Chapter 191: Setting the Net (Part 1)

Up at the Bright Moon Tower, glasses clinked as the conversation flowed.

A young man dressed in silk with a flower pinned in his hair sat at a table. His face was all bones, barely any flesh on it—at first glance, you could see every ridge and hollow, sharp as a rock face.

"I heard the Prefect recently treated that widow to a meal, right in this very room." He glanced around, looking pretty relaxed. "The Prefect's young and his career's on the rise. Let's catch a bit of that rising star's luck."

Seated across from him was a man of similar age, but his appearance was the polar opposite—his face was as round as a full moon, not a single line or wrinkle anywhere. "Having luck matters, sure, but you also need the Prefect's brains—imagine actually getting the merchant tax cut pushed through."

"These days, life for merchants is rough." The thin man with the flower pin counted on his fingers. "First there's the residence tax, then the transit tax—and under those two big ones there are a dozen smaller levies. You go out to do business, you get nickel-and-dimed here, nickel-and-dimed there—it's a real chunk of change. But if merchants pass through Tongzhou, they can pay a bit less. Yet who doesn't know how bad the Japanese pirates are in Tongzhou? Outside merchants don't want to come here, afraid a single shipment will sink without a trace on our watch. But now, the pie's all ours. Those peasants are scared of the pirates—what do we have to be afraid of, right?"

Young Master Qi, his partner in crime and fellow troublemaker, smoothly picked up the thread: "Our dads take the big cut, and we lap up the leftovers—what could be better? Our Prefect's truly a fine official who knows how to benefit the people!"

After the two shared a laugh, the man they'd been waiting for finally showed up.

A fancy folding fan pushed the curtain aside.

A man ducked his head and stepped in.

He had the air of a rich young gentleman—tall and slender, with a measured stride, sharp, clean features, and dressed in a silk robe and vest—looked pretty sharp.

After the two in the private room had taken in his outfit and bearing from head to toe, they shut up, but inside they were laughing at him:

Who carries a folding fan in this cold weather? What's that about?

The newcomer sat down nice and easy: "Young Master Feng and Young Master Qi, I presume?"

The thin and plump young masters sat back down and nodded with reserved politeness: "Young Master Li, is it?"

"Yes. Since we're all here, skip the small talk—let's talk business." Young Master Li said. "I had someone check out the land—it's nothing special, but it's not bad either. Young Master Qi seems like a straight shooter, and I have no objections. Once the broker and the county clerk arrive, we can sign the contract. But as for Young Master Feng's family fields—last year you pulled in barely over one dan per mu. At eight taels per mu, isn't that a little steep?"

The two young masters had hoped to chat a bit, feel each other out, but seeing how blunt he was—clearly not looking to make friends—they switched tactics.

Young Master Qi, the plump one who'd just been called a "straight shooter," smiled without speaking, leaving it to the flower-pinned Young Master Feng to respond.

Young Master Feng pulled out a snuff bottle, closed his eyes, and took a big sniff before asking casually: "Last year the fields were planted sparsely, and we still pulled in one dan eight dou at the end of the year—that's good land. Eight taels per mu is a bargain."

"That's not right." Young Master Li raised his teacup. "From what I hear, you only got one dan three dou per mu last year. ...That's what your family reported to the yamen."

Young Master Feng nearly choked on his snuff.

He stared at the guy like he'd seen a ghost, as if he could stare through that handsome face and figure out who he really was.

Young Master Li looked up, a sly, mischievous glint in his narrow eyes: "Is Young Master Feng joking with me, or did you deliberately lowball your harvest to the yamen?"

Young Master Qi laughed.

When he laughed, two dimples showed up on his round face, finally giving it some shape: "Well, well, Young Master Li's got some connections. My apologies, my apologies."

Young Master Li raised his wine cup and lightly clinked it against Young Master Qi's raised cup: "You flatter me."

"No need for modesty. Young Master Li's young, but he's got deep connections..." Young Master Qi flattered him, watching quietly for his reaction. "Quite the young achiever."

Yet the man showed not a trace of arrogance, nor was he swept up by the praise into boasting about himself: "What's so impressive about me? Stand under a big tree and the shade comes easy."

Qi and Feng traded a look:

Forget it.

From the looks of it, this guy wasn't going to spill anything.

His background didn't matter—what mattered was that he had cash in hand.

Young Master Feng brought the talk back to business: "You said how much?"

Young Master Li held up a hand, fingers splayed: "Five taels."

Young Master Feng's face went red, and he stood up: "Then there's nothing to talk about!"

Young Master Li didn't try to stop him. He just picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a slice of braised pig ear, and ate it slow.

Seeing Young Master Feng storm off in a huff, Young Master Qi couldn't sit still. He waddled after him like a ball and grabbed Young Master Feng's sleeve at the top of the stairs: "Hey, Old Feng, weren't we supposed to do business together? You've only got those twenty mu your mom left you—if you don't sell them, where's your seed money? I don't have much stashed away myself, and without you, I can't get this off the ground."

Young Master Feng stopped in his tracks, fuming: "But I can't sell them for peanuts either!"

"Hey, Old Feng, that's where you've got it wrong." Young Master Qi pulled him to a corner on the second floor and whispered, analyzing the stakes for him. "We've shopped around several buyers, and he's the only one who can pay in ready cash! Before the new year, everyone's strapped for funds. But if we don't buy the looms and equipment before the new year, once the notice goes up after and the commercial tax drops, everyone will scramble into business—and we'll have missed our chance entirely!"

Young Master Feng was clearly swayed by this argument, hesitating: "But this kid... sounds like he's got connections with the yamen—how else would he know what we reported in taxes? The commercial tax cut lasts three years. If he's really that well-informed, why wouldn't he take his ready cash and go into business instead of buying land?"

Young Master Qi also wore a thoughtful expression.

A moment later, it clicked, and he clapped his hands: "They say every cat has its own way, every dog its own trick. For every one looking to cash in on the tax cut and enter the trade, there's some old stick-in-the-mud looking to snap up cheap land while the getting's good. Perfectly normal."

"...Damn you, is that the best comparison you've got? You're the dog!"

The two rich young masters were elbowing each other in the chest when a broker and a kindly-faced yamen clerk came up the stairs of the Bright Moon Tower together.

Seeing the two, the broker immediately beamed: "Oh, gentlemen, why aren't you in your room? Too stuffy in there, needed some fresh air?"

Eager to close the deal, the broker showered them with flattery, single-handedly creating the effect of a crowd singing their praises, and managed to coax them back into the private room.

The yamen clerk kept his hands tucked in his sleeves and followed them in silently.

Young Master Qi's words had clearly dispelled Young Master Feng's doubts.

But he still wanted to push his luck: "There are also eight tenant households owing us rent, hoping to pay next year. You'll need to cover that, Young Master Li. Six taels per mu, final offer!"

Young Master Li, however, held firm: "Five taels per mu, twenty mu total, comes to one hundred taels. The rent from those eight tenants and the gratuity for these two gentlemen—I'll cover it all. If you agree, I have proper bank drafts from Rongfeng here. The moment you two go, you can cash them out."

Young Master Feng raised his wine cup, using it to hide a muttered curse.

Once Young Master Feng's tough stance was cracked, Young Master Qi's fifteen mu of private land also sold at five taels per mu.

With the yamen, the broker, and the transacting parties all pressing their fingerprints, the deal was officially sealed and done.

The plump and thin pair took their bank drafts, settled their bill, and left.

The broker pocketed a small silver ingot, beaming with gratitude and clattering down the stairs.

He knew his cut was only three percent—the real bribe would have to land in the yamen clerk's hands.

The broker privately guessed it would take at least twenty taels to satisfy him.

Once everyone else had gone, "Young Master Li" and the yamen clerk exchanged a glance.

The clerk broke first, letting out a snort of laughter.

"Young Master Li" stood up and poured the clerk a cup of wine: "Brother Yang, how was my performance?"

Yang Zheng reached out and ruffled his hair: "Not bad, our little Huarong really has some charm when dressed up."

Huarong smiled, revealing a row of white teeth.

Ever since he had come to Le Wuya's side, he had gotten along famously with Yang Zheng, always acting like a child around him—a complete contrast to the bargaining expression he'd just had: "I'm not that little anymore!"

Yang Zheng: "Why are you still carrying that fan?"

Huarong pouted: "Isn't that the master's style? Can't I imitate him a bit?"

"Does it stand out that much?"

"Fine, next time I'll bring that hand warmer Sister Yang made for me!"

"Forget it, forget it—what's your Sister Yang's hand warmer even made of? How could it match your outfit? It'd be even more noticeable than that fan."

At the mention of Sister Yang, Yang Zheng sighed as he looked at the barely touched dishes on the table: "Ah, what a waste of money. A meal like this—I couldn't earn this much in a month back in Nanting."

Huarong called out to the waiter: "Waiter, box this up!"

"It's for your wife and nephew back home—consider it payment for your trouble this trip." Huarong grinned and gave Yang Zheng's shoulders a couple of pats, really hamming up the loyal sidekick act. "I'm heading back to report to the master now."

Yang Zheng patted his hand and noticed how sturdy and strong it had grown—he couldn't help but feel a pang of wistfulness.

Huarong leaned in: "Hey, Uncle Yang, let me ask you something—how many land deals have you handled so far? Am I in the lead?"

Yang Zheng had recently been transferred by Le Wuya to the Household Office, where he was handling land deed transfers.

Whenever land changed hands, the local government office was required to send a clerk to oversee the process and serve as an official witness.

It was a well-known cushy job, and it made perfect sense for the master to place his trusted man there.

However, Yang Zheng was a naturally honest soul with a simple mind—even taking a little under-the-table money would keep him up at night.

He was naturally honest to a fault—perfect for this job.

"Now that you mention it, there's been a lot of land buying and selling before the new year. I checked—far more than usual." Yang Zheng scratched his head, dodging the question. "Everyone says they're short on cash. But wasn't this a bumper harvest year? Why is it so hard to make ends meet at year-end? Land is your lifeline—why would anyone sell it off so easily?"

Huarong: "For folks like that, money just means they can buy more land later. This is just seed money. They sell one acre now, hoping to get ten acres back later."

Yang Zheng frowned: "Doing business? That's never a sure thing."

Huarong laughed: "Uncle, if everyone in the world thought like you, our master wouldn't have to work so hard."

He wheedled: "Uncle, you still haven't answered me—between me, Yuan Xiao'er, and the 'Running Chicken,' who's sold more?"

"Don't call Xiao Zhong the Running Chicken. Others bully him, and you're piling on as well." Yang Zheng scolded him, then gave him the truth: "Xiao Zhong has sold more."

Huarong got so flustered he forgot his official speech: "How does that Running Chicken pull it off?"

Yang Zheng said: "His parents are in business. When he gets to the table, he's quite the smooth talker—willing to drink, doesn't say much, but every word carries weight, and he drives a harder bargain than a little brat like you."

Huarong refused to accept it: "Then won't the master start favoring him?"

Yang Zheng scolded him gently: "Little Huarong, how old are you now? Xiao Zhong is much older than you—why are you competing for favor with him? Take the land deeds and go back to the master. I'll leave in a bit."

Huarong left in a huff, leaving Yang Zheng alone. He drained the last of the wine from his cup with a slurp and couldn't help but sigh: "Truly, kids don't think twice about selling off their father's land. What a crime."

Author's note:

There's that ever-present Yaya again.