WSMTATMC C110

Chapter 110

Fang Ling’s journey this time was not only for her son; she also meant to grease the wheels a little for her husband.

Since Chen Jing’s transfer to Shanzhou, he had spent two years setting the place in order with notable success; his last two annual assessments were top tier. Now, in the third year, barring accidents, he ought to be eligible for a lateral move back to a better prefecture.

Chen Jing was no longer young—he would be forty-two after the New Year. In an age when average lifespans barely crested forty, he was already verging on elderhood. Without another step up soon, entry into the capital’s service would be unlikely.

Fang Ling’s natal clan hailed from Jizhou. She had three elder brothers; apart from the eldest who kept the family estates, the other two held capital posts—the second as a fifth-rank Assistant Minister at the Great Temple, the third as a regular fifth-rank Censorate Deputy. With their help, some tactful calls at the Ministry of Personnel might see Chen Jing reassigned to Laizhou or Jizhou on next year’s review.

Beyond that, her keenest worry was her son’s examinations. “It’s already the eleventh month—one doesn’t know if they’ll make it back in time. If they miss the year’s end, the county exam will be delayed.”

“Fourth Aunt needn’t fret. Master Liang cares even more than they do; he won’t let them miss the date.”

That was true enough. Liang Boqing’s paternal heart for the boys was, if anything, fiercer than Chen Jing’s; the pair had been a perfect fit from the start, and over the years their bond had grown akin to father and son.

Fang Ling had brought only two attendants and an older maid. Wang Ying cleared out a west wing for her to stay.

The compound had been small from the day they rented it, but money had been tight then; they had made do. If summer popsicles sold like winter greens, a year hence they might buy a house outright in the prefectural city.

—

With the year-end approaching, Wang Ying had the New Year provisions prepared and sent by porters to Third Aunt and Eldest Uncle.

Eldest Uncle’s last letter had said the year was hard and they should not send gifts—but with coin on hand now, Wang Ying didn’t wish to break the custom.

As it happened, Eldest Uncle felt the same. On the sixth day of the twelfth month, his gifts arrived—food and necessities, plus six bolts of fine cloth and two hundred taels in banknotes.

Li Shi’s nose stung and her eyes reddened at the sight. All these years, her elder brother had kept her in mind, worried lest she fare poorly.

On the eighth, a New Year parcel came from the county as well—Cao Kun drove it in himself.

At the sight of him, Li Shi flustered with joy. “What brings you—are your mother and Qiu’er well?”

“Thanks to Aunt’s blessings, all’s well at home—but the county is sorely short on grain.

“The flood didn’t flatten many houses, but it ruined the surrounding fields—autumn saw not a kernel. Grain merchants jacked up prices; a dou of rice is six hundred cash. People can’t afford grain—so they steal and rob. The yamen sits on its hands; Longquan County’s a mess.”

Li Shi clutched at her collar. “Heavens! Was our home safe?”

“Safe enough. Thanks to sister-in-law, we had grain—we didn’t starve. I worked at the relay for seven or eight years—know plenty of folk. I organized them to patrol the neighborhood daily; when thieves came nosing, we drove them off.”

Just hearing it sounded perilous.

“How is it now?” Wang Ying asked.

“Only toward the end of the tenth month did relief grain trickle in. City folk are better off; still, many died at home of hunger. Prices remain high in the county. I thought to stop in Jizhou and buy grain to haul back—turn a bit of silver.”

He hadn’t come alone. A dozen men and seven carriages had come with him; he’d lodged them at the relay station in town and come on ahead.

The relay’s head steward had taken men out to buy grain during the floods—bandits hit them halfway; the wagons, the grain were lost; the men died on the road. The survivors had sought out Cao Kun and asked him to take the lead; now, he was effectively the head man at the relay.

“Just as well,” Wang Ying said. “I know the largest grain dealer in town. Rest today; tomorrow I’ll take you to ask after prices.”

Cao Kun lit up. He had thought he’d have to nose around alone—he hadn’t expected a ready introduction. His regard for Wang Ying only deepened.

At noon, Wang Ying booked a table at Xianghe Restaurant; the family gathered for a meal.

It was Fourth Aunt’s first time meeting Cao Kun. She handed over the prepared gift for Qiu’er’s child—a silver torque just like Yuanbao’s.

“When Qiu’er wed, your Fourth Uncle and I were in Shanzhou and couldn’t return. We had thought to come when Huai sits the county exam—now that you’re here, take this back.”

“Many thanks, Fourth Aunt.”

“No need for ceremony. Our clan is thin, and kin are far—we cannot visit often. We only hope you younger ones will pull together—twist into a single rope and do well; only then can we rest easy.”

Ancient life prized abundant kin—the whole household pulling as one.

The Chen clan was indeed sparse. The second branch aside, the main branch had only Qingyan and Mother at home. Chen Jing had two sons and a daughter; the younger boy was five—far below the others’ ages.

The two daughters were married and gone.

Lin Sui had married in the tenth month—a simple affair of wine and a few county relatives. No notice had been sent to the prefectural city—too far, and the family had just settled in. Chen Rong would not trouble them to make the trip.

“Wasn’t the wedding next year?” Li Shi blurted.

“Yellow’s family was pressing; Sui’er agreed. The families talked and settled it.”

Cao Kun didn’t much care for that brother-in-law—Huang Yong, puffed up by a few years of study, always looked down his nose and turned cool to the “mere relay man.” In time, Cao couldn’t be bothered to greet him—his own cousins and brothers studied far better than that one and never behaved so high and mighty.

He only grumbled to Lin Qiu—never to others. After all, they were kin; no sense making it ugly.

The meal broke up late in the afternoon; they strolled home.

Cao Kun had to check on his men at the inn; they agreed to meet in the morning to call on the grain dealer together.

That evening, Wang Ying took Yuanbao into the experimental field. It had been more than half a month; the child leapt and capered—plucking a leaf here, a flower there.

Wang Ying tallied the silver. Tomorrow, he’d take it to the moneyhouse to exchange into ingots—less bulky that way.

From opening to now—nearly two months—they had taken in over four hundred seventy strings. With what remained from before, the chest now held over six hundred strings.

There was still time before year’s end; the second batch of vegetables was coming ripe. With luck, they could ride the last wave into the New Year—clearing this crop might bring the total to at least a thousand taels.

Another year’s savings, and they could nearly buy a house in the prefectural city. Renting was not a long plan; better to settle for good.

Done with the money, Wang Ying read Qingyan’s recent notes. The cold had iced the sea—no ships could sail; they were coming overland.

They had reached Xuzhou the day before; halfway there.

The going had been hard. South was mild; north was bitter. Past the Huai and Qinling, the temperature plunged. Despite warm clothes, they took chills and fever—resting four or five days in a county on the road before pressing on.

The further north, the worse the road—snow a foot deep, and the wagons labored.

Fortunately, they met a troop escorting grain north. The commander had once held a post in Jizhou—Lu, nephew to Old Master Lu—whom Liang had met once. General Lu took them under his wing; his troops opened the way, and the distance sped by. In ten days, they would reach Jizhou.

Wang Ying swung Yuanbao in a circle. “Ten days more—your father will be home!”

The boy could now count to a hundred and had a sense of ten. He bent fingers, counting. “When Daddy comes back, will he play with Yuanbao every day?”

“Yes—and help build snowmen.”

“Yaaah!” He whooped and flailed in glee.

“But—don’t tell anyone Daddy is coming back. It’s our secret.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth and nodded hard. “Mm! Yuanbao won’t tell!”

Wang Ying ruffled his hair. “Come—bed.”

—

At first light, Wang Ying took Cao Kun to Yang’s Trading House.

Yang Deguang wasn’t in yet; the clerk poured tea and asked them to wait.

Cao Kun whispered, “Sister-in-law, how are grain prices here?” He didn’t carry that much silver—if prices were too high, there would be no profit.

“Millet was a hundred fifty cash per dou until recently—now a bit lower, perhaps. Don’t worry—this is the largest merchant in the prefectural city. If their prices aren’t the floor, others can only be higher.”

He nodded and fidgeted half an hour. Yang arrived at last.

He disliked the cold and seldom came early. Learning their intent, he said, “All of Jizhou lacks grain. What we sell is bought in from elsewhere. Without counting the cost of transport, the rock-bottom I can give you is millet at one hundred ten cash per dou—and gray flour at one hundred seventy.”

It was for Wang Ying’s sake. Others got millet at no less than one hundred thirty; retail was a hundred fifty.

Even so, it was cheap. In the county, prices were still two hundred forty and up. Hauled back, it would mean nearly half in profit.

Cao Kun was delighted. He had brought a little over two hundred taels—all of it would go to grain. Hauled home, the proceeds would be enough for everyone to have a good year.

This was a small deal; Yang hardly noticed it. He called a clerk to take Cao Kun to weigh and load grain, and turned to chat with Wang Ying.

“How is Lord Wang of late?”

“Uncle is well. On Madam’s birthday the other day, we sent fresh greens.”

Yang had heard—he himself couldn’t climb that rung. His gentleman wished to send a gift; there was no path.

“When there’s an opening, I’d trouble Manager Wang to make an introduction.”

“Of course—of course,” Wang Ying said, noncommittal.

Both had business and did not prolong it. Once Cao Kun had his orders set, Wang Ying returned to his own shop. Ma Qianzi and Tian Ju had already laid out the vegetables and opened the day.

It was too cold to pull Qingyun outside. Wang Ying took the scales and cash himself, then sat by the brazier, counting on his fingers like Yuanbao—how many days till his husband came home.