Only after repeated explanations did Lu Zhishen reluctantly believe that Zhao Chunmei did not intend to “play with feces.” However, before parting, he still racked his brains for some Buddhist teachings, telling the young woman that nothing should be rushed and that earning money must align with one’s own circumstances.
It wasn’t that Master Lu had become long-winded; it was mainly because the way her eyes lit up at the mention of excrement and urine was truly too alarming.
Zhao Chunmei was both amused and exasperated. She had indeed been inspired by the idlers’ chatter, but what she wanted to venture into was something else entirely—an indispensable marvel of modern society: toilet paper.
Before the invention of paper, the items people used to wipe their bottoms were incredibly varied, essentially following the principle of improvisation and using whatever was at hand. The wealthy used wool or silk, while commoners used rags, twigs, leaves, grass, stones, and some even washed directly with water. However, by the Tang Dynasty, those with slightly better means had already begun using rough paper.
The Yanshi Family Instructions once mentioned: “Whenever I read the books of sages, I have always treated them with reverence and dared not defile them.” This shows that using old books for wiping was already common practice at the time.
As for why Zhao Chunmei chose to enter the toilet paper industry, aside from having paid attention to the production process in her previous life while reading casual books, it was also because there were many papermaking workshops near Tokyo, making it easy to acquire one.
Moreover, for over two thousand years, the raw materials for paper had largely remained unchanged. The cost was low, the production process was fast, and recouping funds would be straightforward.
Without delay, she immediately set to work. After returning home, she went out again without stopping. Through an intermediary, she acquired a very small papermaking workshop in the outskirts of the capital.
The owner was from Sichuan, a region long famous for papermaking. This workshop mainly produced Sichuan’s “golden flower paper” and “wheat light paper.” Due to the intense competition in the capital, the owner had decided to pack up and return to his hometown. Since the premises were rented anyway, he reduced the price by twenty percent for Zhao Chunmei to expedite the sale and even threw in the papermaking tools he couldn’t take with him, which saved her a great deal of trouble.
Four or five workers also stayed behind at the workshop, feeling somewhat uneasy in front of their new boss. In the end, the foreman, Old Qin, stepped forward to speak with Zhao Chunmei, asking whether they would continue producing golden flower paper in the future.
“Madam, don’t let the size of this place fool you. In fact, many literati and scholars in the city enjoy using our paper. Not only is golden flower paper elegant in appearance, but it also brings prestige when seen by others. Once the business expands, we could even sell it to the Liao Kingdom. In just three to five years, you could earn enough for a grand mansion…”
Zhao Chunmei listened attentively, nodding and smiling from time to time. However, she didn’t take his words to heart. After all, if the business were truly that good, the previous owner wouldn’t have fled. She gently tapped the table and said slowly, “How are the workshop’s daily materials obtained?”
“Every five days, someone delivers them, or we can go to the market at the Great Xiangguo Temple to select them.”
During the Northern Song Dynasty, aside from being an imperial temple, the Great Xiangguo Temple also served as the commercial center of Bianjing. The market opened for five days each month, attracting half the city’s population. It was said that “craftsmen and artisans of all trades set up their stalls without exception, and rare treasures from all directions gathered there.”
Since the pulp required for making toilet paper differed slightly from that used for ordinary paper, Zhao Chunmei decided to personally select it. Upon hearing this, the employees below all felt a jolt of apprehension, silently thinking that they hadn’t expected the new owner to be so knowledgeable. From now on, they couldn’t look down on her just because she was a woman.
After confirming the necessary materials, Zhao Chunmei went to the craftsmen to commission some new equipment. Once everything was prepared, production began immediately.
When the world’s first batch of toilet paper was produced, everyone was stunned.
Old Qin, who had been a papermaking worker for decades, had never seen such soft paper. Since no bleach had been added, the toilet paper at this point showed a light brown color—the natural hue of the wood pulp. He carefully picked up a sheet and tried writing on it, but as soon as the ink touched the paper, it bled through to the back. Shaking his head helplessly, he said to Zhao Chunmei beside him, “Boss, this batch is ruined.”
“Who said paper can only be used for writing?” Zhao Chunmei inspected the finished product and found that although its absorbency and flexibility were somewhat inferior to the toilet paper sold in supermarkets in her previous life, it was still made with good materials. She had also added plenty of aloe vera juice, giving it an exceptionally pleasant texture.
Ignoring the dissuasion of those around her, she almost immediately rented a stall near the Great Xiangguo Temple, intending to sell it directly.
Zhao Chunmei had originally been full of confidence, thinking she could use this to complete her initial capital accumulation and then advance toward a larger stage. However, reality dealt her a harsh blow.
Apart from a few people trying it out of novelty, the toilet paper was largely ignored. Less than a tenth of the first batch was sold. Refusing to believe it was hopeless, she tried promoting it several more times, but the results were the same.
Seeing that it wouldn’t sell, even the workshop employees began to grow restless after a few days, with many already planning to return to farming in their hometowns. On the surface, Zhao Chunmei remained calm, but inwardly she was growing anxious. In just three to five days, a ring of blisters had formed around her mouth from stress.
…
Another day with no results. As the sun set, the young woman returned home alone. During this time, she had been leaving early and returning late, too exhausted to eat—and, of course, in no mood to eat either.
Half a month had passed in the blink of an eye, and toilet paper sales were growing increasingly dismal.
Because of this failed venture, Zhao Chunmei had begun to doubt whether her initial choice had been wrong. Perhaps she should have ignored everything else, taken the money, and fled to Lin’an to buy more land. After all, once the Jingkang Incident occurred and Bianjing fell, Lin’an would become the capital of the Great Song. By then, she could simply lie in bed and count her money without lifting a finger.
If she gave up now, it would still be in time… All sorts of thoughts swirled in her mind, and finally, Zhao Chunmei rubbed her head in frustration. At that moment, she truly wished she had a Golden Finger like the protagonists in novels—nothing too extravagant, just something to help her come up with ideas.
Just as Zhao Chunmei was sighing and lamenting, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, she found her elderly neighbor and his maid, Jin’er.
Through their interactions during this time, Zhao Chunmei had learned that the old man’s surname was Zhang. He had once been an imperial army drill instructor and now lived with his daughter, Zhenniang. He was usually kind and upright, always willing to help others.
As for this family’s identity, Zhao Chunmei had some suspicions. She sighed inwardly at her fate—in such a vast city as Tokyo, she had ended up becoming neighbors with Lin Chong’s father-in-law.
Consider Lin Chong, who was the chief instructor of the eight hundred thousand imperial guards—a position of no small rank in Kaifeng. However, because the son of the Treacherous Official Gao Qiu took a fancy to his wife and, failing to seize her by force, grew furious and framed Lin Chong, leading to his exile and conscription. Before departing, Lin Chong chose to leave a letter of divorce to avoid burdening his wife.
Zhao Chunmei vaguely remembered that after Lin Chong eventually turned to banditry and settled down in Liangshan, he once thought of sending someone to bring his wife over, only to learn that she had already hanged herself. Because of this, Zhao Chunmei paid special attention and found that aside from frequent crying, Zhang Zhenniang showed no signs of suicidal thoughts, so she gradually set her mind at ease and tried not to show any peculiarities when interacting with the Zhang family.
Old Zhang came today mainly to bring food to Zhao Chunmei. As neighbors, they had noticed the young woman leaving early and returning late these past days and pitied her for being alone in Tokyo, so they specifically had Jin’er prepare a few good dishes.
Though Jin’er was young, her culinary skills were exceptional. Even with limited ingredients, she managed to prepare four full dishes. Faced with such kindness from strangers, Zhao Chunmei was deeply grateful and promptly invited them to sit and eat together.
During the meal, Old Zhang also brought out a basket of kumquats, specifically for Zhao Chunmei to “cool her fire.”
People of the Song dynasty particularly loved eating kumquats, a trend said to have been popularized by Consort Zhang of Emperor Renzong. However, these fruits were mainly produced in Jiangxi, and those available in Dongjing City at the time were mostly preserved using mung beans, making them quite expensive. Zhao Chunmei repeatedly declined.
“Ah, Miss Zhao, please accept them. This old man has little else to offer. Besides being an apology for our first meeting, it’s also a token of gratitude.”
“Gratitude for what?” Zhao Chunmei asked, puzzled.
“Have you forgotten? You gave us several bundles of soft paper earlier. My daughter has been in low spirits, crying all day at home, and we’ve run out of handkerchiefs. That soft paper really helped us in a pinch,” Old Zhang said with a bitter smile. “As her father, I’m not capable of much, but at least I can let my daughter cry to her heart’s content.”
Zhao Chunmei was momentarily taken aback. Faced with such a family tragedy, she could only offer comfort: “I’m glad I could help. I’ll bring you some more later.”
Old Zhang didn’t refuse and even shared some good news: “Feeling too embarrassed to come to you earlier, I went elsewhere to ask if anyone sold such paper. Although I didn’t find any, a few scholars living in the western part of the city heard how well your paper absorbs water and thought it would be very convenient for painting. They asked me to help bring some for them. If you have extra, please give me some as well.”
As he spoke, he reached for money, but Zhao Chunmei naturally couldn’t accept it. Not only that, she felt immensely grateful to the old man.
If she had felt somewhat comforted upon hearing that her paper could help Zhang Zhenniang, learning that scholars actually wanted to buy it left Chunmei overjoyed.
What did this mean? It showed that something like toilet paper wasn’t without a market. If she found the right way to promote it, it could indeed be sold! Moreover, thanks to Old Zhang’s reminder, Zhao Chunmei realized she had overlooked a crucial point—advertising.
Although toilet paper was a beacon of modern civilization, something Zhao Chunmei had deeply missed since her transmigration, for people of this era, it was merely more comfortable to use. Not only was it more expensive than coarse straw paper, but it also couldn’t be reused, making it seem rather impractical.
Therefore, in such circumstances, a powerful stimulus is needed to first make the general public accept the existence of this thing, and then gradually change people’s lifestyle habits. Advertising was born precisely for this purpose.
In fact, by the late Northern Song Dynasty, the advertising industry had already developed quite maturely. When Zhao Chunmei was first looking for a house, she saw many small advertisements for selling or renting properties posted by the public near the housing agents. It was said that around the time of the Imperial Examination each year, various advertisements reached a peak in density.
Not only that, but celebrity endorsements were also highly valued during this period. The Song dynasty placed greater emphasis on literature over military affairs, so if someone truly excelled at writing poetry, they would naturally be highly sought after among the people. Many merchants would invite such individuals to compose verses for their products. If the verses were truly delightful to recite, not only would the product gain popularity, but the poet’s reputation would also rise to new heights.
Zhao Chunmei had no money to hire anyone for endorsements, nor could she compose Song-style poetry. After much contemplation, she settled on just one line for her advertisement:
“Toilet Paper—The Nemesis of Hemorrhoids!”