The horn comb on my desk has been polished to a glow again. This small treasure—smooth teeth, warm luster—always reminds me of last week’s visit to an intangible heritage workshop. Master Xu Huizhi, 78, squinted through her reading glasses, sanding the final step with fine paper. “From horn to comb, it’s 28 trials,” she said. “Skip one, and it’s not a comb.” This “jade-like hairbrush” in our hands carries a lifetime of an artisan’s devotion.
28 Crafts: A Dialogue with Nature, Step by Step
“A good comb isn’t made—it’s ‘nurtured,’” Master Xu’s words capture the essence of horn comb crafting. It starts with selecting the right horn: Yunnan white water buffalo horn is preferred for its dense texture and oiliness (resists cracking when heated); second choice is Hubei’s yellow buffalo horn, prized for flexibility.
Selected horns first “soften”: soaked in 80°C water for 72 hours, like rousing slumbering bone. Next, “pressing the blank”—hammering the softened horn into a rough comb shape with wooden mallets. “Too light, and it won’t hold; too hard, and it cracks,” says Lin, Master Xu’s apprentice. He trained three years before daring to press blanks alone.
Then, “hand-carving the teeth”: using specialized knives, the artisan carves each tooth along the comb’s curve, with errors under 0.1mm—more precise than calipers.
Sanding is the most painstaking: from coarse (80-grit) to ultra-fine (2000-grit) sandpaper, artisans rub hundreds of times until teeth are bead-smooth and the back glows like amber. Finally, waxing—applying beeswax or plant wax to seal pores, preventing cracks and nourishing hair. 28 steps, taking half a month to a month—each comb bears the artisan’s warmth.
Spotting Authenticity: 3 Tips for Choosing a “Soulful” Horn Comb
Counterfeit combs flood the market. Master Xu taught me three checks:
Grain: Real horn has natural “blood veins” or gradient luster, like ink-washed landscapes; fakes have rigid, uniform patterns.
Smell: Real combs emit a faint, sweet aroma (the horn’s natural oils); fakes reek of chemical plastic.
Touch: Real combs feel warm, not icy, with rounded teeth that don’t scratch; fakes are either cold and prickly or slippery like plastic.
I once bought a “cheap comb”—my scalp itched for days. Turns out, it was plastic blend. Switching to Master Xu’s handcraft, my scalp cleared, and I even caught a whiff of earthy fragrance. “A good comb is alive,” she laughed. “It ‘talks’ to your hair and skin.”
Artisans’ Persistence: 80-Year-Olds Teaching, 78-Year-Retirees Still Crafting
In Dongshan Community, Tengchong, I met two living treasures: 80-year-olds Li Zhonggui and Dong Weidao. Their workshop tools gleamed; photos of three generations hung on the wall. “We started at 16,” Li said. “Now we’ve trained 20+ apprentices.”
Master Xu inspires even more: she retired but reopened her studio at 70, fearing the craft would die. “Machines make 100 identical combs; hands make each unique.” Her apprentices? White-collar workers, students, even foreign friends. “A German guy learned for six months, then carved a horn ornament at home—said it’s ‘China’s warmth.’”
These elders define “guardianship”: not clinging to old rules, but preserving reverence for the craft and passion for culture.
Tradition Reborn: When Horn Combs Meet Modern Design
“Will old crafts fade?” Innovation answers. Fuzhou’s “Mountain-Sea Comb Workshop” blends yak horn with phoenix-tail shapes, crafting ergonomic handles that fit modern palms. This “new-Chinese-style” comb became a hit among trendsetters.
Master Xu also crosses boundaries: collaborating with illustrators, she carves “24 Solar Terms” onto comb backs—swallows of Spring Equinox, plums of Winter Solstice. Each comb becomes a season’s note. “Tradition isn’t old-fashioned—it’s confidence,” she says. “Young people want beauty and stories; we give them great tales.”
From horn to comb, 28 crafts—an artisan’s journey, a cultural legacy. It tells us: true classics never age; true dedication keeps old crafts forever young.
Next time you hold a horn comb, touch it longer—you’re not just holding warm jade. You’re holding a love letter, written by generations of artisans, in the language of time.
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