Chapter 145: The Book to the Head Priest and Cinderella (121.2)

“But coloring costs a lot of money. This picture book was designed to teach the orphans how to read, and I would rather have more books for them than spend a lot of money on one.”
“Books are works of art, unique treasures, so what are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” I wanted to give it back to him as it was. I couldn’t help but blurt out:
“Then what are you talking about? Books are not works of art. They are the fruit of knowledge and wisdom. I don’t want to make art but books that everyone can read. For me, the cheaper the better. It would be even better if books could be mass-produced.”
“Mass-produce? Are you going to get a bunch of people to copy articles? If orphans could all write, this might be possible, but who knows how many years it will take.”
The Head Priest pressed his temple, as if desperately pondering some mystery of the world. However, I’d been thinking about alternatives since the beginning, so I’d never considered such an approach that would take years.
“No, I will mass-produce them in print. There are already thirty copies of the same picture book…”
“Wait.”
The Head Priest raised his eyebrows, then interrupted me. His pale gold eyes were filled with disbelief.
“What do you mean there are already thirty copies of the same picture book…?”
“That means we printed thirty copies.”
“Printed?”
He clearly had no idea what the workshop was about, and I didn’t know if this was due to his negligence or Fran’s unfamiliarity with the workshop. I had to report to him on time the revenue of the workshop, and I didn’t miss a single contribution to the temple, so I thought Fran would tell him, but it didn’t seem so.
I was really in a dilemma as to where to begin to answer such a question.
“Did you know that Maine Workshop makes plant-paper?”
“I know that.”
“Later, we made thicker paper on which words and pictures were engraved. The engraving tool is called a penknife — a very small knife — so that we got the template.”
“Engraved on paper?”
The voice of the Head Priest sharpened, and I found myself saying something very contrary to common sense again. But it was too late. I’d better pretend nothing happened.
“Put the template on the paper, and the pigment can stay on the paper through the hollowed-out part. After that, replace with another paper and repeat the previous step. In this way, we can easily get the same two pieces of paper. After repeating this step thirty times for each page, we will get thirty books.”
From halfway through, the Head Priest was as unresponsive as a crashed computer. “Head Priest, can you hear me?” I asked, waving my hand in front of his eyes.
“Yes. Although I can hear…”
He restarted but closed his eyes and sighed. Even Benno didn’t react like that, so I was horrified.
“… are you all right, Head Priest?”
“… I can’t believe you did such a bold thing.”
What was bold? I thought back to the process of making picture books. The boldest was that I decisively gave up prints to develop templates. But that’s not what the Head Priest was supposed to be referring to. While I was deep in thought, he sighed again.
“In other words, printing is engraving paper and painting, right?”
“Yes, it is now.”
“In general, no one would think of engraving paper, and the idea of painting it at any cost is incredible.”
Parchment was expensive and rare, so engraving it was a waste for anyone. Although the price of plant-paper was not low, I didn’t think it was wasteful because I could make my own paper in The Maine Workshop and I knew about print.
I did not want the same thing as the Head Priest do. To go on with this would only lead to an inconclusive argument. But I thought it was better to spend money on the print than on the cover. After all, a glossy cover was only the appearance. The value of a book should be reflected in its content.
“I can’t believe someone would go to great lengths to decorate the cover. Plus, I’m using soot collected by the gray-robed priests to make the pigment, so the cost is lower…”
“Can you really make pigment out of soot?”
He had questioned me when I was collecting soot, but I had explained to him that it was to make pigment, and it seemed that he did not expect me to actually make it. I was surprised by his shocked expression.
“… is it so surprising to you?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Mr. Benno told me when I gave him the picture book just now that I was making his head ache. But the conversation quickly turned to costs and new picture books, so I didn’t think it would be so surprising.”
Perhaps Benno, accustomed to dealing with me and calculating the benefits from a merchant’s point of view, had succeeded in cushioned the blow, but the truth was that most people were as shocked as the Head Priest. As I pondered the difference between Benno and others, I saw the Head Priest slowly shook his head and cast his eyes out the window.
“…It turns out that Benno was also quite hard. If everything you do is so shocking, I can imagine that his fatigue must be extraordinary.”
“Huh?! But Mr. Benno is a businessman, of course he would like to get something that sells well. Although he is very hard, he is willing to participate. This is not my responsibility. It should not be.”
Whether it was to set up a plant-paper association, which was in opposition to the parchment association, or to boast to Inles and started an Italian restaurant, it was Benno’s own decision. At my words, the Head Priest just shrugged, and showed a clear “I guess so” expression on his face.
“I shall have to ask Benno, not you… By the way, Maine, did you mention the new picture book?”
“Yes, do you have any questions?”
“Make sure you report to me before you make it. I don’t want you to scare me every time.”
But no matter when I report, what scares you still scares you — I grumbled to myself and handed him the paper with Cinderella on it. Since he wanted to read it, why not?
“Here’s an outline for the next picture book. What do you think?”
After reading it briefly, he frowned.
“How can a merchant’s daughter marry a prince? Are you a fool? Or do you not know what a status gap is?”
“I really don’t know much about the status gap. Well… What class of aristocrat can bridge it to marry a prince, and you can accept that?”
If the setting was so bad that I got called a fool, then I do need to compromise. Hearing my concession, the Head Priest rested his chin on his hand and pondered for a moment.
“… to marry a prince, the girl must be at least a superior aristocrat and a lady of strict education. There is no such thing as bridging the status gap. Instead of making her a princess, make her a concubine. Isn’t that enough to be envied?”
“No, no, no, I don’t agree! Being a concubine is not even a dream!”
“Forget the dream, face the reality.”
The central idea of the story was to pursue true love regardless of the status gap, so Cinderella must be a princess to meet the theme, but the Head Priest firmly opposed. Sometimes, reading was an escape and a dream, and if Cinderella ends up as a concubine, that would be too cruel for the reader.
“What if the hero is not a prince but a Lord of the border? Are there any examples of bridging this type of status gap? It’s just a fictional anyway, can you accept that?”
“Well… it depends on the size of the territory, but even if there’s a bit of a gap between the two, it might be possible to sort it out. Although there will be a lot of opposition around…”
Even if there is a status gap, the hero and heroine still go on to a happy ending despite the opposition of all — Such a story was very suitable for picture books. It seemed that there was a story that we can both accept, which made me feel relieved.
“Then I will change the hero from a prince to the son of a Lord.”
“Cinderella can’t be the daughter of a merchant, but of an aristocrat. And what about this fairy? How on earth does she work magic with such strange spells? Even if you don’t know anything about magic, it’s too far off the mark.”
Thus, the story of Cinderella was cut out of all the parts with the fairy under the constant ridicule of the Head Priest. The main line also turned into that a noble daughter entered the society with the help of an aristocrat related to her dead mother and fell in love with the son of the Lord at first sight after she was bullied by her stepmother. There was no longer any trace of the original Cinderella in this story, but after all, the aristocrats were the main readers of the future, so I would gratefully take the advice of the Head Priest from the aristocratic point of view.
“The story says they will live a happy life, but that’s not going to happen.”
“What?”
The Head Priest said that after the hero and the heroine got married, the hero would be evicted from his land by his Lord father. Even if the Lord was lenient enough to agree to their marriage, the hero would lose the right to be the next Lord and could only be the help of his younger brother. I didn’t want to write this part at all. After knowing the following plot that was too realistic, the picture book of Cinderella I was going to make was no longer a fairy tale to me, but a complete tragedy.