through the ink sticks on my shelf and smelling them, but he never buys anything."
Cheng Xiaojin tapped her fingers twice on the edge of the counter.
When was the last time he came?
"About two weeks ago, yes, ten days to two weeks, I don't remember exactly."
Did he buy anything else that time?
The bald man thought for a moment, then slapped his forehead.
"Yes, he bought one more thing that time, a small bottle of sandalwood essential oil. I also sell some stationery accessories here. The sandalwood essential oil is for putting on paper to repel insects. He asked if it worked, and I said it did, so he bought a bottle."
Sandalwood essential oil.
The source of the faint sandalwood scent in the rented room has been found.
This person buys bamboo paper and sandalwood essential oil, writes with a blue-black ink fountain pen, wears a light-colored linen shirt, speaks politely, and has long, fair fingers.
All the details match up.
"Boss, did this person leave any contact information?"
"No, never. He's never even given his name. I call him 'young man,' and he doesn't correct me."
Was he accompanied by anyone when he came?
"No, it's always just me."
Cheng Xiaojin took out two hundred-yuan bills from his pocket and placed them on the counter.
"This money is for tea. If this person comes again, could you please give me a call?"
The bald man looked at the money and then at him.
"What's your relationship with this person?"
"A friend introduced us, but we haven't met yet. I'd like to talk to him."
The bald man didn't ask any questions, took the money, and wrote his phone number on the corner of the newspaper with a pen.
"Okay, I'll let you know when he arrives, but let me make this clear: I'm not responsible for persuading him if he doesn't want to see you."
"Understood, thank you."
Cheng Xiaojin walked out of the stationery store and stood at the alley entrance for a while, going through all the information about the mysterious person from the past few days in his mind.
My phone vibrated.
A brief message from Tong Kexin.
He clicked on it and his fingers tightened.
"There's a Jinbei van parked downstairs in your building. The license plate ends in three sixes. There are two people smoking inside. It's been parked there for forty minutes. The guy in the passenger seat has a buzz cut. He's the one who smashed my stall last time."
The license plate number ending in three sixes is 京A.
Fatty Sun's car.