Testament 2 - 9

Hong Kong Type #12

9.

That day, when we came back from our old house in Sheung Wan, I spread a plastic tablecloth on the dining table, and poured out those blocks of printing type for inspection one by one. Since my grandfather took the effort to keep them, there must be some significance to them. I suspected that these characters originally formed a complete chapter or some fragments. However, despite attempting to piece them together, I couldn’t figure out their proper arrangement for the entire night.

This was harder than any puzzle I’d ever played, because there were too many possible combinations between words. The most frequently used characters were “仁” (benevolence), “愛” (love), “上” (above), “帝” (emperor), etc., which evidently had a connection with religion. Considering the characteristics of these words and phrases, I could confirm that this was classical Chinese text. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a believer, I lacked sufficient knowledge in religion, and thus couldn't identify the relationship between the words or possibly where they originated. My father sat down to help for a while, but soon had to admit failure.

Beside that cloth bag, I found another wooden box, inside which was a pile of large lead types. Each one was approximately four times larger than the small types. Among these, the most common character was “戴,” with others including “仁,” “義,” “進,” “福,” “德,” “富,” “榮,” “永,” “祥,” “達,” “昇,” “權,” and over thirty other characters. At first glance, you could tell they were used to form names, including names from my grandfather’s generation and my mother’s generation. Two names were quite special, each wrapped separately in rough paper. One was “戴復生” (Dai Fuk Sung), and the other was “黎幸兒” (Lai Heng Yi). I had no idea who they were.

I guessed these large characters were used for printing family genealogies. Unfortunately, we didn't find the genealogy, only scattered lead type. My father and I put together the names we knew and arranged them on the table. There were still quite a few unused characters left, probably the names of earlier ancestors. My grandfather was called “載福” (Dai Fuk), and my great-great-grandfather was called “載德” (Dai Dak). Anything before that was impossible to trace.

Who should I ask about the unsolvable riddle? Aunt’s knowledge was limited, and the oldest living elder in my mother’s family was my eldest uncle who had emigrated to England. Up another generation, there were three older sisters above my grandfather, not to mention half-siblings from the same father. However, we had no contact with any of them, and I was afraid most of them had passed away. The clues seemed to have been cut off forever. The jigsaw puzzle ended here, and I had no choice but to give up.

On the other hand, although the research work for the exhibition had been progressing slowly, it had made some progress. Based on the hints given to me by the character spirits and what I had garnered from my own reading, I had compiled a brief report from the time Robert Morrison translating and engraving the Bible to Samuel Dyer attempting to cast metal type. This report covered the background and development of the creation of Hong Kong Type. Of course, this was just a preliminary study. Further research was needed on how this batch of type was completed in Hong Kong and what contexts it was used in.

I was originally supposed to just send the text report to Miss Yung, but I decided to personally make a trip to the Print Art Workshop. I wanted to see the two printing machines and the physical form of the Hong Kong Type. I told Miss Yung about finding the type that my grandfather left in our old house in Sheung Wan. If my grandfather hadn’t sold the machine and type as scrap metal when he retired, and instead entrusted them to an institution like the Print Art Workshop, our family’s history could have been preserved. It might even have been useful in this exhibition! We all regretted this.

After reviewing my materials, Miss Yung found them to be extremely useful and suggested some directions for further exploration. She showed me a preliminary list of exhibition items, which included some physical objects such as the Bible translated by Morrison, the Chinese dictionary and Cantonese dictionary he compiled, etc., with the institutions willing to lend them marked accordingly. However, to read the contents in detail, we couldn’t rely solely on viewing the physical objects. Since they were all treasures and couldn’t be flipped through casually, we had to rely on digital versions found online.

Miss Yung gave me a list of old books and asked me to search for scanned versions online. She urged me to download as many as I could, and then read the related content to see which parts could be used in the exhibition. In addition to displaying the physical copies of the prints at the venue, she planned to excerpt some pages, scan them, and turn them into digital supplementary materials for visitors to download on their own.

I didn’t tell Miss Yung about the character spirits. It’s not that I was afraid she would think I was mentally unsound, but that I feared it would seem unprofessional to say so. I borrowed from her the Hong Kong Type chart made by the Dutch type foundry, which arranged the complete set of movable type according to Chinese radicals. As they were known as "Ming Typeface Size Four", at first glance, they didn’t seem to differ much from the Ming typefaces we usually used in computer word processing. But upon careful inspection, you could see many strokes and structures were significantly different.

In fact, I noticed long ago that when the character spirits descended, the font on the computer screen was slightly different from usual. Of course, the taskbar displayed the commonly used New Ming font, but the words that appeared carried a certain quality of old-fashioned printing. I don't know how to explain this. Miss Yung once said that they were planning to collaborate with a font designer to digitize selected Hong Kong Type characters and use them for the printed text of this exhibition. However, Hong Kong Type had not become a usable computer font in any way yet. Seeing Hong Kong Type on my screen, was it just an illusion?

Character spirits clearly had a cunning side. When they conversed directly with me, they took on the form of Hong Kong Type. However, when I saved the conversation and printed it out, they reverted back to normal New Ming Font. So when I showed the conversation with the character spirits to the soul therapist Nami, what she read was not the true form of Hong Kong Type. However, this did not prevent her from understanding the content of the conversation.

That day, Nami wore a green dress with a forest vibe. The sleeves and shoulder of the dress were semi-transparent, giving her an ethereal and elf-like appearance. The pair of eyes above her yellow mask were accentuated with bright orange-yellow eyeshadow. Looking at the beautiful Nami, I felt like a small, curled up worm, too intimidated to express myself.

Nami allowed me to relax, half-reclining in the armchair, listening to music reminiscent of a bell's chime while she sat quietly on a low stool nearby, reading the dialogue between the character spirits and me. I felt as though I had fallen into a deep sleep and had no idea how much time had passed. When I opened my eyes, I found Nami gazing at me from a close distance with her eyes blinking like butterfly wings. Perhaps seeing the surprised expression on my face, she hurriedly said,

“I’m sorry, Sun Fei! Did I scare you? I was just observing your eye movements.”

She pressed a button to raise the back of the chair, allowing me to resume my upright posture. She waved the paper she was holding in her hand and said:

“The character spirits are very interesting! It's obvious they’ve been holding back for a while, they have a lot to say, and sometimes they’re quite noisy.”

Even if it was just pretense, Nami’s words made me relieved. I didn’t think anyone would believe in the existence of the character spirits.

“Do you really think that it wasn’t my hallucination?’ I asked tentatively.

“Hallucination? Hahaha, on the spiritual level, there is no distinction between illusion and non-illusion. Everything is real, and at the same time, everything is illusion. The truth told by the hallucinations is no less meaningful than reality.”

I was a bit confused about her meaning, but I didn’t ask further. I just wanted to know what I could glean from it. As if she could read minds, she immediately answered:

“Of course, some of it directly relates to the work you are currently doing. As the saying goes, ‘The day’s thoughts, the night’s dreams,’ it's a common phenomenon of consciousness. However, the appearance of character spirits indicates your strong desire to trace back to the origin. It’s not just about exploring history superficially, but also about searching for your personal spiritual roots.”

“Me, searching for roots?”

“You are looking for your real father.”

“I thought I wanted to find my mother.”

“No, although your mother has left you, there is no need to look for her because she is within you. A mother and her daughter are connected, inseparable. This is the distinctive characteristic of motherhood. In contrast, the distinctive characteristic of fatherhood is independence and division, but also possession and control. What you need to seek is a father figure who is external yet essential to your roots.”

“But I already have a father.”

“Of course you do, and he is a responsible father. However, your father has been playing both roles for a long time, he has become somewhat motherly. What you are yearning for is a different side of fatherhood, an active and leading father figure, not a passive caretaker."

“Can the character spirits help me find this father?”

Nami nodded without hesitation and said, “They are guiding you.”

“So, I can confidently follow their direction without stopping?”

“Rest assured, they are kind spirits. They won't cause harm. However, you need to be careful of this potential father. Every father has his own dangerous and terrifying side. When you offend his authority, he will use violence without hesitation. In mythology, there are not a few fathers who devour their own children, while there are hardly any mothers who harm their children. Unless you trace back to the time when Yin and Yang were not divided, during the stage of the Great Mother.”

“So, how can I find this father?”

“Through stories, establish a connection with your father. You need to create your own story and write it down. Everything depends on how you write. I can't guarantee the result, but I will try my best to help you.”

“Do you mean I should write a novel?”

“No, not a novel. Of course, you can call it a novel if you like. Creating your own story, including real and fictitious, experienced and imagined things. The key is your soul. The soul is the story. Only through the soul is there a story, only through the story is there a soul. They are complementary. You can only heal the soul through this way.”

“To solve the problem of the story?”

“Yes, also solve the problem through the story.”

With a smile in her eyes, Nami gently patted my arm. Although I didn’t understand what she was saying, the way she spoke, as if having a hypnotic effect, always brought comfort.

On my way home by train, I recalled the words uttered by Nami earlier, causing a sense of unease to creep over me. It was as if symptoms of rebound had emerged after the effect of the tranquilizer. Looking out the window at the view of the harbour, a gray haze blanketed the entire landscape, its gloominess inducing a sense of despair. The world lacked any sense of depth, like an old black and white photo pressed under a dirty piece of glass. I pondered deeply about what Nami meant by “searching for my real father.”

After getting off at the railway station and crossing the pedestrian overpass, I was still feeling down and didn’t want to go home immediately. Unconsciously, I turned left towards the park. I remembered suddenly that a few days ago, when I was walking with Fox, I looked into the park from the outside and saw the trail along the football field filled with splendid azaleas. There were the commonly seen purple, pink, and white ones, as well as the rarer red ones. Since Fox was not by my side, I decided to go to the park and take a look.

Leaving the covered pedestrian path and turning into the park, I realized it was drizzling. I didn’t have an umbrella, but I didn’t want to turn back, so I kept going. The small path with its grey-green coating seemed grimy when wet with rain and was unpleasant to look at. I was wearing white canvas shoes and after a few steps, they began soaking up water. The dampness made my toes very uncomfortable. Upon reaching the football field, I scanned the surroundings; the flowers that had previously bloomed on both sides of the path were now mostly fallen. Their wilted petals, resembling crumpled paper, strewn and decaying in the muddy ground.

I felt dampness at the top edge of my mask. I tried to wipe it with my finger, only to realize that I was crying. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t wipe it off, and then I found that my hand was trembling. Accidentally, the mask that was pulled down fell to the ground. I squatted down to pick it up, but I just couldn’t. I watched helplessly as it got dirtier and dirtier. And then, my legs became so weak that I could no longer stand. The rain was getting heavier. I squatted for a while, then completely gave up, letting myself sit on the ground and burst into tears.

The park was deserted during the rain. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting on the ground weeping. In my dizziness, I felt a force pull me up from under my sides. I was still unsteady, foreseeing myself about to fall again, when my legs were suddenly lifted, the weight of my upper body leaning back as if I were a child being carried horizontally. I looked up at the person holding me and could only vaguely make out gray hair and a square face. It wasn’t until I was placed on a bench under a pavilion that I realized my rescuer was Teacher Bei.

Teacher Bei took out a handkerchief and handed it to me, saying, “Don’t worry, it’s just been washed.”

Holding the handkerchief, I mindlessly wiped my face, not knowing whether I was wiping away rain, sweat, or tears. Teacher Bei simply stood by my side, waiting for me to gradually calm down. Seeing that I was still shivering, he draped a windbreaker over me.

“You can’t go on like this. I’ll take you home. Can you walk?”

I didn’t have confidence and shook my head. Without a second thought, Teacher Bei squatted in front of me and said, “Come on, I’ll carry you.”

I didn’t dare to let my teacher carry me, but seeing him bending his knees, his back turned towards me, I felt the need to end this situation as quickly as possible. So, I gritted my teeth, leaned forward, and climbed onto his shoulders. His hands reached back to grab the underside of my thighs and with a shout, he stood straight up.

“Are you ready?" he asked, and then, carrying me, he quickly walked towards the nearest exit of the park.

The most difficult part was the beginning, because we had to brave the rain. Once we left the park, there was a covered pedestrian path. Teacher showed no intention of putting me down; he carried me all the way, completely ignoring the gazes of passersby. Maybe because I was too thin and light, he didn’t even pant, but continued walking and chatting with me.

“Do you know? When I just got married, I lived around here, in the apartment building next to the park. My wife and I often used to walk in this park, sometimes during the day, sometimes at night. Back then, the facilities were simpler, and the trees were smaller. Later, in order to turn our home into a studio, we needed a bigger place, so we moved to a village house on the other side of the railway. After my wife was gone, I would occasionally come back here for a walk. All these years, the trees have grown taller and thicker, and many ugly and useless facilities have been added. However, the park we used to wander in has never changed in my heart. I originally wanted to come over and see what the flowers looked like this spring, but unexpectedly I saw a flower had fallen to the ground.”

I was powerless to respond to my teacher’s joke, and didn't know where to start explaining why I ended up in such an embarrassing situation. All I could weakly say was, “I lost my mask, what should I do?”

The teacher’s laughter came through his solid back, saying, “Why are you still worrying about a mask at this time? If you’re afraid of being seen, just bury your face in my shoulder.”

It was as if I had heard an inviolable command, I truly pressed my nose and mouth against his right shoulder, closed my eyes, and savored the scent emanating from his collar. I didn’t know whether this action or lifting my head to face the pedestrians would make me feel more embarrassed. In any case, I felt a burning sensation throughout my body, as if I were about to be consumed by roaring flames.

Arriving at the entrance of the building where I lived, Teacher Bei slowly set me down, helping me stand steady, and asked if I was okay. I tried taking a few steps and felt alright. I noticed I was still clutching his handkerchief. He waved, saying I can return it next time. He stood still, watching me as I entered the building.

Upon returning home, I immediately dashed into my room, fearing that my father would notice my soaked figure. Fox came up, as if sensing something. I quickly brought it into the room and closed the door to prevent it from attracting Dad’s attention. Just as I was about to take out dry clothes from the drawer, I inadvertently approached the window and looked down. Beneath the “shadow trees” across the street stood a tall figure, lifting its head and looking upwards. I rapidly retreated inside, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.