Chapter 23: Xiaoxi Does Business

Chapter 23: Little Creek Goes into Business

When the four arrived at Lin'an County, the sky was already fully bright, and the city's street markets were in full swing. Following the stone-paved road toward the southeast, a right turn at the end brought you to where the townsfolk held their early-morning market.

Various stalls lined both sides of the stone road. A worker at a mutton soup shop yawned while hollering at passersby. A butcher pushed his cart down the middle of the road, shouting "Make way, make way!" Noodle shops billowed with hot steam as the cook stood with hands on his hips, booming at the top of his lungs: "Noodles come with free pickles!" Beyond the food vendors, there were plenty of other stalls as well. The hubbub of shouts and calls along the street was loud and lively.

Wen Xi had thought the market back in town was large enough, but only after entering the city did he realize what real hustle and bustle meant. He gawked at everything, but at the same time was scared the endless crowd would wash him away from the others. In such an unfamiliar and unsettling environment, you naturally look for someone to anchor yourself to. Too embarrassed to hold Yan Fengan's hand in public, he quietly grabbed onto his sleeve instead.

Yan Fengan understood his fear, walking beside him, every so often reaching out to shove aside anyone about to crash into him.

The market had different sections for different goods. Shen Liang carried his load to the fruit section and found a patch of open ground to set down his baskets.

While Shen Liang wiped off his sweat, Shen Yun laid out a piece of coarse cloth he had prepared and, together with Wen Xi, sorted the persimmons into piles by size.

Before long, a yamen runner came to collect stall fees. The fee was the same for every stall—five wen a day, first come, first served, no permanent spots.

After Shen Liang paid, the collector handed over a receipt and wrote down their names, so they could sell at the stall for the rest of the day.

Folks streamed past, but hardly anyone stopped at their persimmon stand. Neither Shen Yun nor Wen Xi had ever done business on their own. Watching the stall next to them already ring up two sales, the two exchanged glances, then looked at Yan Fengan and Shen Liang.

Yan Fengan was a scholar—ask him to compose poetry and he could respond fluently; ask him to discuss the Four Books and Five Classics and he could hold his own. But ask him to teach someone how to sell things, and he was completely stumped. In the end, he too turned his gaze to Shen Liang, the peddler.

With three pairs of eyes fixed on him, Shen Liang laughed: "Why are you all looking at me? Yell it out! If you don't holler, nobody's gonna come buy from us."

Both Shen Yun and Wen Xi were bashful. Asking the two of them to hawk goods on the street was a real ordeal.

Seeing Shen Yun's mouth clamped shut like it was glued, Shen Liang said: "You had it all planned out at home—said that after selling the persimmons you'd treat Xi Geer to mutton soup and candied hawthorn skewers. If you don't sell these persimmons, I'm afraid all you can treat him to is this cold morning wind."

Shen Yun knew he was being provoked. He puffed up his cheeks and shot back: "Fine, I'll yell. It's not like I'll lose a chunk of meat over it."

He took a deep breath and called out loudly to the passing crowd: "Get your persimmons here! Sweet and crunchy! Come and get 'em! If they ain't sweet, they're free!"

Wen Xi jumped at the sudden shout and shivered. Just as he was about to say something, Yan Fengan behind him said: "Little Creek, you give it a shout too."

Wen Xi shook his head, face reddening: "I... I can't bring myself to say it."

He admired Shen Yun's courage, but to shout at the top of his lungs like that himself—he just couldn't do it.

Yan Fengan set both hands on his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze, encouraging him: "It's alright. Listen—everyone around is shouting. This isn't a big deal at all. No one's gonna laugh at you."

The tips of Wen Xi's ears were red—whether from the cold or from holding back, hard to tell. Hearing Yan Fengan's words, he opened his mouth, but his throat felt like it was clogged. Amid the noise of the crowd, he could hear his own heartbeat, pounding louder than all the shouting around him.

Shoppers passed by, picking through things they liked without giving him a single glance, yet Wen Xi felt that if he opened his mouth, everyone would turn to look at him.

It was a ridiculous thought. If Shen Yun could throw caution to the wind, how could he just stand there like a dummy? Wen Xi gritted his teeth, opened his mouth, and squeaked: "Persimmons for sale..."

"Persimmons for sale! Home-grown persimmons, sweet and crisp! Come buy, come buy..."

A clear male voice suddenly cut into Wen Xi's faint, mosquito-sized calls. He turned his head, stunned, to look at Yan Fengan behind him, who said: "It's no big deal. I'll yell along with you."

Though he feigned composure, the faint flush on his cheeks gave him away. For a scholar to do something like this—he was just as embarrassed as Wen Xi.

Wen Xi's heart warmed. With him by his side, he began to call out in full voice.

As they say, the first time's the hardest. His voice shook a little at first, but after yelling alongside Yan Fengan for a bit, it steadied out.

Shen Yun knew Wen Xi's nature. Hearing him holler so boldly, Shen Yun wasn't about to be outdone.

Three people hawking one pile of persimmons, with a fourth standing there laughing—now that was a sight. An old woman carrying a basket walked over, chuckling: "Let me see what persimmons are so fancy they need this many folks to sell 'em."

Shen Liang said: "Fancy or not, I can't say—but tasty, that's for sure."

The old woman squatted by the pile, picking up the big ones and turning them over. The bright red persimmons with their smooth skins were a real looker: "How much are these persimmons?"

Shen Yun replied: "The ones in your hand are six wen per pound."

The old woman had already asked around up ahead—those persimmons weren't as nice as these, but they cost the same. She might as well buy here.

Seeing her still picking through, Wen Xi quietly pulled out a sheet of coarse paper: "I'll wrap these up for you."

Shen Yun, quick on the uptake, pulled out the scale he'd brought. After the old woman finished choosing, he weighed them and said: "Three pounds and an ounce—I'll round it down to three. That's eighteen wen even."

The old woman was easygoing, paid up without haggling, and left.

They'd barely had time to celebrate their first sale when another old man came over to ask the price. Hearing that the large persimmons cost six wen per pound, he pursed his lips: "Too pricey. They're selling for five wen over there. And look—this one's got a blemish."

With one sale under his belt, Shen Yun had some confidence now. Hearing the old man's complaint, he said: "We've got five-wen ones too. Take a look at these." He pointed to another pile of smaller ones: "These are just as thin-skinned and meaty, sweet and crunchy."

"Can't you do any better? Why are homegrown fruits so pricey?"

Wen Xi worked up his nerve to suggest: "If you want cheaper ones, that pile over there is only three wen per pound."

The old man glanced where he pointed and sniffed: "Those scarred-up ones? No thanks."

He couldn't bring himself to buy the good ones, and the cheap ones were too shabby—so he settled on the five-wen ones. For all his nitpicking, he secretly knew their persimmons were the best-looking in the whole market.

After picking his and paying, he had the nerve to grab an extra one: "Throw in an extra one and I'll be a repeat customer."

A single persimmon weighed a few ounces. If he'd grabbed one from the three-wen pile, Shen Yun wouldn't have minded. But he went for a nice one—how was that supposed to sit well? Shen Yun's kid-like temper showed on his face, but in business you can't get mad at customers. Only after the man left did he snort and roll his eyes.

Wen Xi quietly tried to console him: "It's alright. Not everyone's like that."

Seeing his mouth still stuck out in a pout, Shen Liang said: "In business, peace brings profit. One persimmon, whatever—not worth stewing over."

He'd encountered plenty of such people while peddling trinkets through the streets. If he'd made a fuss over every one of them, he'd never have been able to do business.

With both of them offering comfort, Shen Yun let it go. Soon another old woman came to buy, and he dropped the matter, bustling around with Wen Xi.

While the two were busy, Shen Liang said to Yan Fengan: "Didn't you say you had something to do? Why haven't you left yet?"

Figuring the bookshop should be open by now. After Wen Xi and Shen Yun finished this sale, Yan Fengan said to him: "I need to go to the bookshop. Will you stay here, or come with me?"

Wen Xi hesitated. The unfamiliar, noisy market felt safer with Yan Fengan by his side, but he'd just started to enjoy the selling and didn't want to leave yet.

Yan Fengan saw his dilemma and smiled: "Why don't you stay here then? I'll come back once I'm done."

That settled it. Wen Xi nodded and said to Yan Fengan: "Come back soon."

Yan Fengan saw the neediness in his eyes and felt his heart soften: "I'm just going to buy some ink sticks and rough paper. It'll be quick." He clasped his hands toward Shen Liang: "Brother Shen, I'll leave Xi Geer in your hands."

Shen Liang said: "No problem. Go on."

With him around, nobody should cause trouble at the stall. Yan Fengan left the market, reassured, and found the bookshop nearby from memory.

Just as he reached the bookshop entrance, a man stumbled backward out of it and collided with him. The man was dressed like a scholar, about thirty, in a blue robe washed pale from wear. When they bumped, the papers in the scholar's hands scattered and fluttered to the ground.

The scholar kept apologizing while scrambling to pick up the papers. After steadying himself, Yan Fengan helped gather some as well.

He figured it must be something important, but as he handed them back, he accidentally caught a glimpse of the writing: "That Scholar Zhang, seeing how beautiful the young lady was, was overcome with lustful thoughts..."

Yan Fengan was just wondering what was going through Scholar Zhang's mind when the scholar hastily snatched the papers back. He was about to offer his thanks when the shop assistant inside the bookshop said impatiently, "I say, Scholar Liu, please don't make things difficult for us. Your story really won't sell. Do us a favor and try asking at some other shops."

Scholar Liu flushed bright red but stubbornly argued, "Last time your manager said the plot was too flat. I've added several twists and turns, and I guarantee it's more thrilling and interesting than before. Please show it to him again."

"You've revised it how many times now, and every time it's the same old story, just dressed up differently," the assistant sighed. "Tales of talented scholars and beautiful ladies have been done to death in the market. Even if you don't change the subject matter, it won't sell no matter how you dress it up. Take a look at those shelves—it's not just yours; other people's manuscripts are piling up too. They've printed so many that they can't even sell them at a discount. If we take yours in as well, will this shop even stay open?"

Scholar Liu's lips trembled twice. Finding nothing left to argue, he spat out harsh words: "You're nothing but a snob looking down on people. If you don't want it, there are plenty of places that will. When my story becomes a hit, you'll regret this." With that, he turned on his heel and left in a huff.

"Hah! What a jerk!" The assistant was furious that the man had rejected his well-meaning advice and instead taken out his anger on a lowly errand boy.

The bookshop assistant was livid, but when he saw Yan Fengan, he immediately put on a smile and said, "Oh my, if it isn't Scholar Yan! What brings you here? Please, come in, come in. Are you here to buy books or—"

Both Yan Fengan himself and the person who had taken over his body had visited the bookshop a few times. The assistant, Li Er, naturally had a deep impression of him—handsome in appearance and a scholar to boot.

Since they were already familiar with each other, it was easier to get straight to the point. Yan Fengan didn't beat around the bush and said directly, "I've come to buy some paper, and I'd also like to ask if you have any work copying manuscripts. If so, would you let me give it a try?"

Hearing this, Li Er was quite surprised. He knew this Scholar Yan well—though not born into a wealthy family, he wasn't a poor scholar whose household couldn't make ends meet either. How had he fallen to the point of needing to copy books for a living?

Thinking this, he muttered the words aloud without meaning to.

Yan Fengan explained to him, "It's because I just got married to my husband recently. You see, it's one thing to ask my parents for money for my studies, but I can't very well ask them for money to buy my husband a bangle or a hairpin, can I?"

Li Er had also just gotten married, and hearing Yan Fengan's words, he could relate deeply: "That's right. Any man with a shred of ambition wants his wife and children to live a good life."

"The copying work does exist, but..." Li Er scratched his head and said honestly, "You should know that our shop's manager is very particular about how things are done. Other places pay only fifty wen per manuscript, but we pay eighty. The pay is better, yet the requirements aren't strict—just that the handwriting is neat. The only condition is that the copyist must come from a poor family."

Yan Fengan hadn't known about this requirement. He asked Li Er, "What counts as someone from a poor family?"

Li Er said, "You need a certificate signed by the academy's headmaster."

Hearing this, Yan Fengan recalled some things. When he studied at Lingyun Academy, he'd heard some classmates mention that the academy treated poor students favorably—the headmaster would recommend simple jobs for them, like chopping wood, carrying water, or copying books, so they could earn a bit of money for stationery.

"You're a scholar, so you get a government allowance every year, and your family isn't starving. I'm afraid our manager won't agree to let you copy books."

Li Er put it tactfully, but in truth, if someone of Yan Fengan's standing tried to snatch copying work from others and got found out, a scolding would be the least of his worries.

Yan Fengan's face showed a hint of embarrassment, and he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, that was presumptuous of me."

Li Er waved his hand and said, "No harm done."

That a scholar would be so courteous to him, a mere shop assistant, made Li Er feel inclined to add a word of advice: "If you really want to earn money, there are actually other ways."

It seemed like a light at the end of the tunnel. Yan Fengan asked, "What way?"