WSMTATMC C100

Chapter 100

Chen Bo jolted. “Why is that?”

The minor clerk didn’t explain—brandishing his blade to drive them out like livestock, chilling the hearts of those in the cart.

Seeing this, Jiang Cong wheeled back at once. “What do you think you’re doing? These in the carriage are relatives of Lord Wang of the deputy prefecture, specifically entrusted to me to bring back!”

At that, the clerk lowered his weapon in a hurry. “My lord may not be aware—there’s a severe outbreak near Longquan County. If we let people in, it could be disastrous!”

“I’ve traveled with them the whole way—do you think I can’t tell if there’s sickness?”

“This… if anything goes wrong, lives will be lost…”

“If there’s trouble, I and Lord Wang will bear it. It’s not your place to fret!”

Tongue-tied, the clerk could only wave them through. “Carefully examine everyone in the cart. Any with fever, cough, or rashes are to be denied entry without exception!”

Wang Ying’s party was forced to disembark for inspection. Fortunately, male examiners saw ge’er, and female examiners saw women—no undue impropriety.

When it was confirmed that all were well, they were allowed to pass.

At last within the walls, Wang Ying could not help inward gratitude—thank goodness Master Liang had arranged an escort. Otherwise, even reaching the prefectural city, they likely would have been turned back like the others.

A prefectural seat looked every inch its rank. Even in these strained times, its bustle outshone any county.

Shops lined the avenues one after another, signs of every sort dazzling the eye. Peddlers shouldered yokes, chanting patter in singsong cadence.

Yuanbao listened, wide-eyed, and mimicked, “Needles and thread, combs and hairpins, sweet-scented osmanthus oil…”

Wang Ying, half laughing, teased, “We’ll have Yuanbao selling wares tomorrow.”

“Ah Fu, I’m still little—I can’t carry such a big basket.”

Laughter broke across the group, banishing the gloom of entry.

After about a quarter hour’s drive, they reached the old relay station. Jiang Cong dismounted. “This is temporary lodging arranged for you by Lord Wang. Word has been sent—go inside and settle in.”

“Many thanks, my lord!” Madam Li tugged Wang Ying to kneel and kowtow—such a long journey to fetch them, at no small risk.

“Old Madam, please rise.” She was the elder sister-in-law of Prefect Chen; a minor inspector could not accept such respects. After delivering them to the station, he hurried back to report.

Within, Wang Ying recalled how Qingyan had said they stayed here when they first came to Jizhou—no wonder the place felt oddly familiar.

A station runner led them to quarters in the rear—three rooms reserved in advance.

With so many people, it was cramped. Wang Ying, not wishing to impose by asking for more rooms, resolved to make do for now and find a rental when he had time to make inquiries.

The long, weary travel had left everyone gaunt—especially Yuanbao. His formerly plump cheeks now showed a pointed chin, which pained Madam Li.

“In the prefectural city there’s plenty of food. We’ll make up for it these next few days.”

At noon the station served a simple free meal. The servants ate their fill for once, hiccupping from fullness.

The runner blinked at the empty pot—astonished that they’d cleared it to the last grain, no doubt mentally dubbing them bottomless pits.

After eating, everyone went to rest—finally able to stretch out. No one cared about bed or floor; the men were snoring as soon as they lay down.

Wang Ying was tired, too, but he had tasks to see to. He comforted Yuanbao to sleep, then slipped into the experimental field and took stock of the stored grain. The new wheat had been set to fivefold speed; in barely half a month it had grown over a foot tall—heads would form in a few days.

Ordinary wheat took about 120 days to mature; with acceleration, it would ripen in twenty-four or five. But the cost of speed showed—the experience bar ticked down visibly, from 27% to 21%. That 6% had taken over a year to gain.

Once this crop was harvested, he wouldn’t speed it again. He feared burning too much experience and losing a level.

Next he counted the silver in the chest. Qingyan hadn’t used funds recently—likely few expenses while boarding at the academy.

Wang Ying took out two hundred taels in silver. He left the copper cash untouched—too heavy to carry, and suddenly producing so many strings might invite thieves.

A relay station was no long-term home. Since they meant to settle in Jizhou, he needed to find a house.

He didn’t know the city’s prices; if they couldn’t buy, they would rent a courtyard first.

He left Qingyan a note: the family had reached the city and taken rooms at the same station they had used; thanks to Master Liang’s help, or they wouldn’t have gotten through the gate. He told him to study in Laizhou without worry; he’d bring the boy in when there was time.

Note done, he left the field, found a station runner, and slipped him a string of cash. “Brother, could you find out where in the city one can buy or rent houses?”

The young man grinned. “There’s an official exchange—also private ones, but the waters there run deep.”

Wang Ying nodded. “The official one.”

“It’s a bit far. If you’re not in a rush, I can take you later.”

“I’d be obliged.”

The runner smiled and bustled off.

Back in the room, Madam Li and Qingyun were asleep. Yuanbao cuddled under the quilt, and the two Huang children sat nearby playing quietly.

They had brought Huang San’s two children to the city; with no adults left at home, the youngsters wouldn’t survive alone in town.

They were well-behaved on the road. Two more bowls at meals made little difference; when older, they could choose to stay as attendants—or leave, as they wished.

Wang Ying lifted his son. “Are you sleepy?”

The four children rose and bowed. “We’re not sleepy. We’ll watch the young master—please rest.”

“You’ve worked hard too. Go sleep.”

They exchanged glances and obediently retired. Wang Ying carried the child to Madam Li’s room and dozed on the luohan bed.

Two hours later, it was evening.

He passed Yuanbao to his mother-in-law, then went with Chen Bo and the station runner to the property exchange.

It wasn’t close—half an hour’s walk. A wooden sign hung above the door.

“This is the official exchange,” the runner said. “You can buy houses or servants here—contracts signed on the spot. Prices are higher, but safe. The private ones outside—best not. Too many tricks; a newcomer might lose money and life.”

Without a guide, they wouldn’t have known the pitfalls.

“Thank you, brother.”

“Go on in—I’ll wait here.” He helped because they were kin to an official. For ordinary folk, he wouldn’t have bothered.

Inside, a young ge’er greeted them. “Will the gentlemen be buying servants or land?”

“Houses.”

“This way.”

Though simply dressed, the ge’er’s fabric was of quality; there was none of the timidity of country folk in his brow. With composure he led them into the hall.

“The ones hung on the wall are urgent listings, prices marked. You both can read?”

Wang Ying nodded and began to study them.

Ancient methods had their own wisdom. Though there were no “developments” as in modern times, the diagrams were neatly drawn—dimensions, facing, location, and nearby structures—all clear at a glance, with pros and cons easy to judge.

After a row, Wang Ying clicked his tongue. Prefectural prices far outstripped the county’s.

A two-courtyard compound ran 1,600–1,700 taels. Even the cheapest three-courtyard houses were 3,700–3,800 taels. What he had on hand wouldn’t suffice.

“Hm… any for rent?”

“Yes—these ones.” He pointed. “Minimum one-year lease with deposit.”

Among them was the small three-courtyard he had liked—well located, a short walk to Zhengyang Street.

That street was the commercial spine—shops of every sort, good access, decent surroundings.

“How much per year?”

“Three hundred taels rent, plus a hundred taels deposit.”

Steep, but within reach. Once settled, he could sell some grain from the field and have ready funds.

“Shall we view the house?”

“It’s late—the office is closing. Come tomorrow.”

“Very well. We’ll return in the morning.”

By the time they left, night had fallen. The runner still waited. They hurried back to the station together.

Dinner was again plain fare with steamed buns. No one ate with the desperation of noon. After a nap, few were sleepy; they gathered in the courtyard to talk, marveling that they had come to the prefectural city.

“If not for the flood,” Chen Bo said, “we might never have seen this place in a lifetime.”

“Aye. Pity Qingyan’s in Laizhou—we might have run into him otherwise.” Since learning that her son and son-in-law had found a way to stay in touch, Madam Li’s worry had eased. “How went the house-hunting?”

“There’s one I like, but it’s dear. We’ll view it tomorrow and rent a year first. When Qingyan returns at year’s end, we’ll plan again.”

“Do as you see fit. If money’s short, I have some.” Truthfully, she would have liked to return to town—but with it empty now, going back would only deepen the sorrow.

They packed in to sleep once more. At first light, Wang Ying took Chen Bo and Ma Qianzi to view the house.

They no longer needed the runner’s directions. At the exchange, they found yesterday’s agent. Stated purpose clear, the agent led them to the property.

Its owner was a wealthy merchant. Having made his fortune, he had moved to the capital years ago—this house left idle and listed for sale.

Through the main gate, a massive stone screen greeted them—four large characters carved there: “Inviting Fortune In.”

Vulgar, perhaps—but exactly in tune with Wang Ying’s mood.

He was eager to make money. A lot of money. To buy a house of his own!