Testament 4 - 13
Hong Kong Type #21
13.
The character spirits have finally returned. This time they talked to me about the character “heaven”, about the relationship between James Legge and Wang Tao, as well as the cross-cultural encounter between Christianity and Confucianism.
In 1873, Wang Tao, Chen Yan, and others established the China Printing Bureau. They purchased the printing equipment and lead type from Anglo-Chinese College for 10,000 silver dollars. The following year, they founded the Universal Circulating Herald, which was China's first editorial newspaper, with Wang Tao serving as the editor. According to the character spirits, among the personnel who transferred from the Anglo-Chinese printing office was a man named Dai Fuk.
Dai Fuk once studied at Anglo-Chinese College in Hong Kong, and later joined the Anglo-Chinese Printing House as an apprentice. The same year he transferred to the newly established China Printing Bureau, he adopted a newborn boy and named him Dai Dak. The boy’s mother was named Lai Heng Yi, but the relationship between her and Dai Fuk was not clearly stated.
The character spirits informed me that Dai Fuk had written an autobiography titled Six Records of a Resurrected Life. However, this book is no longer available unless - unless Dai Fuk himself appears in spirit and retell this work.
The situation is simply incredible. If I continue to write this way, no one will believe me. The events that began with Dai Fuk, not found in any historical records, were merely narrated by the character spirits, or could they be just my illusions? Is this due to my eagerness to link the story of the Hong Kong Type with my own family history, leading to unconscious fabrication? This seems like the most reasonable explanation. As Nami said, my impulse to seek the origin has led to myth weaving, or perhaps, a mingling of souls. According to Nami, this psychological phenomenon has significant meaning, but does it also possess objective reality? If not, what differentiates it from any dreams or illusions?
But having reached this point, I can’t deny the existence of the character spirit, nor can I deny what they told me. If I were to overthrow all of this, it would be tantamount to obliterating the very meaning of life that I have painstakingly reestablished after my unsuccessful suicide attempt. In other words, I would be plunging myself back into the depths of death. I must continue to believe in the spirit, even if this means losing grip on reality. I’m willing to take the risk.
The display items for the exhibition had been confirmed. Relevant text descriptions, the sequence of arrangements, and background explanations were almost ready to be finalized. At the working meeting of the print art studio, everyone submitted the texts they were responsible for and gave each other suggestions for revisions. The part handled by Yixisi was slower because it involved interviews with several related personalities rather than solely organizing from documentary materials. However, he was full of initiative and highly capable, so Miss Yung was not worried.
After the meeting, Yixisi said he had an appointment to interview a retired printmaster and left in his usual high spirits. I didn’t have anything else to do, but I was reluctant to leave. I stood by the two printing presses in the studio, almost affectionately admiring every detail of them. Although I didn’t know how to operate them, I seemed to be familiar with their performance, just like a caretaker is familiar with the animals they raise.
No, they are certainly not domesticated animals, but divine beasts driven only by the spirit. The food for these divine beasts is the movable type, which means the same as the living word. They consume words and regurgitate them, thus creating a propagation of meaning, a transformation of the soul.
Miss Yung noticed that I was still here and came over to chat with me. I had a question that I’d been wanting to ask her for a long time, but never found the opportunity. Now was the perfect time.
“Does the Workshop actually plan to cast a full set of lead type from the Hong Kong Type matrices rediscovered in the Netherlands?”
“Of course! Why wouldn't we?”
“But why have you only cast so few? Are there difficulties?”
Miss Yung sighed and said, “The pandemic is a problem. You know many parts of Europe are under lockdown, and many activities have been suspended. Typecasting will also be affected. However, the more important factors are actually manpower and funds. I’ve mentioned before, the format of the matrices from over a hundred years ago differ from the modern ones, making it impossible to produce quickly with modern typecasters. For each character we cast, we often needed to spend a whole morning adjusting its position and trying multiple times to achieve satisfactory results. With this production pace, even optimistically estimating that we can complete around ten characters a day, casting four to five thousand would take one and a half to two years. Firstly, we can’t expect our Dutch counterparts to cast for us free of charge; Secondly, to ensure the quality of the characters, we need to station someone who understands not only Chinese but also the structure and printing standards of Chinese characters. The long-term expenses of having this person stay in the Netherlands won’t be a small amount.”
“What if there was someone willing to volunteer to do this, and even bear her own travel expenses?”
Miss Yung laughed, as if my words were very naïve, and asked, “Where can you find such a person?”
Caught off guard, I couldn’t answer immediately. Miss Yung then assured me, “Don't worry, opportunities will come. Let’s just take things one step at a time. Right now, our primary task is to organize a successful exhibition. If the exhibition can attract public attention, we will then have confidence in raising funds.”
Miss Yung then asked about Teacher Bei’s situation. I told her that I haven’t seen him much lately either. At this, Miss Yung looked worried and said:
“Don’t think that Ah Bei comes off as calm and easy-going, he is actually very stubborn. Do you know about his upbringing? His father is Bei Dai Tung, a sculptor who specializes in large scale bronze works, and is known for his talent, fame and temper. Ah Bei is his beloved son who was exposed to art from a young age. From his name Bei Ming Yi, you can tell the expectations his father had for him. However, he chose woodblock printing, which his father deemed to be a minor art form unworthy of greatness. In his later years, Bei Dai Tung was commissioned to make many artworks to sing praises of the establishment and the powerful, to which Ah Bei was very disdainful. This caused a rift between father and son. His father’s disregard actually made him much more committed to wood carving. In the end, Bei Dai Tung passed away without reconciling with his son.
I realized to my shame that I knew nothing about Teacher Bei’s past. Miss Yung continued:
“After Ah Bei got married, he’d had a few happy years, becoming confident and reaching his creative peak. Unfortunately, ever since his wife’s death and due to the changes in society, he became depressed again. Sometimes, he is not willing to confide in me, choosing to bottle things up and silently endure. We have been friends for more than two decades now, so I understand him. That’s why I found it alarming when he insisted on creating a new work for his exhibition. Since you live close to him, visit him when you have time, and keep him from overthinking.”
“Can I really?”
“Why not? When Ah Bei introduced you to me, he had already told me about your situation. I see that you have been recovering well recently and have been steady at your work. He helped you back then, now it’s time for you to help him. Simply waiting for someone else to help is not the best strategy. Helping others is like helping oneself. We can only survive by supporting each other.”
“I see.”
Yung’s words greatly encouraged me, but I still didn’t dare tell her that my research has always been guided by the character spirits, and that my grandfather’s family may have a direct connection with the Hong Kong Type. Any normal person would find it unbelievable. Yet, from my perspective, everything seemed perfectly logical, just like how unrelated pieces in a puzzle eventually form a complete picture. I remembered what Nami once said, and I could almost hear her voice telling me:
“From any other perspective, events can take on different appearances, or may not make any sense at all. But from your own perspective, because your soul is pulling you, all the seemingly random and scattered pieces will revolve around an invisible central point, gathering into a symmetrical pattern with a wonderful structure, just like looking into a kaleidoscope. You must understand that the truth is not the pieces, but the kaleidoscope, and the kaleidoscope is the mirror of your soul. As the mirror of the soul rotates, you will witness the infinite transformation of the world.”
I believe that Teacher Bei must also be gazing at his own kaleidoscope, but what does he see in the mirror of his soul? I have no way of knowing. If all of us can only look into our own kaleidoscopes, turning our own mirrors of the soul, aren’t there no connections and nothing in common between the countless worlds? No matter how beautiful the scene, it is ultimately a lonely mirror! Unless - unless the mirror of the soul is like the celestial bodies in the universe, bound by an invisible force of mutual attraction.
I made an excuse for Teacher Bei to look at the results of my work and ran to his home studio the next afternoon. The teacher was making sketches on his work desk. The desktop was filled with drawings, with some areas even piled up, looking like a three-dimensional landscape model made of paper. When he let me in, he paused his work and made some black tea and we chatted on the sofa. I thought I shouldn’t always buy cakes, so I switched to buying cookies, unsure if they would suit his taste. He ate the cookies hungrily, as if he was starved, then immediately felt himself a bit rude and explained with a laugh:
“I haven’t eaten lunch today, I’ll help myself!”
I had printed out the text for the exhibition and showed it to my teacher. He read it very attentively, nodding continuously, and said that it was very concise and clear. In reality, it was just functional text, nothing out of the ordinary, but he still showered me with praises. I briefly told him about the progress of the exhibition, then asked about his own contribution. As if wanting to wipe away sweat, the teacher rubbed his broad forehead with his palm, crumbs from the cookies he was eating got stuck in his hair. It didn’t feel right for me to brush it away for him.
“Did Ah Yung say anything about me? Even though it’s a retrospective exhibition, I insist on submitting new pieces. She must think I’m making unnecessary efforts!”
As he said this, he ate another cookie and continued to speak while chewing:
“In fact, it’s because I don’t have much time left.”
He paused to take a sip of tea. I had never seen the teacher gobble down food in such a manner, it made me feel a bit helpless. All I could do was comfort him in the most unimaginative way possible:
“Don't worry, Teacher Bei. The exhibition is still three months away.”
He suddenly burst into laughter, reaching out for a cookie, and said, “Thank you! It’s really pathetic that I, as a teacher, have to be comforted by my student. I’ve truly embodied the meaning of a ‘Mr. Tragic’!”
Seeing the hurt expression on my face, he quickly explained, “I apologize, please don’t misunderstand! I’m not trying to tease or complain about you. I’m just really terrible! What I meant about not having enough time wasn’t to be taken literally. Of course, the time for submitting the exhibition works is tight, but I have confidence that I can make it. Look, I’ve already made a lot of drafts, most of the preparation work is done, and I’m ready to start at any time. Haha! I often joked with my wife in the past, saying that starting a woodblock is ‘applying the knife’, which sounds like performing a surgery. Later, my wife actually did have to undergo surgery, but by then, it was already too late.”
Speaking of this, Teacher Bei couldn’t hold back his tears. He used to mention his wife with a smile, but this was the first time I saw grief on his face. I was startled and flustered, trying to get a tissue for him, but I knocked over the teacup instead. Unexpectedly, this small incident interrupted his melancholy. He quickly got up and started tidying up the mess on the tea table. I, the clumsy one, had inadvertently done the right thing.
The teacher went to the bathroom to wash his face, and when he returned, he had calmed down. He looked surprised when he discovered that he had eater all the cookies. Wiping his fingers on the hem of his T-shirt, he asked, “Would you like to see my sketch?’
The work table was covered with sketches, and he casually picked up a few to show them to me. Each sketch depicted a nude figure - male and female. The style was similar to his previous works, but this time, each person appeared to be undergoing some form of extreme punishment, their bodies contorted and faces expressing pain. Some of the torturers were drawn on the same sketch, others were on separate pieces, then paired up. The torturers didn’t quite look human, but were some sort of divinities or messengers, all dressed in long robes like angels, with wings sprouting from their backs, halos attached above their head, and their faces hidden by gas masks that even covered their eyes. They wielded a variety of instruments or weapons, tormenting the naked men and women in different ways, creating a distressingly unbearable scene.
“Have you ever seen paintings by Bosch? Hieronymus Bosch, a Dutch painter from the early 16th century. His depictions of Hell are famous.”
He took an album from the shelf, opened it to the part that portrayed hell, and pointed out the details in the painting to me.
“Look! How strange! How terrifying! But at the same time, how ridiculous! I would not imitate him directly, but what I want to create is this kind of atmosphere. However, I will not depict the executor as a devil according to tradition, nor will I draw him as the Eastern Ox-Head and Horse-Face, but as an angel, or perhaps it should be said a pseudo-angel.”
He placed the opened album in the center of the drafts, his hands gesturing back and forth above it as he said, “These images are all individual details, which will be distributed in different positions in the painting. The actual arrangement hasn’t been decided yet. I already have a rough idea of the layout in my mind. At the center of the entire painting, there should be a core theme. All the details will revolve around this core, radiating out like a kaleidoscope.”
He mentioned the kaleidoscope, and a strange thrill surged through me, as if some uncanny telepathy was at work. I was fascinated by this yet-to-be-created work—not just curious, but possessed. I asked the teacher if it had a title, he said:
“‘Hell of the Innocents’. I plan to sign it under the name ‘Wailing Child’. The nickname you students have given me isn’t in vain.”
Even though I had yet to see the overall composition, the title of the work had already strongly hinted at the tone of the work. I felt as if I was invaded by a kind of virus, shivering all over. Seeing my reaction, Teacher Bei immediately changed the subject, saying:
“In truth, I know my skills are limited. Having to make so many drafts before ‘applying the knife’ indicates that I have not yet fully mastered the skill of using the knife directly as a pen. Do you remember the works of the New Chinese Woodblock Movement I showed you earlier? Lu Xun said at the time, the reason why woodcut creation differs from painting and lithography, is because it replaces the pen with the knife, applying it directly and boldly. It’s not about tracing a pre-conceived image, but carving directly onto the blank woodblock, with confidence and natural intuition. According to Lu Xun’s idea, this is what it takes to master the ‘knife technique’, and only with such technique can there be strength. Woodblock prints are the manifestation of strength.”
He walked up to the bookshelf again, pulling out a collection of prints. Opening up to the preface, he explained, “When I was very young, I read these words from Lu Xun and saw the collection of prints he compiled. Simply put, they were the sparks that ignited my passion for woodblock printing. I know my talents are limited and I can’t be a versatile art creator, so I focus on one form of print and even just one style, striving for excellence in this narrow field. My path is considered conservative and lacking creativity in the industry, but I am aware that I can’t rely on creativity. I am not a man of action. I can only open myself up to the world like a plant, absorb both the fresh and polluted air, go through photosynthesis in the changing light and darkness, and grow patterns and rings within my body. The tree that I eventually grow into will be presented as a work of art to the world. I grow slowly, but I can grow tall, thick, and lush. This is my expectation for myself. However, recently, I feel I’m starting to lose my strength. Perhaps I’ve absorbed too many toxins, and like a decaying tree, I’ve become malnourished, unable to withstand the wind and the rain, on the verge of collapse. I fear that this might be my last piece of work.”
Upon hearing the teacher say this, I became anxious. I couldn’t hold back my tears, sobbing and saying, “Please, teacher, it won’t be like this! You can definitely keep creating. Please don’t give up!”
He tried hard to smile and handed me a handkerchief, saying, “It seems that I need to prepare a special handkerchief just for you.”
I broke out into laughter while still in the midst of crying, feeling embarrassing as I held the handkerchief, unsure if I should sully it.
I dared not presume that I could really help Teacher Bei, as Miss Yung suggested, but I could at least offer him some support. I borrowed the collection of foreign prints edited by Lu Xun from the teacher and brought them home to read, flipping through them and imagining the teacher's state of mind in his youth.
Lu Xun once said, “The ancient Chinese inventions of gunpowder and the compass, now used for fireworks and Feng Shui, were introduced to Europe where they were applied to guns and navigation, causing many disadvantages to their original teacher. However, there is a small case that is almost forgotten because it is harmless. That is woodblock printing.” It spread from China to Europe, and was developed and thriving into a unique art form. Now he wanted to introduce Western woodblock prints to China, adding that “the return of woodblock printing is not likely to bring hardships to its original teacher like the other two cases.”
Reading up to here, I suddenly thought: Isn’t the movable type printing the same? It was originally invented by the Chinese, but matured in the West, causing the leap of civilization and knowledge, and then reintroduced into China, bringing about enormous changes in modernization. The evolution of history is so wonderfully unpredictable.
Just as I was immersed in such thoughts, the character spirits called me again. No, this time it was not the character spirit, but the spirit of my ancestor. I couldn’t help but dream, or see, or read, or even write, the story of my great-great-grandfather Dai Fuk.
Those who has left will come back; what is lost will be found again.
Now I finally know, the character spirits do not lie.