Chapter Bonanza (7/10)

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As soon as the lingzhi season arrived, the Baojia Town market bustled with even more people than before.

Before the hour of the Snake, the streets were already packed with people jostling and pushing, carts and horses moving side by side. As far as the eye could see, it was a sea of heads.

A petite girl selling pickled vegetables was jostled about in the crowd, nearly spilling her wares.

Fortunately, another surge of people pushed from the opposite direction, steadying her just in time.

Yan Qi saw her tugging at her clothes and immediately moved away from that section.

He watched for a while, then wiped his own sweat.

Huo Ling held a palm-leaf fan, his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, revealing both arms. The fan’s breeze swayed between them.

“Once the dog days hit, the heat outside the mountains really sets in. It’s truly unbearable.”

Yan Qi pulled out his water skin, unscrewed the cap, and held it to Huo Ling’s lips, letting him drink.

“I never imagined the town would be this crowded.”

Huo Ling took several sips. The water skin contained not birch mushroom tea, but cold mountain spring-infused tea—refreshing and invigorating. Otherwise, rising so early, he’d likely grow drowsy before noon.

Even when cooled, the mountain spring tea retained a sweet, refreshing taste.

“From the time the June lingzhi mushrooms sprout until the first frost, the town never lacks for people. These traveling merchants set out from home a month early, staying for several months to buy goods before returning to their hometowns to sell them. They even manage to make it back in time for the New Year.”

Yan Qi knew best how far beyond the pass lay. He calculated the journey on foot: “That’s actually en route. From their accents, I’d say they come from all corners of the land—many from the south, too. This isn’t a shortcut. By boat or cart, it’d take over a month.”

“The farther apart two places are, the more profit traders make going back and forth.”

Huo Ling fanned himself vigorously, sending the ger’s loose strands of hair dancing in the breeze, which felt wonderfully cool.

His cheek tickled by the brushing hair, Yan Qi scratched it twice and remarked, “The south is prosperous and has enjoyed years of peace. I’ve noticed people coming from the south dress quite differently from those in the north.”

Huo Ling nodded, gesturing for him to observe a passing carriage.

“Their region produces fine silk and brocade, so naturally, their lives are different. That’s why when they come to the frontier to buy mountain goods, the items they bring are mostly unique to the south—tea, fabrics, porcelain, lacquerware, and all sorts of dried seafood.”

As they spoke, the pungent scent of dried salted fish wafted past their noses. Yan Qi wrinkled his nose and murmured, “This smells salty and foul. Does anyone actually eat this?”

If they want fish, the great rivers beyond the Pass aren’t lacking. Why must they have these half-year-old dead ones?

Huo Ling smiled faintly. “People say it’s quite good when steamed—a different flavor from river fish. And there are shrimp as big as your palm. At the Gathering Immortals Pavilion, one can fetch a liang of silver.”

These were also things he’d heard about here and there; Huo Ling hadn’t seen them in person either. Chatting about them was merely a way to pass the time.

He added, “Besides, not all these goods come from the south. Liaodong has coastal areas too. Those fleeing by water cross the pass, and the ships anchor right there.”

Yan Qi had heard of this, too. Among those fleeing famine across the pass, those with connections often switched to boats midway. The water route was faster, but the risks were significant—many perished along the way, and some lost both lives and possessions when their vessels capsized.

This thought struck him, and suddenly he felt a desire to try to find a merchant from his hometown. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about the current situation back there.

Now, in Baojia Town, he no longer saw refugees in ragged clothes. He wondered if the slower ones hadn’t made it yet, or if they’d all been stopped along the way, or if something else had happened to them.

Though he thought about it, doing the business at hand was more important.

The most eye-catching item on their stall was undoubtedly the red lingzhi mushrooms. To preserve them properly and maintain their quality, they spread them all out to dry in the courtyard after bringing them home.

Those laid out early had already dried to a hard surface, while those laid out later still felt slightly damp to the touch today. However, since the land beyond the pass was dry and arid, even if not completely dried, they were unlikely to grow mold.

Red lingzhi could be used medicinally. ground into powder for direct consumption in water or soup, while some men simply steep them in liquor.

Ordinary households couldn’t afford them, and local pharmacies bought little, waiting instead for major buyers from afar.

Fortunately, lingzhi never struggled to find buyers. Merchants feared they might not secure enough, so upon spotting mountain gatherers with stock, they’d snap up every last piece, price no object.

Huo Ling instructed Yan Qi to sort the lingzhi by size: with the smallest fetching five wen per jin, medium-sized ones one liang per jin, and those with caps wider than a palm considered top grade. Well-preserved specimens could command two liang or more.

The few jin they gathered this time weren’t particularly large, mostly small clusters with medium-sized ones making up about thirty percent. There weren’t any truly big ones.

Since lingzhi mushrooms are light, gathering a full pound was no easy task, though the unit price was higher.

Huo Ling was a familiar face among the mountain-travelling merchants at the grand market. Some traveling merchants who came year after year would seek him out.

One must understand that the market beneath Bailong Mountain also attracts many opportunists. Some are not mountain gatherers who personally venture into the wilderness; instead, they collect assorted mountain goods of varying quality from hunters or villagers gathering firewood, then dare to hawk them here.

If an inexperienced buyer made a mistake, they might end up with lingzhi mushrooms full of wormholes or ginseng roots that crumbled to dust at the slightest touch.

“A year has passed, and I never imagined you’d already be married! Congratulations!”

Businessmen are often smooth talkers, and the clever ones know the importance of cultivating good relations with genuine mountain hunters.

Take this merchant surnamed Liao before them. He even pulled out a jar of tea leaves from his sample goods to present as a gift to the two.

Huo Ling accepted it with polite thanks. After several exchanges, the deal was sealed. All four catties of lingzhi were sold to this man—the roughly three catties of small lingzhi fetched one and a half taels of silver, while the slightly over one catty of medium-grade lingzhi sold for a similar price. Altogether, it amounted to about three taels.

As he departed, the man inquired why Huo Ling hadn’t displayed any gastrodia. Huo Ling explained, “The gastrodia from our mountain grows later. It should be ready by your next visit.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll wait for your goods then.”

After the customer left, with the lingzhi gone, a space opened up on the straw mat. Yan Qi rearranged the remaining goods, moving the elm mushrooms from the corner to the center.

Soon, nearly all the mushrooms in the basket were sold. A customer who had previously bought old ox liver mushrooms returned, inquiring if any remained—he needed them to repel insects in the livestock pens.

Huo Ling agreed to help him find some, and the man departed satisfied.

Customers trickled in steadily. With a few coins already in hand, the pair remained calm and composed, fanning themselves as they watched the passersby. When they spotted a vendor selling mung bean water, Huo Ling called the lad over, paid three wen for two bowls, and shared them with Yan Qi.

With thoughts of expanding into the food business, they couldn’t help but pay closer attention to the food stalls during their downtime.

They paid little attention to the shopkeepers with storefronts along the street, focusing instead on the small vendors—those pushing carts, carrying poles, or holding baskets—like the boy selling mung bean soup just now, or the girl selling pickled vegetables further ahead.

The variety of edible offerings at the market was truly vast. Some were prepared at home and brought out for sale—like steamed buns, sweet pastries, and steamed cakes—mostly flour-based foods without broth. They were placed in baskets covered with thick, cotton-padded mats, carried through the streets and alleys, and sold out before they could cool.

Others parked their pots and stoves by the roadside, relying on the steaming aroma to draw customers. Only freshly made items were palatable—dumplings, wontons, noodles, and soups of pork or mutton offal. Each batch released a fragrance that wafted for miles.

Among these, the most peculiar were vendors selling feathered eggs and solid eggs—roasted and sold by the piece.

Yan Qi hadn’t seen this in his hometown. At first, he didn’t understand what they were, until Huo Ling bought a portion home. Only then did he realize both were infertile eggs that wouldn’t hatch chicks. The feathered eggs even showed the shape of a chick inside.

Just as one might hesitate to eat rabbit or chicken heads, Yan Qi felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of the forms within the shells. That day, Huo Ling ate two, bringing the rest home for Huo Feng and Huo Ying. Ye Suping also wasn’t fond of such things.

Beyond that, there were various other trinkets hawked by street vendors—not proper meals, but at best snacks. The children couldn’t tear themselves away once they spotted them.

The most common vendors sold candy, with jing-jingle candy and swirl candy being the most popular. A few coins could buy one. Come winter, vendors also sold candied hawthorn on a stick, sticky bean buns, and roasted sweet potatoes.

Yan Qi pondered long and hard, trying to grasp one crucial point: if they were to do this, they must offer something not found in the market. If it already existed, they would surely struggle to compete with the seasoned stalls that had been selling for years.

But then again, in this dazzling array of goods, what hadn’t someone already tried?

By noon, Yan Qi grabbed some copper coins to buy snacks and wandered around. He returned with two crispy fried buns, a sliced scallion pancake, and two leavened stuffed pancakes. For Huo Ling, he bought a roasted quail egg.

This lunch spread looked downright heavy. And why buy three different things—fried buns, scallion pancakes, and stuffed buns—when they were all similar? Sure, each had its own distinct flavor, but Yan Qi rarely splurged like this.

Huo Ling guessed the ger probably wanted to sample the different flavors. Upon asking, he confirmed it was indeed the case. So he bought a salted duck egg nearby, cracked it open, and they ate it alongside the other foods.

Yan Qi first ate the flatbread, then tried the scallion pancake, and finally bit into a stuffed bun. Huo Ling joined him, commenting on each one as they ate.

“The first two were perfect, but this stuffed pancake has rather thick dough. I’ve taken two bites and barely tasted any filling.”

Huo Ling waved the pancake in his hand. “Did you buy it from that bald old man up north?”

Yan Qi agreed, “It is thick. Probably stingy with the filling. But I walked around and only saw his stall selling these. Maybe they don’t eat them often outside the pass.”

Huo Ling nodded. “They do eat them less often. Families rarely make them at home either. If you’ve already fermented the dough, you might as well make steamed buns instead.”

Yan Qi held the last two bites of his pancake. He was confident he could make better ones than that old man, but after Huo Ling’s words, he suddenly worried no one would buy his.

Huo Ling declared decisively, “How will you know without trying? Every dish has its first appearance. His business is mediocre simply because his pancakes are thick-skinned and skimpy on filling—they’re just not tasty.” “

Yan Qi, spurred on again and again by Huo Ling, found the spirit stirred within him impossible to quell.

He devoured the pastry in two bites, choking slightly before swallowing. The last few bites were just like the first—no filling left, only lumps of leavened dough.

No wonder business was poor.

Finally resolved, he declared, “Then I’ll go home and mix a batch of dough. I’ll make a few for my family to try first.”