Yan Qi hadn’t expected the conversation to circle back to him, but regardless, if his wish at the City God Temple had come true, he really should fulfill his vow. Such customs couldn’t be broken.

And now that he stood before the temple gates, he did indeed feel a desire to enter.

He recalled elders saying that if one couldn’t visit a deceased relative’s grave, burning incense and paper offerings at the City God Temple would ensure the departed received them. Knowing someone remembered them would prevent them from becoming lonely, wandering spirits.

Uncertain whether Huo Ling was merely speaking casually or genuinely intended to go, Yan Qi hesitated before asking, “So, shall we go today?”

Huo Ling had only casually mentioned it earlier. The temple was right there—they couldn’t run away from it. If not today, they could come another day.

But then he noticed the faint glimmer of hope in Yan Qi’s eyes. A thought stirred within him, and he realized something. Nodding, he said, “We’re already at the entrance. Let’s go after we sell everything.”

He then pulled out the rolled-up straw mat, each of them grabbing one end to spread it flat, before arranging the mountain goods upon it.

Yan Qi was more meticulous than him. He sorted the lion’s mane mushrooms by size, grouped the birch polypores and pine pollen—black ones in one pile, yellow ones in another—and placed them, along with the kidney grass, into hemp sacks rolled open at the top, making them appear plentiful yet tidy.

The most eye-catching items on the stall remained the deer antlers, jumbled together in varying heights.

Finally, a basket of duck eggs was placed right under Yan Qi’s watchful eye.

Today differed from Huo Ling’s last trip down the mountain. Market day brought more mountain dwellers setting up stalls, coinciding with the antler-gathering season. Everyone’s wares were the usual assortment.

When the time felt right, Huo Ling began bellowing his wares, including the duck eggs, drawing several people to stop and look.

Yan Qi sat attentively beside him, keeping watch for passersby who might try to pocket something.

Back home, every market day brought encounters with thieves being caught; dishonest hands were everywhere.

Some would pick pockets in the crowd, while others simply pilfered small items—snatching a handful of greens from one stall, grabbing a couple of fruits from another. The magistrates wouldn’t bother with such petty crimes, but it was genuinely infuriating.

Every item brought by the vendors was the fruit of their labor—grown or gathered with sweat and toil. They weren’t making big profits; after walking for hours to get here, if they could trade for a few sacks of salt or sugar, they’d count themselves lucky.

The most sought-after item on the stall was undoubtedly the “black oil mushroom.” To transform birch polypores into this precious substance, they must mature within tree hollows for many years—a rare and unpredictable process. As soon as it appeared, sharp-eyed customers swarmed to inquire about the price.

Huo Ling skillfully quoted four wen per jin. The buyer immediately countered, “That’s a bit steep.”

”If you take the whole lot, we can talk about the price.”

Huo Ling recognized the man as a broker. These brokers roamed the streets daily, gathering market intelligence on various goods. Some used their connections to buy goods cheaply and hoard them, waiting for prices to rise before reselling. Others worked as hired agents, sourcing goods for clients.

He disliked selling to brokers. To pocket extra commission, they drove prices down ruthlessly, often haggling until their lips were sore without closing a single deal.

Fortunately, another traveling merchant soon inquired about the price. Though Baojia Town was small, its proximity to the foot of Bailong Mountain meant it bustled with people year-round, save for snow-bound winters.

This proximity fueled the town’s thriving commerce. Several inns and restaurants, large and small, had sprung up, often filling to capacity once autumn arrived.

“Black Oil Mushroom” was scarce on the market lately, so the traveling merchant’s eyes lit up with delight when he found some.

They quickly pushed the middlemen aside, ignoring their displeased expressions, and bought over three pounds of “black oil mushroom” at a price of one tael and two wen per catty.

Before leaving, the traveling merchant didn’t forget to tell Huo Ling, “My surname is Chu. I’m staying at the Baishun Inn in town. If you have more of this fine stuff, just send it over. I’ll pay a good price for it.”

Huo Ling agreed, casually tossing him two pieces of pine pollen as a bonus. But the traveling merchant made such offers to everyone in hopes of finding more suppliers. In reality, mountain travelers rarely had consistently good goods, and if you actively brought them supplies, they’d pick and choose while driving down the price.

So he took it all in stride. Pine pollen was cheap; giving it away with more valuable goods was no big loss, and it earned him a favor.

Yet after this initial transaction, far fewer people stopped at his mountain goods stall compared to the food and daily necessities stalls nearby.

While Huo Ling was haggling over the price of deer antlers with an apothecary’s assistant, Yan Qi noticed a young man crouching down to examine some duck eggs, asking about their price and how they were sold.

He gathered his courage and stepped forward. “Four wen each. All fresh duck eggs laid within the last fortnight. Not a single cracked one. Every single one is perfect. Pickle them into salted eggs, and they’ll be full of sand and oozing oil.”

The young man paused his movements, looked up at him, and asked, “Your accent isn’t local. Are you from the Guanzhong region?”

Yan Qi was puzzled but sensed no ill will, so he nodded. “I’m from Ping’an County.”

The young man exclaimed with delight, “My family’s ancestral home is also in Ping’an County! I knew your accent sounded familiar—just like my grandparents!”

He went on to explain how close he’d been to his grandparents back home, but since marrying, he’d barely seen them twice a year. He missed them dearly.

Because of this, he asked Yan Qi to pick out eight duck eggs for him.

“I’ll take them home and cure them into salted eggs. My wife will enjoy them with her drinks.”

Yan Qi showed him the selection, casually plucking stray duck feathers from them. Impressed by the cleanliness of his goods, the husband then turned his attention to the lion’s mane mushrooms.

Seeing the dried mushrooms lined up in descending size, he chuckled twice before picking out a few medium-sized ones.

“I’ll take three more mushrooms for chicken soup. Give me a good price.”

Yan Qi hadn’t expected to make a sale just because he’d met a fellow villager. Last night, Huo Ling had taught him how to use the rod scale. He quickly recalled the method, placed the light lion’s mane mushrooms on it, studied the scale several times, and silently calculated in his head for a moment.

“Twenty-five wen in total, plus the duck eggs, makes fifty-seven wen.”

Recalling the man’s request for a discount, Yan Qi hesitated to decide on his own and turned to look at Huo Ling.

He’d feared Huo Ling might be too busy to notice, but the man seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. The moment Yan Qi glanced over, Huo Ling turned and flashed the customer a smile.

“Eggs are expensive these days, so I can’t really discount much more. To be honest, these eggs are being sold on behalf of the villagers. How about this—fifty-five wen will do.”

In small-scale trading, rounding off a few coins was already generous. Profits were indeed slim, and everyone understood that.

Seeing the scale needle high and the mushrooms in decent condition, the mushroom buyer readily paid up.

Huo Ling returned to exchange a few more words with the haggling customer, but the deal fell through. The customer turned and walked away.

He didn’t fret. He knew the fellow would likely check prices elsewhere. If he found his own fair, he’d return sooner or later.

He turned just as the ger presented a handful of coins. He smiled. “So you’ve made your first sale.”

Earlier, the clerk had been speaking so rapidly that Huo Ling hadn’t had time to pay attention to Yan Qi. Now, he glanced over a couple of times. Seeing Yan Qi handling the scales to weigh the mushrooms without error, he said nothing more, though his attention remained divided, listening intently.

Yan Qi was quite pleased, feeling he had finally been of help to Huo Ling.

“That young master was very generous. He even mentioned his grandparents are from the same hometown as me.”

“That’s fate for you.”

Huo Ling instructed Yan Qi to put all the money into his money pouch, not to give any to him.

“I’ve always found the pouch cumbersome to carry. This time, you’ll have to keep it for me.”

Yan Qi paused briefly before replying, “I’ll keep it with me for now. I’ll separate our family’s share from my sister-in-law’s egg money so we don’t have to count it all again at home.”

He carefully sorted the copper coins into two separate pouches, tied each one shut, tucked them into his chest, and patted them down. This way, they wouldn’t fall out no matter what.

Nearly half an hour passed. Many came to inquire about prices, and he sold off a few pounds of ordinary birch polypores and pine pollen here and there, along with a pound of dried kidney grass.

If items were near Huo Ling, he weighed and sold them on the spot. After weighing twice, he noticed Yan Qi constantly glancing at the scale. When no one was looking, he handed the scale to him.

“Here, practice with this.”

Yan Qi had indeed been thinking that. Seeing Huo Ling willingly hand it over, he whispered, “Then watch me weigh it again. I’m afraid I might make a mistake.”

If he overcharged, the buyer would certainly complain. If he undercharged, they might not be willing to pay the difference.

Huo Ling couldn’t help but chuckle. “You don’t need customers to use the scale. Just grab a few items from the stall to practice weighing them, just like when I taught you at home.”

Yan Qi paused, then smiled too.

That made sense. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier?

In truth, Yan Qi learned quickly. After a few tries, he grew increasingly adept. He no longer needed to peer closely; a glance sufficed to gauge the weight. Anyone unaware would never guess this was his first time using the beam scale.

Huo Ling found himself with nothing to do but hawk the wares, occasionally calming Yan Qi, who seemed anxious about the business.

“This is how it goes for us mountain produce sellers this season. We rarely have common items like wild greens or mushrooms that ordinary households would buy. We need patience to wait for bulk buyers. Today’s retail sales are actually quite good—there’s no need to rush.”

It was Yan Qi’s first time here, so he took note of the advice.

But setting aside the mountain goods, the duck eggs were selling well. Ye Suping was skilled at raising poultry, and her duck eggs were larger than those from other vendors, yet priced similarly. Only a few remained, the ones with slightly dirty shells.

Past mid-morning, the herbalist’s assistant who had visited earlier made a return trip, asking Huo Ling for two pairs of antlers.

Antlers were sold by the pound. Bailong Mountain was home to two types of deer: the large wild boar deer and the smaller spotted deer.

When it came to selling wild boar antlers and spotted antlers, the spotted deer were more valuable. Despite their size, the wild boar antlers were a hassle to haul down the mountain and fetched less than a single silver coin. Neither buyers nor mountain traders showed much interest.

Huo Ling had once picked up a pair of enormous elk antlers for novelty, hammering nails into his mountain hut wall to hang them as decoration. At first, he felt quite grand about it, but later, he casually used them as coat hooks.

The herbalist shop before him, however, sought two pairs of sika antlers of suitable size. A single sika antler typically weighed two or three jin.

Huo Ling weighed each of the four antlers individually. Together, they totaled nine jin and two liang. Rounding down the weight, he sold them at forty wen per jin, earning just over three qian and sixty wen.

“Why doesn’t the local pharmacy accept birch bark and pine pollen?”

Yan Qi watched the apothecary’s assistant walk away, noting how he’d paid no attention to anything but the antlers. Curious, he voiced his question.

“Because these aren’t considered proper medicinal herbs. They don’t need to be boiled into decoctions according to formulas; they’re more like folk remedies. That’s why the shops don’t specialize in buying them. If someone wants to buy them, they come to the market to find mountain gatherers like us. After all, our goods are fresh and cheap. Only those merchants from the interior would buy them in bulk if they saw them.”

Yan Qi suddenly understood.

“Truly, every item has its own story.”

Now that he was the husband of a mountain-travelling herbalist, he needed to understand these things going forward.