WSMTATMC C53

Chapter 53

The popsicle trade was better than Wang Ying had ever imagined.

He had thought two hundred sticks might last a day—but they sold out within an hour. Judging from the demand, even twice the amount might not be enough.

As townsfolk said: “What else can two copper coins buy? A piece of sugar candy costs five! But for two coins, this icy sweet refreshes the summer body—worth every bit.”

Cheeks cooled by icy sweetness, the townsfolk sighed in bliss.

That night, Ying increased production, making five hundred sticks and sending them to town with Dunzi the next morning.

Within a month, the shop sold only popsicles—earning nearly twenty-seven strings (over two hundred taels), more than vegetables had ever given.

Unable to handle the work alone, Ying hired village women to help—milking goats, boiling malt syrup. More hands meant more sticks. Unsold stock he simply stored in the experimental field. But constant freezing was also no good.

Just then, a sharp lad came—pitching an idea.

His name Ma Zhandong, but everyone called him “Ma Qianzi” (Money Ma), for he was shifty, all smiles, silver‑tongued, born merchant.

He arrived bearing two chickens, kowtowing: “Greetings, Master. Fortune and long life!”

Ying smiled. “Up you get. What is it you want?”

“Word spreads that Master’s ice sticks sell only in town. I dare ask—do you need men to sell in surrounding villages as well?”

Ying’s brows rose. Not a bad thought! In childhood memory, peddlers once sold popsicles door to door. Letting him resell spared Ying the trouble—and kept the field from overfilling.

“You’ll sell for me. How shall I pay you?”

Ma hurried, “To serve you is honor enough. I want no money.”

“That won’t do. Here’s fair: In town, one for two coins, three for five. In villages, set price—two for three coins. For every 100 coins profit, you keep twenty. If you sell one string, you get 200 coins.”

Eyes bulged. Better than he dared dream! He dropped to knees. “Thank you, Master! I’ll sell with all my soul!”

So Ying handed him fifty sticks, teaching how to insulate them. Ma hoisted them in a basket and ran, shouting through lanes.

That first day, he hit two villages—sold 120 sticks, netting 180 coins. At day’s end, Ying paid him 36 coins commission. Tasting profit, Ma returned at dawn, bringing two other boys.

Together they carted 300 sticks to five villages—paying hired lads ten coins each. Sold for 450 coins, minus wages, yielded 70 coins in hand.

Ying was impressed. This boy was born a merchant!

Days sped by. By end of June, the popsicle trade flourished.

Meanwhile, the experimental field rose quickly under much “watering.” From Level 3 it had leapt to Level 4, and was nearing Level 5.

New feature: remote entry. Before, Ying required Qingyan’s presence; now he might open it alone, while both retained access.

Another feature: Auto‑Sowing—he need only choose plot, place seeds aside, and with click, all were planted, watered, scheduled to grow. More like a farming game each day.

That night, the two tested together. Ying murmured: “Just short of reaching Level 5. I wonder what new gift appears?”

Qingyan pounced like playful pup, ravished him against a peach tree—petals shook down on their entwined bodies.

Spent, Ying glanced at the bar—stuck at ninety‑eight percent, short still. Perhaps conditions unmet.

They washed under summoned rainfall and slept.

By dawn, Ying stirred late, weary and listless. Still, he went to kitchen, finding wives already making syrup:

“Master Wang,” they chorused.

“Mind hygiene,” he adjusted. “Wash hands—never let filth taint, else stomachs turn.”

“We scrubbed thrice with soap,” answered one.

Satisfied, Ying donned straw hat, walked fields. Harvest finished; stalks cleared; soon they’d burn stubble for millet planting.

But sky darkened sudden, clouds black. Rain came in pelting torrents.

Caught, soaked through, Ying soon found Qingyan rushing with umbrella.

“Why come?!”

“Steward said you left. I couldn’t rest.”

“Quick, before this frail umbrella breaks.”

Running home, they were drenched. Ying sneezed six, seven times; feverish heat rose.

“You’re ill! We must fetch doctor.”

“No—just warm water.”

“Or local healer—”

“No! Last time Huzi was treated, they pinched his skin till swollen. I won’t risk.”

So Qingyan simply wiped his hair, laid him abed, brewed fish soup.

But as Ying drowsed, a strange dream gripped him:

He waded a clear brook, catching fish. Among them swam a vivid red carp, teasing him, darting as he lunged. Exhausted, he stopped. Then—it swam to his leg. He seized it. The carp wriggled, laughed like child—and called him, “Papa!”

Startled awake, he found Qingyan serving soup. At once, nausea surged—he retched heavily.

Pale with fear, Qingyan bundled him to carriage for town doctor.

“It’s nothing—just dream’s fault…”

“No! What if deadly illness?”

They drove through storm—by dark, home in town.

Madam Li and Aunt rushed forth with umbrellas. “Why return in weather?”

“He grew sick, vomited.”

“No trifles allowed! Summon doctor!”

In back, Qingyan bathed him, changed clothes, fed hot noodles. Soon doctor came, felt pulse long.

Finally stroked beard, asked, “These days—have you shared bed?”

Faces turned crimson. “…Yes.”

“Then no doubt. Still early—but he carries child. No cold food. No roughness. Return monthly to check.”

Qingyan blinked, dumb. “No medicine?”

“No. Only rest. And avoid coupling—lest harm befall.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he is now pregnant. To force coupling risks fetus.”

Silence fell. Husband and wife stared, stunned—they had not imagined.

Third Aunt clapped in joy: “Sister, at last you are blessed!”

Even Madam Li’s face flushed with happiness, words lost. She called servant: “Quick, give red‑string money to the doctor!”

Coins flowed; he beamed. Wealthy households truly paid well for happy tidings.

As he departed, Madam Li pressed Ying down on soft pillow, face glowing. “Any discomfort? Cravings? Tell me, I’ll have Aunt Chen cook.”

“None—I’m full.”

Her joy overflowed. “Then rest soundly. Tomorrow we’ll talk more. You foolish boys—such day, and you never guessed? Thank Heaven you returned today. Stay here, recover; no more rashness!”

notes

 

• 喜钱 – “joy money,” a customary gratuity given to messenger/doctor for happy tidings such as birth, betrothal. 
• The red carp dream – in Chinese custom, red carp symbolize luck, fertility, often considered omen of pregnancy.