The counter at Hui Chun Tang was high. Gousheng stood on tiptoe and slapped the string of copper coins from his bosom onto the black lacquered tabletop.
The coins were smeared with mud and still carried the warmth from being nestled against his chest.
The shop assistant had been using a feather duster to shoo away flies, his eyelids drooping. Seeing this hand covered in chilblains, he initially wanted to wave the duster and chase the person out, but his gaze was caught by that heavy string of coppers.
One hundred wen.
In Taoyuan County, that sum could buy three pecks of old rice, or a life.
"Medicine," Gousheng's voice was hoarse as he passed over the crumpled prescription. "The good kind. No licorice root used as filler. I want real Chinese angelica."
The assistant took the prescription, glanced at the string of coins, and the disdain on his face vanished, replaced by a businessman's brisk efficiency.
Weighing, wrapping in paper, tying with string.
The medicine packet handed over carried a bitter, yet not unpleasant, smell.
Gousheng grabbed the packet and turned to run. One of his worn straw sandals came off, but he didn't stop to pick it up.
In the dilapidated earthen hut, the pitch-black medicinal broth was poured into his mother's mouth. Half an hour later, the withered body that always coughed as if trying to expel its lungs finally settled, her breathing growing lighter.
Gousheng sat on the threshold, still clutching the remaining twenty-three wen in his hand.
Twenty-three wen.
Back when he worked as a farmhand for the landlord, he couldn't save even half this amount in a whole year.
He stared at the coppers in his palm. They pressed into his flesh, a real, tangible pain.
That wasn't money. That was his mother's life, the backbone that let him stand straight as a man in this world.
"Young Miss..." Gousheng stared in the direction of Oxhead Mountain, clenching the coppers tightly in his fist until his nails dug into his flesh.
This life, from now on, wouldn't bear the surname 'Dog'. It would bear the surname Xu.
...
Oxhead Mountain account room.
Xu Qinghuan held an account ledger, her brow furrowed.
Too slow.
Even though those refugees and blacksmiths worked day and night, even though the fires in the blast furnaces reddened the sky, the speed of moving this 'loot' still couldn't keep up.
The storeroom was piled high with hoes and sickles, a dark, oppressive mass like some slumbering beast.
"Li Sheng." Xu Qinghuan tossed the ledger back onto the table. "Prepare the carts. Have this batch of goods hauled out."
Li Sheng was buried in calculations, his abacus beads clicking rapidly. "Young Miss, our shops in the county are saturated. Wang's Ironworks came to return goods yesterday, said they hadn't sold a single one. Our hoes are too hard; no one needs to buy new ones."
"Who told you to sell them in Taoyuan County?" Xu Qinghuan pointed at the map on the wall. "Haul them out. Qinghe County, Changfeng County. These are major grain-producing counties. It's the season for spring ploughing preparations now."
She held up three fingers.
"Price. Thirty percent below market rate."
Li Sheng's brush clattered onto the paper, blooming a blot of ink.
"Thirty percent?" Li Sheng's voice cracked. "Young Miss, we're already selling at a loss! Another thirty percent off, and we're just losing money for the noise! We won't even cover the transport costs!"
"I want to lose money," Xu Qinghuan stated matter-of-factly. "Goods piled in the storeroom are just stones. Only when turned into silver do they become money. What I want is cash flow, ready silver."
Only by turning these things into silver could she execute that embezzlement scheme.
"And," Xu Qinghuan lowered her voice, tapping a finger on the table, "starting today, keep two sets of account books."
Li Sheng's heart skipped a beat.
Falsifying accounts. A major taboo for merchants, and a business that could cost one's head.
"One set for the officials to see." Xu Qinghuan's face was expressionless. "Write that our iron smelting has a high scrap rate, labor is expensive, income doesn't cover outgoings, severe losses. Show a monthly deficit of ten thousand taels for me."
"The other set..." She pulled a private seal, prepared long ago, from her sleeve and slapped it on the table. "Record the true accounts. Every bit of money from sales, don't enter it into the public ledger. Deliver it directly to my room. I want the silver, in hand."
This was embezzlement.
Using the state-owned ore, smelted with the Xu family's money, selling it cheaply to the common people, and pocketing the returns directly into Xu Qinghuan's own purse.
The process was practically perfect.
It simultaneously created a public fund deficit (even though she fronted the money), embezzled a huge sum (even though it came from selling 'scrap iron'), and could disrupt the market through dumping, solidifying her reputation as a local tyrant.
Three birds with one stone.
"Get it done." Xu Qinghuan waved her hand.
Li Sheng picked up his brush, his hand trembling slightly. Looking at the Young Miss's face, etched with what seemed like greed, his mind was turning over something else entirely.
Selling at a loss? That was to benefit the people of neighboring counties.
Falsifying accounts? That was to hide wealth among the people, to prevent the court's corrupt officials from scraping away the Xu family's assets through taxes.
The Young Miss was playing a grand game of chess.
...
Qinghe County market.
It was market day, but the busiest area was packed solid, a human wall.
Over a dozen large carts were lined up, their tarpaulins pulled back to reveal rows upon rows of dark farming tools.
There was no hawking.
A wooden sign stood in front of the carts: "Xu's Fine Work. Hoe: 200 wen. Sickle: 80 wen."
This price was like a boulder hurled into a pond.
The manager of Qinghe County's largest ironworks, surnamed Zhao, was currently pushing through the crowd with seven or eight apprentices in tow, blacksmithing hammers in hand, full of bluster.
"Where did you bumpkins come from!" Manager Zhao kicked over the wooden sign in front of a cart. "Two hundred wen? You're ruining the market! Don't you know the rules?"
Two hundred wen wasn't even enough to buy the raw iron. This was clearly coming to steal their livelihood.
The man in charge of the convoy wasn't Li Sheng, it was Pockmarked Liu.
After months of eating well and training hard at Oxhead Mountain, the rogueish air about Pockmarked Liu had diminished, replaced by a soldier's tough swagger. He wore his black City Patrol uniform, a short iron-capped club tucked at his waist.
"Rules?" Pockmarked Liu picked up the wooden sign, dusting it off. "The Xu family's rule is low prices."
"Cheap goods are no good!" Manager Zhao sneered, grabbing a hoe from his own stall. "Don't be fooled, folks! This black, ugly stuff is probably made from scrap iron slag. It'll snap the moment it hits a rock!"
The surrounding farmers stirred. Two hundred wen was indeed too cheap, so cheap it was hard to believe.
Pockmarked Liu didn't waste words.
He turned and pulled a "Xu's Fine Work Hoe" from the cart.
Black hoe body, the blade edge gleaming coldly. It was smelted from high-grade hematite with anthracite coal, mixed with that so-called "scrap" alloy.
"Wanna test it?" Pockmarked Liu handed the hoe over.
Manager Zhao was a sturdy man himself. He swung his own hoe and slammed it hard against the tool in Pockmarked Liu's hand. He wanted to put a notch in the outsider's ware, to make them scram.
Clang—!
A sharp ring, sparks flying.
A gasp rose from the crowd.
Manager Zhao's hoe had a huge chunk missing from its blade, the metal curled and ruined.
The black hoe in Pockmarked Liu's hand didn't have so much as a scratch.
Dead silence.
Manager Zhao stared at the scrap iron in his hand, his face turning the color of liver.
"Good iron!" someone in the crowd shouted.
Then, the crowd went wild.
"Give me one!"
"I want two sickles!"
"Don't push! This is Qinghe County's turf!"
The farmers, waving their copper coins in their hands, surged like a tide towards the several large carts. That was high-quality iron, the kind that could be passed down through generations, and it was being sold at a cabbage price. Only a fool wouldn't buy it.
Shopkeeper Zhao was jostled and shoved, nearly losing his footing, the hammer in his hand clattering to the ground. Looking at this scene, he knew the iron trade in Qinghe County had changed forever from this day forward.
Pockmarked Liu stood on the cart shaft, maintaining order with one hand while directing others to collect money with the other.
Copper coins rained down into the chests.
As he watched the frenzied farmers, only one thought filled his mind: The Young Miss was right. As long as the goods are solid enough and the price is low enough, there isn't a fortress in this world that can't be taken.
...
Niushou Mountain. Noon.
Several thousand refugees squatted in the empty lot by the roadside, eating their meal.
Every one of them wore brand-new, short cotton jackets—forced upon them by Xu Qinghuan, who found their tattered clothes an embarrassment to the Xu family's name. The dark blue fabric was finely stitched, padded with a full measure of new cotton.
Their bowls were filled with large, glistening chunks of braised pork belly, piled atop white rice.
Xu Qinghuan stood on the raised platform, looking down at these "laborers" eating with greasy, satisfied mouths.
She was deeply displeased.
Were these the refugees she had spent a fortune to support? Each one glowing with health, not a trace of the downtrodden about them. If the system were to judge this, it would definitely be that damned "blissful happiness" rating again.
No. She had to give them a hard time. She had to make them understand who was the master, who held their very lives in their hands.
"Everyone, stop!" Xu Qinghuan grabbed the tin megaphone, her voice sharp.
Instantly, several thousand people put down their bowls and chopsticks, standing up in unison with a practiced, military precision born of months of strict management.
Several thousand pairs of eyes fixed on her. Not a trace of fear—only fervor.
This look made Xu Qinghuan even more irritated.
"Eating quite well, aren't you?" Xu Qinghuan sneered. "Do you know who gave you this meat? Do you know who bought these clothes?"
No one spoke, but that look in their eyes answered everything.
"Listen well!" Xu Qinghuan raised her voice, striving to appear more like a tyrant. "I give you food and clothes not because I'm kind-hearted. It's because I'm buying your lives!"
She pointed at the black earth beneath her feet.
"Once you take the Xu family's money, your lives are no longer your own. If I tell you to dig this mountain, you dig. If I tell you to fill a pit, you fill it. Even if it's a mountain of blades or a sea of fire ahead, if I order you to die, you will go and die for me!"
The words were harsh enough, absolute enough, villainous enough.
After speaking, Xu Qinghuan waited to see the fear on their faces, to hear the pleas for mercy. Just a sliver of resentment, and her "villain points" would be successfully earned.
The wind swept over the mountain ridge, whipping the banners with a snapping sound.
The crowd fell silent for a moment.
Then, the one-armed man took a step forward.
"Young Miss!" the man roared, his voice deafeningly loud. "You gave us a way to live! These lives were picked up from the gutter anyway! If you want us to die, we won't even blink!"
His cry was like lighting a fuse.
"We would gladly die for the Young Miss!"
Several thousand voices roared in unison, a tidal wave of sound that seemed to scatter the clouds atop the mountain.
Someone knelt. Then a whole section followed.
It was absolute submission, absolute loyalty. In their simple worldview, these hundred copper coins, this meal of meat, this set of new clothes—they were a heaven-sent kindness. Selling their lives was nothing; even sacrificing their entire families would be repaying a debt of gratitude.
Xu Qinghuan stood on the platform, megaphone in hand, frozen.
Her hand went slack, and the megaphone clattered to the ground with a loud clang.
Another failed attempt.
I was trying to intimidate you! I was trying to be an exploiter! Why are you all so ready to die for the cause? How is a villain supposed to operate like this?
She looked down at those faces, each etched with "ready to sacrifice for you at any moment," and felt a heavy stone lodged in her chest, impossible to spit out or swallow down.
Two hundred thousand taels.
Combined with the funds recouped from selling the farming tools, the money in her hands hadn't decreased; it had doubled.
This was unbearable.
"Young Miss?" Li Sheng approached, his face full of admiration. "Your speech has completely solidified their morale. These people are now the Xu family's death warriors, ready to strike wherever you point."
Xu Qinghuan turned to look at him, her eyes vacant.
"Li Sheng."
"Your servant is here."
"Recruit more people," Xu Qinghuan said through gritted teeth. "Keep recruiting for me. Refugees from any county, as long as they're alive, bring them all here. If a few thousand can't spend this money, I'll support tens of thousands."
I refuse to believe it.
Even if I have to hollow out this Niushou Mountain, I will squander this damned fortune.
"Understood!" Li Sheng's reply boomed, and he turned and ran to make arrangements.
The Young Miss is expanding the operation again! She intends to gather all the nearby refugees, plotting a grand, bodhisattva-like enterprise!
