Ink Stick and Brush: How Chinese Ink Was Made
Ink Stick and Brush: How Chinese Ink Was Made — an invention story. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Inventions.
Page 1
The rope gave way with a sharp crack, and the log sled lurched forward on its own, rattling down the terraced path toward the white-walled houses far below. Mei dropped the basket she carried and ran, her straw sandals slapping the packed earth, braid ribbon flying. She hurled herself ahead of the sliding runner and jammed her bamboo tally stick hard beneath it, bracing with both hands as the wood groaned against her stick. Lin lunged for the last log tumbling free, wrapping both arms around it and hauling backward with all his lanky weight until his heels dug furrows in the dirt. Soot-Paw, startled by the clatter, shot sideways off the path and scrambled straight up into a tea bush, scattering leaves. Grandfather Mo came striding down fast for a man so tall and stooped, planting his pine staff hard to keep his balance on the slope, shouting for them to mind the drop toward the pond below. The sled shuddered, tipped, and finally stopped, logs groaning against the jammed stick.
Page 2
The brick tunnel stretched low and dark, long as three houses laid end to end, its bamboo hoods leaking thin grey smoke into the cold pine forest. Lin dropped flat on his belly and wriggled inside, elbows scraping brick, dragging a stack of paper cones behind him. Inside, soot hung like black fog, soft as feathers, and he swept it with cupped palms into the cones, packing them tight. Grandfather Mo knelt at the mouth of the tunnel, steadying a cone with his long ink-stained thumb while Mei ran back and forth hauling full cones away before they spilled. Then a gust of mountain wind shoved down the tunnel, and the whole soot cloud puffed outward in one black breath. Lin scrambled backward, coughing, and burst out headfirst; Mei grabbed his ankle to pull him the rest of the way. All three stood blinking, faces black as crows, only their eyes shining white. Soot-Paw sneezed from atop a log, her white fur gone grey at the shoulders, and pranced away leaving small sooty paw-prints across the frosted ground.
Page 3
The loft above the oil press smelled of warm tung oil, two hundred tiny flames flickering under their porcelain hoods along the long shelves. Soot-Paw spotted a moth circling one wick and sprang, paws skidding across the shelf board. The whole rack jolted, bowls sliding and clattering, and a wave of glossy oil sheeted off the edge onto the floorboards below. Mei dropped flat to her knees, flinging her rag down ahead of the spreading puddle before it could reach the nearest lamp. Lin lunged sideways, grabbing two tipping bowls in both hands before they could crash down and scatter burning wicks. Grandfather Mo Qian hauled himself down with his staff, kneeling despite his stiff old knees, sweeping oil away from a flame with the hem of his sleeve. Soot-Paw, startled, scrambled over the slick boards leaving black paw-prints skating sideways. For a long breath nobody spoke, three pairs of hands pressing rags flat, slopping oil into a cracked bowl Lin snatched from the shelf. Only when the last flame stood safe did anyone dare breathe out.
Page 4
Under the red cliffs of Qiyun Mountain, the short wide man came swinging a waist-high copper cauldron, hot amber glue sloshing inside it, the handle slick with grease. He shouted for everyone to clear a path, but his boot skidded on a mossy flagstone and the handle twisted out of his grip. The cauldron tipped and glue sheeted out across the cold stones in one long glistening wave. Mei dropped her tally stick and dove to slap both hands flat on the near edge before it could spread further. Grandfather Mo planted his pine staff down hard and leaned his whole stooped weight to block the flow toward the fire pit. Lin skidded in barefoot, grabbing a corner of the cooling glue sheet and hauling it back like a blanket. Uncle Tie dropped to his knees, scooping the slab up with both broad palms. Together they peeled the great golden pancake off the flagstones in one wobbling piece, while Soot-Paw danced sideways, swatting at the edges that flapped loose.
Page 5
The pounding floor rang like a drum. Uncle Tie swung his heavy iron hammer down onto the black soot-and-glue dough piled on the stone anvil block, which stood as high as his waist, over and over, his bare arms slamming with each blow. Mei stood to the side, notching her bamboo tally stick with her thumbnail for every strike, her lips moving as she counted. Grandfather Mo leaned on his crooked pine staff watching the dough grow glossy and black, nodding each time it folded under the hammer. Lin crouched nearby turning the dough mass with a flat wooden paddle so every side got pounded evenly, dodging the swinging hammer with quick hops. Then, on a tremendous blow, the hammer head flew clean off its pine-knot handle, sailing high over everyone's ducking heads and landing with a soft thump in a woven basket of rice chaff taller than Soot-Paw, who leapt sideways with her tail puffed. Mei froze mid-notch, staring at the empty handle in Uncle Tie's fists, then burst out laughing as she finished carving the tenth-thousandth mark.
Page 6
The finest mould lay on the carving bench, its pearwood dragon coiling so finely that Grandfather Mo had checked it twice with his brass lens. Mei reached to lift it for him, but her sleeve caught the edge, and the mould skated across the plank floor, slipping clean through a gap wide as two fingers. It fell, clattering down into the covered alley below. Soot-Paw, who had been dozing on a shaving-pile, sprang up and dove straight after it through the same gap. "The mould! Catch it before it splits!" cried Grandfather Mo, gripping the balcony rail. Lin snatched the long cloth rope strung for drying hemp, looped it round his wrist and swung himself over the rail, boots bare against the brick wall, dropping fast into the alley below. He landed in a crouch, scooped up both wriggling cat and mould in one armful, and Uncle Tie hauled the rope hand over hand to lift them both back up to the loft, safe and unbroken.
Page 7
The drying tower rose six storeys high, taller than any house in Yansi Town, each level stacked with bamboo trays buried in warm grey ash where ink sticks slept half-dry. Uncle Tie squeezed his wide shoulders past the narrow ladder rung, and the whole tower shuddered, one tray tilting, then another, ash puffing into the air like smoke. 'Catch them!' Grandfather Mo shouted, lunging with his staff to brace a sliding rack. Mei scrambled up the ladder two rungs at a time, grabbing a tray before it tipped, her sleeves vanishing into grey cloud. Lin swung himself along the outside beams, snatching a falling tray mid-air and passing it hand to hand down the line. Uncle Tie planted his thick arms wide, bracing the whole frame against his chest so nothing more could fall. Soot-Paw darted between everyone's ankles, batting stray ash puffs, somehow never touching a single stick. Tray by tray they rebuilt the tower, counting all ninety-nine sticks safe, not one cracked.
Page 8
Rain came all at once, hammering the cobbles beneath the great four-sided stone archway, and the barrow wheel caught in a flooded gutter crack with a jolt that threw the whole load sideways. The crate of finished ink sticks tipped, sliding toward the spreading puddle. Mei didn't think — she tore off her own red jacket and flung it flat over the crate's open top, smothering the sticks from the spray. Lin grabbed the barrow handles and hauled back with all his lanky weight, boots skidding, while Uncle Tie dropped his hammer with a clatter, bent his thick knees, and heaved the entire crate up over his head in one grunting lift. Grandfather Mo swept his wide sleeves wide, shouting the way, his staff tapping fast against stone as he led them running beneath the archway's carved stone roof. Soot-Paw streaked ahead through puddles, black paws flashing, leading them like a small arrow to the dry shelter. They all skidded in together, breathless, laughing, rain dripping from every chin.
Page 9
The ferry boat rocked gently at the stone weir, lanterns swaying overhead, as the crew knelt on the deck brushing gold leaf into the carved dragon moulds pressed along the finished ink sticks. Mei held a shallow dish of gold flakes steady on her knees, careful not to tip it as the boat rolled. Uncle Tie braced the crate of sticks against his wide chest so it wouldn't slide. Then a gust swept off the river, snatching a sheet of gold leaf into the air, scattering bright flecks everywhere. Lin scrambled up, long legs skidding on the wet boards, swinging his goose-feather brush through the air to catch flake after flake before they touched the water. Grandfather Mo, unbothered, kept working, pressing his ink-black thumb onto each gilded stick to seal it, one after another. Soot-Paw chased a drifting flake across the deck, pouncing with both black paws. "Don't let it fall in the river!" Mei shouted, laughing, holding the dish higher. "Got it — got the last one!" Lin cried, snapping his brush shut like a trap. Grandfather Mo pressed his thumbprint onto Lin's catch and smiled.
Page 10
At Zhenhai Bridge, under the arch taller than three men stacked, Uncle Tie hauled the wooden crate off the barrow and slammed it down on the flagstones. Lin scrambled up onto the crate's rim and began passing sticks down two at a time, while Mei knelt on the cobbles stacking them into a pyramid as tall as her shoulder, each glittering stick catching the lantern light. Grandfather Mo Qian guided a travelling scholar to kneel before a flat stone inkstone the size of a dinner plate, and pressed the very first stick into his hand. The scholar wet the stone and ground in slow circles until black ink pooled thick and glossy, then dipped his brush and swept a dragon onto paper spread on the stones. Soot-Paw, tail high, padded straight across the wet painting, printing four small black paw marks beside the dragon's tail. Lin laughed and pointed, nearly toppling off the crate, and Uncle Tie caught his ankle before he fell.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Inventions
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