As the house bustled in the evening, the servants assembled themselves, armed with axes, hatches or batons. There were several empty vats as well, by equally worried and confused looking servants.

"The young master must have gone mad, he must have finally lost it. All that studying was going to do him in one of these days." One of the servants sighed, the hope of his future in the household dimming by the minute as the young master issued instructions.

The servants had to first cut down bamboo, soak them and then pound them until they turned to mush then strain the slurry through a cloth screen that they crudely made by hammering four frames together and then leaving them out to dry. Not only this, they had to do this in absolute secrecy while their parents slept and in silence in the small warehouse that they used to store dried goods.

Zhang Chao, on the other hand, took part enthusiastically, waving his servants on as he held on to a machete-like a warlord, "Go forth, my men! You will bring great glory to this household!"

As the bamboo was brought down, Zhang Chao watched as they were submerged into the huge tubs and then pounded with large poles that were used in construction by several servants. The process took about ten to twenty minutes per tub but that was to be expected without machinery.

Zhang Chao watched as the servants hung the dripping wet cloth frames out to dry and he brought his brush and inkset and sat in the warehouse, waiting for it to dry impatiently. However, he had another question on his mind. How can he bring this to widespread use within the country? In a land filled with demons, how can Zhang Chao force this item to be so good and popular that people will transport it at whatever cost because it simply had to be used by bureaucracy?

Who can use it that will endorse this?

As he fell asleep and morning came, the rooster's call woke up the young man and he shuffled over eagerly to the cloth frames and as he touched it, a small smile came to his lips as he took his first prototype and with his brush, it flowed in a calligraphic style that he had learnt to write with.

He rolled the paper into a tube and affixed it to his raven. The raven cocked its head but nodded at the destination, as if bamboozled by the young master's own demand.

In Xiangyang, in a palace built with towering monuments of the previous emperors, Emperor Jian Kang read the memoirs, heaving stack upon stack of memoir as reports came in one after another about the economy, threats of war and unrest.

Sighing, he rubbed his temple, the beads atop his royal crown give off a faint noise that can be heard clearly throughout the whole court as his courtiers stood, awaiting the Emperor's instructions.

Then, the Emperor looked up curiously as a eunuch ran in carrying a simple bamboo casing. Most of the time, reports came in colourful tubes. The duller the tubes, it usually reflects the poor standing of the family. However, unknown to these nobles, Emperor Jian Kang actually disliked frivolous displays although he did not publicly object to them.

The eunuch bowed, slowly walking forward with the scroll on hand. The Imperial Guard beside the Emperor accepted the scroll and opened it, checking the content. The guard handed the scroll to the Emperor after a brief look of puzzlement.

"What can possibly confuse you?" The Emperor asked in amusement as he took the scroll and opened it. Inside it was a brownish "slice" if that was the term to describe it. He curiously pulled it out. It felt soft, though a bit rough. It seemed like cloth made for writing but different and was folded.

As he unfolded the thing, beautiful calligraphy could be seen on it.

The august house is resplendent as if dwelling in Heaven;

from myriad directions they come, gathering like stars.

The honoured and favoured fan their fires of lust even hotter;

all guard profit without ceasing.

When a front coach overturns not far ahead,

the rear teams dash forward, racing to catch up.

They exhaust their multifarious craft on terraces and towers,

while the people dwell in the open, sleep in the wet.

They waste fine grain on birds and beasts,

while those below eat chaff and husks without the kernels.

They grandly bestow liberal generosity on fawning flatterers,

but in impeaching loyal protest, they are swift and sure.

"Amazing calligraphy! Amazing poetry!" Emperor Jian Kang marvelled as he read, smiling a little at the cheekiness of whoever had sent this. The signature was that of a man by the name of Zhang Chao. However, the content of the letter was more worrying.

"Sima Lin, come take a look at this material, tell me if you know what it is!" He held up the odd object that the calligraphy was written on and an old man dressed in blue robes with the symbol of a crane atop it stepped forward, handling the object gently.

The poem implied corruption and favouritism. But... What was this paper and who was the man of talent that wrote this?