Chapter 2065 - The Counterfeiting Den

The door opened to reveal a flight of stone steps descending into darkness. Hao An held the lantern high as they made their way downward.

Below sprawled a large underground chamber, illuminated by oil lamps positioned at intervals along the walls. At a glance, one could see several substantial worktables, each occupied by craftsmen bent intently over their tasks. The air hung thick with the mingled scents of ink, paste, and paper—undercut by persistent notes of dampness and mildew.

Hao Er coughed lightly. Immediately, a foreman circulating among the workstations approached, murmuring respectfully, "Master has arrived!"

At the sound, the craftsmen rose from their seats and stood with hands at their sides.

Hao Er nodded, signaling them not to be overly formal. He addressed the foreman: "How goes the work? Still making progress?"

"Reporting to Master: the routine production proceeds smoothly. But that matter—we've made little headway, I'm afraid."

"It's been months now, and still no meaningful progress?" A flicker of disappointment crossed Hao Er's features. "Summon Master Zhang."

Master Zhang appeared promptly—a man of about forty, his hands roughened by years of working with paper and paste, callused from countless hours of precise labor. Seeing the proprietor's summons, he hurried over.

"Master Zhang, how do things stand? Have you produced any viable samples yet?"

"Master! We... we have made some, but..." Zhang handed over two rectangular slips of paper, each about a dozen centimeters long. Hao Er accepted them and examined them carefully.

The slips were covered in intricate, almost chaotic patterns—elaborate and convoluted designs. At the top, in regular script: "Finance Ministry Central Reserve Bank Currency Voucher." Beneath that, in slightly larger characters: "Exchangeable for One Silver Yuan."

"Master! This is the original you provided us," Old Zhang indicated one slip, then pointed to the other. "And this is the finest copy the lads and I have managed over the past few days. But still..."

He shook his head, clearly dissatisfied with the result.

Hao Er studied the two slips intently—first one, then the other—occasionally shaking them gently and noting the soft rustle, testing the texture with practiced fingers.

"This isn't bad at all. The only issue... the paper feels somewhat limp, lacking that crisp quality. But otherwise, it's remarkably close!"

Master Zhang gave a rueful laugh and shook his head again. "It's no good—not remotely acceptable! This one was painstakingly hand-drawn by the lads over two full days. Old Wang even aged it afterward with tea and smoke. Otherwise, it wouldn't pass even a casual glance! If we had to draw every note like this, we couldn't produce more than one every several days—and our eyes would give out entirely!"

"If you can draw it, surely you can engrave it?" Hao Er glanced toward the craftsmen laboring at the benches. "If the hand-drawn version works..."

"Old Qian!" Master Zhang called out. "Bring over the latest plate you carved—let the master examine it!"

A man named Master Qian answered and carefully carried over a large wooden board, setting it respectfully before Hao Er.

On the board lay several carved printing blocks, all the same size but bearing entirely different patterns.

Hao Er leaned in to examine the blocks as a manager hastily brought an Australian oil lamp closer for better illumination.

As he studied the engravings, he traced the lines in the air with an iron stylus Old Zhang handed him, following the intricate pathways with his fingertip.

"My... this is exquisite work indeed!"

There were four finished blocks in all, each bearing extraordinarily fine engravings—patterns of staggering intricacy, twisting and coiling like vines hopelessly entangled. The designs were complex enough in themselves, but the scale proved even more daunting: in places, the engraved lines were barely thicker than a strand of hair.

Such craftsmanship made even the worldly Hao Er exclaim in genuine admiration. "Old Qian, you truly are the supreme master of your trade!"

"Alas, even I have reached the limits of what's possible," Master Qian sighed heavily. "Many of the finest details simply cannot be reproduced at this scale. I can only hope people won't scrutinize them too closely."

"Let me see. Have you done any trial prints?"

"We have." Master Zhang retrieved a paper folder from a nearby drawer. "Once printed, we realized immediately how far short we still fall."

Hao Er opened the folder and extracted the bills inside. At first glance, the size, color, and general patterns seemed roughly correct. But the moment he held them, something felt fundamentally wrong—even setting aside the quality of the paper, the design itself was unmistakably flawed.

"...It's difficult to articulate precisely what's wrong, but even at a casual glance, one immediately senses the difference," Master Qian said bitterly.

Hao Er shared the sentiment entirely. Compared to the genuine note, the counterfeit exuded a palpable crudeness—an indefinable wrongness. Though he couldn't precisely identify the flaw, placing the two side by side made the truth inescapable. The real bill possessed lines that seemed finer, more delicate; the patterns appeared subtly smaller; the colors varied in depth and luster, producing effects the forgery could never match.

"It's certainly extraordinarily difficult!" Hao Er had to concede—this enterprise was proving far harder than anticipated. He had already invested months into this counterfeiting operation, including a costly detour to produce a batch of forged tax stamps. Yet despite the immense outlay of manpower and resources, meaningful progress remained negligible.

A wave of frustration washed over him. He fell silent, his mind churning.

Seeing the master's displeasure, Master Qian hastily added, "Master! It isn't that we haven't applied ourselves with utmost diligence—truly! The Australians' treasury notes have patterns beyond imagination! Not only are the lines incredibly fine and dense, but they also shift between colors. Though only two inks appear to be used—blue and black—if you count carefully, just the border design alone employs three or four distinct shades! Some possess luster, some do not. And then there are constantly changing pattern variations embedded throughout. Each variation requires its own separate block. To replicate their designs perfectly would demand carving more than a dozen separate blocks—never mind whether we can even mix the precisely correct colors. And every block must align with microscopic precision during printing; if even one prints crooked by a single hair's breadth, the entire sheet is ruined."

Traditional woodblock color printing, constrained by materials and technique, could not employ too many colors; the results inevitably looked flat and blocky, incapable of gradual shading or nuanced transitions between light and dark. No matter how expertly Master Qian carved his blocks, the moment ink touched paper, the deception was exposed with brutal clarity.

"Old Zhang, I believe Old Qian's skills may not quite suffice for this task," Hao Er said quietly once Master Qian had stepped away to continue his work. "The lines remain too coarse. We need finer work still."

"Master, it honestly isn't his fault," Master Zhang hastened to defend his colleague. "These lines are simply too fine! Old Qian possesses the skill, but he cannot engrave on wood at this microscopic scale—the material itself won't allow it."

Traditional blocks required hardwoods with dense, fine grain—fruitwoods like pear or jujube—so that carvings held true, accepted ink reliably, and lasted through many impressions. Naturally, Hao Er had procured the finest timber available. But the wood's natural fibers imposed an absolute limit: lines too fine simply could not be successfully cut into it.

They had considered alternative materials. Guangzhou boasted skilled ivory carvers—masters who could etch minute patterns and even microscopic text onto tiny ivory ornaments and puzzle-balls. But ivory could not hold ink properly, nor could pieces large enough for printing blocks be obtained at reasonable cost.

"Old Zhang!" Hao Er raised his eyes toward the ceiling, his gaze wandering to some distant point as though seeing through the very roof itself. "This is nothing like forging paintings or gambling tokens. If we can successfully pull this off, not only will our past offenses be forgiven and expunged, but the imperial court will reward us with titles and ranks! And we can avenge Zhu Jian—and your Xiang Ming as well!"

"You mean the court itself is also...?"

Hao Er nodded gravely. "Stone Elder is fully aware of our work here. He acknowledges that our current methods cannot succeed. So he has specially summoned two luminaries from Suzhou—the legendary 'King of Blocks,' whose counterfeits can fool even the original creators; and 'Chaotic Brush Liu,' whose forged signatures and handwriting deceive even the authors themselves. They should arrive any day now."

"Master—you mean... the faking genius 'King of Blocks'? And 'Chaotic Brush Liu,' whose imitations of calligraphy are so perfect even the writers cannot distinguish them? Heavens! These two are legendary figures—!"

Hao Er allowed himself a faint smile. "Indeed, both are celebrated masters in the 'Suzhou forgery' trade. But that's not all. Word has reached me that the Lin family of 'Tribute Paper' fame and the Meng family of 'Master Inkmakers' are also sending representatives—men of little renown in our forging circles, perhaps, but whose craft will prove absolutely indispensable..."

Ever since they had begun this counterfeiting operation, the major obstacles—setting aside the block-carving itself—had been the everyday consumables: paper and ink. Despite all their efforts and experimentation, these fundamental problems remained only half-solved at best.

(End of Chapter)