WSMTATMC C103

Chapter 103

The next morning, Ma Qianzi came dashing in, brimming with excitement. “Master, this shop will definitely suit!”

Wang Ying set down his brush and looked up. “Oh? Which storefront?”

“The bun shop opposite Yang’s Trading House. I heard the proprietor has fallen ill, and the mistress can’t manage alone—she’s returning to her hometown.”

The location was indeed excellent—right at the heart of the commercial street, with restaurants, eateries, and inns to the left, and major trading houses to the right.

“Did you ask the rent?”

“I did. Eight months remain on the lease; two hundred and ten taels, though it’s probably negotiable. When the term ends, you can renew directly with the landlord.”

That averaged to thirty taels a month—quite reasonable for such a prime spot. “Let’s go have a look!”

Wang Ying ran to fetch silver, and the two headed straight for Zhengyang Street.

When they arrived, the bun-shop mistress was packing. She looked to be in her fifties, comfortably built, with her hair wrapped in a kerchief.

“You two were here earlier asking about a lease, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m glad you remember me.” Ma Qianzi stepped up to help move a few things.

“Thank you, young man.” She wiped her hands, then added, “The landlord will be here shortly—we can discuss together.”

About the time it takes for a cup of tea to cool, the landlord arrived—an elderly gentleman, short and slim, with a slight limp, a felt cap on his head, and a neat handlebar mustache. He greeted the bun mistress with a sigh. “I didn’t expect it to happen so suddenly. My condolences, sister-in-law…”

“Life and death follow their fated course,” she said. “What grieves me is that both my sons went before us—otherwise this shop wouldn’t have failed.”

From their exchange, Wang Ying learned she had borne two sons: the elder had died at seventeen of illness, and the younger, years later, of consumption—leaving behind a wife and child for the old couple to raise. With her husband gone, she could no longer manage the business, and had resolved to transfer the lease and bring her daughter-in-law and grandchild back to her hometown.

“I already told these two young gentlemen,” the mistress said. “The lease ends in the sixth month next year—eight months left. A transfer at two hundred and ten taels. When the term ends, you can negotiate with the landlord anew.”

Wang Ying saluted the landlord. “Sir, we’d like to rent this storefront.”

“What business do you intend to run?”

Wang Ying recited the plan he’d prepared. “Fresh vegetables. I have relatives in trade who can bring in fresh produce from other regions in winter.”

The landlord’s eyes brightened. “What vegetables are we talking about?”

“Cucumbers, long beans, leafy greens, eggplants… anything one can name.”

“That’s a fine trade. It’s cold now; gardens are down to cabbage and radishes. Fresh greens would be welcome. Tell you what—when the lease ends, I won’t raise the rent. If you renew, we’ll keep it at three hundred and fifty taels a year.”

Wang Ying couldn’t help inward delight. Three hundred and fifty was far from steep; many shops they’d viewed in worse spots had been over four hundred, and the better ones above six hundred—high enough to swallow a year’s profits.

“Many thanks, sir.”

He waved it off. “Just have a copy of the contract sent to me when you finalize.”

Wang Ying haggled gently with the shop mistress. Because they seemed decent and she was in a hurry to transfer, they settled at an even two hundred taels.

Ma Qianzi brought brush and paper; Wang Ying penned the lease.

The mistress was illiterate; she took the contract to the landlord, who reviewed and approved it. Silver changed hands, and both parties pressed their handprints.

Three copies were made—one for each. The mistress, silver in hand, prepared to leave; the tables and benches had already been sold to a nearby noodle stall, which would fetch them in the afternoon.

As the landlord took his leave, he offered a few parting cautions: do not damage the premises, and do nothing illegal.

Both men nodded readily. The lease secured, Wang Ying was overjoyed. He sent Ma Qianzi back at once to gather hands to clean, eager to open for business as soon as possible.

—

Meanwhile, Chen Qingyan’s party had finally reached Yangzhou by boat.

They had planned to head south at the end of the eighth month, but events outpaced plans. Japanese pirates had run rampant off Laizhou, hijacking ships and frightening merchants from the sea.

The new prefect of Laizhou, Xu Dabin—formerly the admiral of the Chengzhou fleet and a master of naval warfare—took his sailors to sweep the waters for a month, inflicting heavy losses on the pirates and restoring order.

In late ninth month, Master Liang and the three boarded a southbound ship; after crossing at Suzhou and changing to carriages, they arrived in Yangzhou on the ninth day of the tenth month.

In the carriage, Master Liang began to introduce the city.

“As the poem has it: ‘With ten thousand strings at the waist, one rides a crane to Yangzhou’—from the words one glimpses the city’s splendor. And again: ‘Ten miles of spring breeze along Yangzhou Road—raise the pearl curtains; all falls short by comparison.’ Yangzhou’s beauties are famous indeed.”

“The ‘Yangzhou slim horses’ are renowned: daughters of wealthy merchants, reared from childhood with music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—trained to the highest standard—then sent to the households of grandees for their enjoyment.”

Because Yangzhou’s beauties were so celebrated, its brothels were many; painted barges and pleasure boats lined the waterways. The city’s pleasure industry was famous across the realm, and many a romantic talent came for a glimpse of a fair face, leaving immortal lines behind.

Qingyan felt no longing—only distaste. He thought of his sister, barely twelve. Such trades in little girls disgusted him.

Qinghuai and Qingsong, unmarried and still guileless, were merely curious—about beauty.

At the city gate, clerks barely checked them, letting the group roll right in.

The Liang clan in Yangzhou was a great household. Though somewhat faded now, Master Liang still had three brothers in office, and nephews with rank—truly, a starved camel larger than a horse.

He had not returned home in more than a decade; the ancestral residence had long been in the care of his third younger brother.

The carriage entered a lane and moved on for about a cup of tea. Liang An said, “Just ahead—that lane is the master’s home.”

“What?” The three were stunned. They had known their teacher’s family was not poor—but not that they were this prosperous.

No wonder. In this age, it was hard for the poor to produce nobles. Master Liang had been born to a scholarly family. His grandfather Liang Qiushi had served as Chief Administrator of Yangzhou; his father as Commander of Yangzhou. Only he had not entered office.

Generations had amassed wealth that ordinary families could not imagine.

The carriage emerged from the alley onto the main street and drew up before the gate. Even from afar they saw two stone lions and a large plaque with the characters “Liang Residence.”

Liang An knocked. A doorman opened to ask their business.

Liang An presented Master Liang’s sigil. “The elder master has returned.”

The porter started and bowed. He called for help to open the gates and lift the threshold, ushering Master Liang into the courtyard.

In the main hall, a boy ran to deliver the news. “The elder master has returned!”

Liang Bozhan, hearing this, paused with a faint frown. “Why has he come back?” He rose to go greet him.

“Elder Brother is back—why didn’t you send a letter so we could prepare?”

“Prepare what? I’ll stay a while with my students, then return to Jizhou before the year’s end.”

At that, Liang Bozhan’s shoulders eased a fraction. “The road must have been hard. Elder Brother and young sirs, come and rest. I’ll have a banquet set to wash away the dust.”

“Nothing elaborate,” Master Liang waved off. “A simple meal. I’m exhausted—no time for socialities.”

“Yes, sir…”

He led the three to his own courtyard and chose three rooms for them to settle in.

Quietly, Qingyan asked, “Does your brother fear you a little, Master?”

“We are not of the same mother,” Master Liang said. “His mother was my father’s concubine—he is my half brother. We were never close.”

In great clans, the distinction between legitimate and concubine-born weighed heavy. From childhood, Master Liang had been raised as heir.

As a concubine’s son, Liang Bozhan had no inheritance rights. Though he managed the estate, ownership remained with Master Liang.

Even were the elder to pass, the house would not fall to the younger brother, but to Master Liang’s eldest son, Liang Shuo.

From youth, the father had favored the eldest, and the eldest had excelled—overshadowing his younger brothers.

There was admiration—and jealousy—among the concubine-born. Outward respect concealed unknown faces beneath.

If even a paternal uncle would turn against kin for inheritance, how tangled would a house like this be?

After his parents died, Master Liang preferred not to return—wandering abroad instead, unwilling to scheme with a houseful of kin.

“Rest well for a few days,” he said. “Then I’ll take you out to see friends of old.”

“Yes, sir.” Each retired to his room.

Inside, they were struck dumb by the splendor. Even after Jizhou and Laizhou, they were unprepared for the Liang clan’s extravagance.

Redwood furniture filled the rooms; the tables and beds alone could buy a house in a market town—and each chamber had such sets.

Silk quilts—dozens of strings a bolt. On the duobao shelves, a Ru-ware vase worth hundreds of strings; the screen was Su embroidery of a hundred birds; on the wall, a scroll by Wu Daozi… It was an education.

The Liang family’s wealth traced to Master Liang’s grandmother, a salt merchant’s daughter with tens of thousands of strings—enough to support such a clan.

Qingyan lay on the soft couch, thinking: For Teacher to forgo this comfort to journey to their poor backwater and teach—he had truly taken on hardship. In his place, might he have made the same choice?

He stole into the experimental field and left a note for Wang Ying.

These past days he had had no time to enter; now he found multiple notes waiting.

He unfolded the first—left days ago.

“These past days, two rains in Jizhou—autumn chill, the air turned cold at once. I don’t know where you’ve gotten to—are you cold? The letters I sent to Uncle and Fourth Uncle in the eighth month were answered. Fourth Uncle is delighted that we moved to the prefectural city and has written to several colleagues in Jizhou asking them to look out for us.

“Eldest Uncle wrote from Tianyang County—it also suffered disaster, though less than Qingshui. He and Cousin came looking for us but couldn’t find us in Qingshui and fell ill afterward. Thank goodness I wrote quickly—otherwise he might have thought us drowned.”

Qingyan sighed and opened the second note.

“I’ve taken a storefront in the prefectural city. Plan is to sell fresh vegetables in winter and popsicles in summer. Life in a prefectural city isn’t easy—without a business, it’s hard to get by.”

The third note had only a few words, but they made Qingyan’s eyes burn.

“Qingyan, I miss you terribly these days. I don’t know when you’ll return.”

—

Footnotes:

• “Yangzhou slim horses” (瘦马): Historically, a term for young girls trained in arts and sold as courtesans—a practice tied to the city’s famed pleasure quarters.