WSMTATMC C101

Chapter 101

Entering the gate were two inverted rooms facing the street—spaces usually for the gatekeepers to live in, or occasionally used as simple reception rooms for entertaining ordinary visitors.

Passing through the hanging-flower gate into the main courtyard, eight large lotus tanks were arrayed neatly in a line; they must have once held lotuses, but for lack of upkeep the leaves had turned yellow and withered.

Once the lease was signed and the place tidied, those eight tanks must not be moved. The merchant who’d moved to the capital had clearly had feng shui arranged; with luck, the layout augured good fortune for future business.

Feng shui is not mere superstition. In a previous life, Wang Ying had read into this field—concepts of magnetic fields and the like. Some things seem arcane, but ancestral rules have their reasons.

On either side of the courtyard stood three side rooms—traditionally set aside for younger generations, with men to the left and women to the right.

Further in were three spacious main rooms. In the central hall still stood a wooden table-and-chairs set, mantled in a thick layer of dust.

Chen Bo swiped a fingertip over it—rosewood. This set alone would fetch several hundred taels.

The flanking chambers were bedrooms—empty within—with a pair of ear-chambers beside them for maids and older attendants.

Beyond the covered corridor lay the rear kitchen range for cooking, a shed for livestock, and two storerooms for sundries.

The only oddity was the lack of a toilet. How was one meant to relieve oneself in such a house? After wavering a moment, Wang Ying asked outright.

The broker stifled a laugh. “Great households use chamber pots. There are collectors outside who take them away; such filth naturally has its channels.”

Wang Ying’s mouth twitched—keeping chamber pots at the ready, storing urine and feces until collected, made his skin crawl. Once they moved in, he would add a proper latrine in the rear courtyard.

Overall, the house was decent and respectable—smaller than their place in Qingshui County, yes, but in a prefectural city, land was dear. Renting a compound comparable to home would cost a thousand taels or more.

He bargained with the broker for a long while and didn’t shave off a single copper.

The broker, hearing their out-of-town accents, assumed a faint superiority. “Official exchanges aren’t like private ones; the prefectural city isn’t the countryside. Prices are set above; what we say doesn’t change them. If you want to rent, come to the office to sign. If not, please be on your way.”

Wang Ying did want to rent—he didn’t want the child and elders to suffer.

But they had only just reached Jizhou and had a little over six hundred taels on hand. If rent took more than half, starting a shop afterward would be tight.

“Could you point us to something cheaper?”

The broker grew impatient. “If you can’t afford it, say so earlier—wasting our time.”

Wang Ying quickly apologized. “My fault—I didn’t think things through when viewing. You’ve been out in this heat for nothing. Please accept this for tea; forgive the imposition.”

Taking the tip, the broker relented and pointed ahead. “There’s a two-courtyard place down this lane. Rent is one hundred eighty taels a year. If it suits, take it; if not, forget it.”

“We’ll have a look—thank you.”

With keys in hand, the broker led the three down the lane to a weathered gate and opened it.

This compound was much smaller—and much more dilapidated.

Vacant for years, weeds stood waist-high in the yard, and the main-room window frames had warped; everything would need repair before move-in.

The layout was similar to the first house, but the courtyard was half the size and the rear kitchen range was gone.

The price, though, was much kinder—enough savings to purchase necessities and cover a year’s outlay.

Wang Ying asked the two at his side for their thoughts. Chen Bo said, “Away from home, it’s best to be frugal. If trouble comes, we’ve nowhere to borrow.”

Ma Qianzi dared not be forward. “This house is fine. Clean it up and it’ll do.”

They settled on renting this one: 180 taels yearly, with a 50-tael deposit.

Back at the office, Wang Ying handed over the silver he had exchanged in advance. After the cashier weighed it, they drew up the lease; rent and deposit totaled 230 taels, nonrefundable upon signing and sealing.

The broker handed over the key. “Renew a month before expiry, or rent will be deducted from the deposit—and when that’s gone, officers will come to evict you.”

Wang Ying accepted the key with a polite nod, then went back to call on Tian Daniu and the others to help clean the compound.

There was nothing in the rooms, so basic household goods had to be bought. While shopping, Wang Ying also circled the prefectural city, grasping its layout and prices.

Jizhou had three main thoroughfares: Zhengyang, Zhengtong, and Zhenghe.

Zhengyang Street was in front of them—the commercial spine. Shops crowded it from end to end; the outer sections sold general goods, and toward the center were eateries, cloth merchants, silver shops, and other finer trades.

Behind Zhengyang lay a residential belt—clans with established roots and scholarly families.

Zhengtong Street was to the north—the administrative quarter. The relay station lay there; the prefectural yamen, the six bureaus, and the military offices were nearby.

This area also had residences—but only the high-born could afford them. Ordinary folk wouldn’t see the inside of such lanes.

Zhenghe Street lay to the far south—where porters and peddlers thronged, and the lower trades congregated.

Playhouses, brothels, and gambling dens lined the way; respectable folk rarely set foot there.

Prices were exactly as rumor had it.

The same feather duster that sold for five cash in town sold for fifteen here—haggling halved only five cash off, a full three times the price.

Cloth wasn’t cheap either: a bolt of fine cotton at one string and three hundred cash, compared to over seven hundred in their town.

Foodstuffs cost more—likely due to flood impacts. A dou of millet at a hundred fifty cash, and gray flour at two hundred—though still cheaper than the county seat, where millet had risen to three hundred.

Even if he sold all the wheat in the field, it would fetch just over a hundred fifty taels. He would need to do business to make real money.

In three days, they had the rental house serviceably clean. Furniture was the economical kind—silver was tight; upgrades could wait.

For the two main bedrooms, they bought elm canopy beds—over two taels each. In the countryside, such a bed from a carpenter would be no more than three strings.

The servants’ beds were simple—planks nailed together, sturdy and useful. Seven or eight cost barely two strings together.

Then repairs: two carpenters refitted doors and windows—three strings the job.

Odds and ends—pots, bowls, and the like—ran over another string. At last, the house was in order.

They chose a day of fair wind and warm sun and moved out of the relay station.

As soon as he entered, little Yuanbao darted off in delight. At the station, Ah Fu had kept him close; now there was room to run.

“Slow down—don’t fall.” Li Shi and Qingyun followed, laughing.

“Sister-in-law chose well.”

“Yes—neat and tidy, plenty of rooms. When Qingyan returns, there’s space enough for them too.”

Wang Ying said, “We looked first at a three-courtyard place—bigger than this—but I couldn’t justify the rent.”

Li Shi patted his hand. “This is already very good. On the road, don’t be picky. If money falls short, tell me—I have silver.”

Qingyun started to speak, then thought better of it, and went in with her mother.

The east room was for Li Shi and Qingyun, with a single canopy bed. They had considered putting Qingyun in a west wing, but wings were cold in winter; better the main room, sitting north facing south, to catch the sun.

Li Shi decided they would share.

The central hall had a table and several chairs; they would take meals there.

The west room was for Wang Ying and Yuanbao—another canopy bed and several chests piled beside, carried from Qingshui, filled with clothes.

Among the men, Chen Fang and Tian Daniu shared one room; Chen Bo and Ma Qianzi, another; the four children shared a third.

Cook Aunt Chen and nurse Qin each took an ear-chamber.

At last, they could truly rest—and no more sneaking into the field.

After dinner, Wang Ying took his son into the experimental field.

These days had been consumed by cleaning; they hadn’t entered for three or four days. Several notes lay on the table.

Wang Ying picked them up and read them one by one to his son.

“Ah Ying, are you settled in the prefectural city? You said you were at the station we used before—I’m relieved. By the way, there’s a runner with a black mole on his cheek—he’s capable. Ask him if you need anything.”

Wang Ying recalled the runner who had shown them to the exchange—he did have a mole. Likely the same one Qingyan meant.

“Monthly exam today—very nervous. I don’t know if I’ll pass. Master says if the three of us make Class A, he’ll take us to visit Mister Cao—the one who wrote ‘Record of the Wei Rocks Tour’! Must strive!” There was even a tiny fist sketch at the end; Wang Ying couldn’t help laughing—perhaps the earliest emoticon in this world.

The third note was a bit scrawled. “Much to do today—won’t belabor it. The notes I left two days ago are still where I put them—I think you haven’t come. I’m worried. Ah Ying, if anything happens, do not hide it…”

The last note, from yesterday: “The small exam results are out. Qingsong and Qinghuai both made Class A—as I’d hoped. I’m truly happy for them!”

Why only mention the two of them—no word of himself? Had he fallen short?

Just as Wang Ying wondered, Chen Qingyan entered, and husband and son ran to greet him. He lifted the boy and kissed his little cheeks.

“You finally came. With no word for days, I worried.”

“We were packed tight at the station—hard to slip into the field. We rented a courtyard and spent the last few days fixing it up.”

“Is the house in order?”

“Mm. We moved today. Not as grand as our place in town, but at least we’re not all piling into one room.”

“Good.”

Wang Ying hesitated, then asked, “In your note you said Qingsong and Qinghuai made Class A—what about you?”

“…I didn’t perform well due to an incident. But I did make Class B.”

Wang Ying frowned slightly. “What happened?”

Knowing he couldn’t hide it, Qingyan told him.

“On the exam day, my stomach suddenly went bad. I held on to finish the paper and ran for the latrine. Because I wrote in such a rush, the calligraphy was sloppy. The tutor thought I scorned the exam and put my paper in the B tier…”

“How did your stomach suddenly go bad?”

“I’m not sure—perhaps I ate something off.”

He didn’t dare tell the truth—that someone had slipped a purgative into his water.

The culprit was Peng Huan of Class C, who, envious of Qingyan’s tutelage and spurned in attempts to ingratiate himself, resorted to a base trick. Boasting too freely afterward, he was overheard; the dean deemed the effect egregious and expelled him.

Later, the dean offered Qingyan a retest to move him into Class A, but he refused.

Not passing was not passing—even if there were causes, he had been careless. It was a lesson: he must be cautious with food and drink; don’t give malice a crack to slip through.

They talked for a long while; Yuanbao had fallen asleep with his head on Daddy’s leg.

A sudden knocking sounded from outside. “Someone’s at the door,” Wang Ying said. “Let’s go for now—we’ll talk again.” He scooped up Yuanbao and hurried out of the field.

At the door, Qingyun knocked again. “Sister-in-law—are you asleep?”

Footnotes:

• Inverted rooms: Street-facing rooms used for gatekeepers or receiving casual callers, common in courtyard houses. 
• Chamber pot “night soil” system: Urban sanitation often relied on collecting and selling human waste as fertilizer; household latrines were less common in dense cities. 
• Class A/B system: Monthly ranked streaming with movement up or down based on exam results; Class A was elite, B next tier.