"Bai Dong is a strange boy. The emperor asked him to report the courses he told every day. He really reported it to him. He saw what he did and enlightened the children, but he did not put etiquette and music first..."

Li Jiang was halfway up against the brocade bed, holding the open bamboo slips in her hand, with crooked words on it, but only a hundred words, there were more than a dozen typos, and she was still a gentleman? But she couldn't laugh. The boy's handwriting was extremely bad, but the content in the article was very thought-provoking. After reading a paragraph, she had to close the book and meditate.

"Etiquette takes years to develop, so how can the Yishi Village people have such a foundation? Wang Ting Yale has to pay even more. Even I, the Liyang Palace, can only make up a set of musical instruments, and there is still a lack of a truly wise musician. Xijun is hard for this kid... Xijun, what words did that kid write on Jianshu that made you so trance?"

"This kid's story is so touching. You haven't seen it. It turns out that the first class in Baijia Private School was neither influenced by rituals and music nor taught "The Book of Songs" and "The Analects of Confucius", but he told a story..."

Li Jiang raised her head gently, and tears appeared in her eyes: "In the past eight years, there was a little girl in Yue Kingdom. Her parents and relatives died in the war, leaving only her and her younger brother. Her family was once a nobleman. The girl couldn't do other business, so she used the last money to buy a basket of flints and went all over the street to sell, 'Who will buy my flints, who will buy my flints...' But no one heard her hawking sound. She had been in one whole day, and she had a piece of it.

The flint was not even sold. Her requirements were actually not high. As long as she could sell the flint, she could exchange money to buy some pens and clinking books for her brother. The younger brother could study under the teacher's school. She followed the nobles in the brocade clothes and horses, and sold them again and again, hoping that they could go back and buy her a piece of flint. That day, it was a big day. It was a rare heavy snow in Yue Kingdom. She walked in the snow. Her shoes had already broken, revealing her frostbite toes..."

Ying Lian became more and more angry as he heard it, and punched him on the couch: "Those nobles deserve to die! Let me tell you quickly, Xijun, the story must be perfect in the end, right? I guess that the little girl who sold flint must have sold out all her flint, or had met a kind nobleman, and lived happily with her brother from now on?"

"I want to disappoint the Lord. It's getting darker, and a feast was set up in the noble family. The little girl leaned against the wall of the noble family, smelling the aroma of roasted lamb, illuminating herself with flints, hoping to get a little warmth. In the firelight, she saw her parents and relatives, as if she had returned to a happy day... It was dawn, and the servants of the noble family found the little girl who was frozen to death outside the wall. She had a smile on her face and a flint was tightly held in her hand, as if that was the last hope that her brother could continue to go to school..."

"Damn it, damn it!"

Ying Lian was also a hero who killed countless people, but was moved by this story and burst into tears. He asked Li Jiang with red eyes: "Why? How could the nobles fall to this point later? This is unreasonable!"

"Hey, the Lord forgot that this story happened last year? It was from then on that time that the country of Yue was in chaos and there was no one yet. Who would have to deal with a child from a declining noble family?"

Li Jiang frowned and looked at Ying Lian for a long time, and suddenly chuckled: "That boy is so bad, he really deceived the Lord... You see, the bamboo slip finally wrote a paragraph - this matter was created by the minister's fiction, I hope your wife should not regret it. Look, how bad should this boy be?"

"He is not bad, but smart. The children of the Bai family have suffered, but the sudden wealth will make them lose them. After Bai Dong told this story, the children must have cried miserably. As long as they are not fools, they will understand how difficult it is to have an opportunity to enter school. Xiaojun, this is the way of military strategists. Sending troops to the generals is to encourage the morale of the three armies. Bai Dong encouraged the Bai family's children to learn on the first day of the class. The story or the story was made up by him, but I was moved by this son. This son is talented! I just wonder why Lao Ganlong and Gongsun Jia would not tell such a beautiful story? Otherwise, the young official would not be so naughty..."

"Your Majesty, your own son is not good at doing well, but he goes to blame the doctor. Isn't this the way to be the king?"

Li Jiang chuckled: "My wife is becoming more and more curious now. That boy has a good start, but he doesn't know what he will do next? Without a true aristocratic background, it is not easy to successfully enlighten young children..."

***

Bai Dong suddenly felt his ears itchy. It must be that the disrespectful lady of the country was talking about her own gossip again? She didn't have time to scratch her ears, and the back of her hands was splashed with toner. The tribesmen were still watching him demonstrate. They couldn't turn into big faces, and they weren't going to perform on stage?

Papermaking can be made slowly, and a simple wooden pen can be used temporarily before the right bamboo is found, but the toner of this era must be improved; what is the thing used now? Since the Zhou Dynasty Xingyi discovered that charcoal ash can be turned into ink, but it has not been improved over hundreds of years. The nobles and scholars and officials believed that the articles that can be passed down from generation to generation should be engraved on bamboo slips, and they disdained the brush and ink; ordinary people would not care about this thing. As a result, today's so-called "ink" is to use wood to burn cigarettes. After forming something like ash at the bottom of the pot, they will accompany it with dough, water and rice juice. Every time they use it, it will be like cooking at a farmer's house, without any elegance.

Moreover, the words written in this kind of "ink" are yellow or black, and cannot last, and they cannot be improved. It is impossible to imagine the tragic scene of the grass's white and tender little hands engraving on the bamboo slips. Moreover, he also has to write elementary school textbooks. With such a large workload, can it be all based on engraving?

Dozens of tribe members who were about to change to the "working class" were looking at Bai Dong curiously. The pine tobacco powder cleared from the strange pottery had been filled with more than a dozen large basins. Dozens of large pots were placed in front of them. The peeled turtle shell and the skirt were thrown into the boiling water, and they were constantly cooking. Ping Anlang was patrolling the pot back and forth, and suddenly he stood up and called several tribe members to get the pot and pour out the slurry water. Seeing that the wooden basin was about to be full, he still let him pour it until the slurry water filled the edge of the basin... Strangely, the slurry water seemed to have become sticky, and it was obviously higher than the edge of the basin, but it would not overflow.

After the slurry gradually cooled down, it turned into a trembling gelatin, like the favorite jelly of children in later generations. Bai Dong stretched out his fingers and felt that the touch of his fingers was extremely smooth, but there was no feeling of moistness. It became! With this thing, the rosin ink in the true sense was about to come out.

First, he found a small wooden basin, tried the proportion and quantity again and again, and finally decided, Bai Dong began to ask the tribesmen to put pine tobacco powder and turtle glue into the cauldron at a fixed ratio, and heated it with a light heat below. The two tribesmen were responsible for a large cauldron, and stirred slowly with wooden sticks according to his prescribed clockwise direction.

As the smoke powder gradually blended with the turtle glue, it became darker and brighter than before, and a scent of ink that had a faint smell of pine wood. An excited discussion suddenly sounded around. The tribesmen didn't know what great thing they had done, just smelled the fragrance and wanted to pounce on them and eat a few bites.

What a dark and fragrant ink! I have never seen the ink that is so dark and fragrant. The ones bought by the butler can throw away. Bai Dong narrowed his eyes with a smile...
Chapter completed!