Chapter Bonanza (6/10)

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Zhenniang not only ate lychees but also had some bean cakes.

Bean cakes refer to red bean cakes and mung bean cakes; when the season is right, there are also chestnut cakes, though none are available now. Usually, Zhenniang would buy only one piece, but now that she had money, she could buy both red bean and mung bean cakes.

But Ye Tao watched her hesitate for a while before she finally bought just one red bean cake.

Ye Tao asked her, “Don’t you want the mung bean cake?” 

Zhenniang replied, “I don’t have enough money.”

Ye Tao was puzzled: “Didn’t I give you ten wen? What else do you need to buy?” Zhenniang said she wouldn’t buy it for herself, but wanted to give it to Xiao’e.

“What are you going to give to Xiao’e?”

“Xiao’e makes sachets too—three for one wen.”

Ye Tao was thoroughly impressed—even at such a young age, she already knew how to make a profit. She really had a bright future ahead of her.

It didn’t rain today, so many of the stalls hadn’t packed up yet, which meant they could take their time browsing. Lin Niang bought a large sheet of paper to make a lampshade when she got home. Ye Tao bought two candles.

Earlier, when Mrs. Lin mentioned “tung oil candle,” he’d thought she meant black candles, but it turned out they were white after all. The one Mrs. Lin gave him was indeed a tung oil candle—so named because it was made from the wax of the Chinese tallow tree.

These two candles cost fifty wen, and Mrs. Lin said they were better than the ones sold in candle shops.

The candle seller flattered her, saying, “You have a keen eye, Madam. These new candles are thicker and shine brighter than the usual ones.”

Ye Tao went home and tried them out. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the new lampshade or the new candles, but they really were a bit brighter. Lin Niangshou still warned, “Even if you use candles, don’t burn them for too long—be careful not to hurt your eyes.”

Ye Tao agreed, “I’ll go to sleep as soon as I finish sewing this new outfit.”

Lin Niangshou had only ever seen him mending clothes; she’d never seen him make a whole outfit, so she asked, “Do you know how to cut and sew a whole outfit?”

Ye Tao smiled and said, “I’m much more skilled at tailoring new clothes than at mending them.”

To tailor a garment to one’s measurements, one must first take three measurements. Without a measuring tape, Ye Tao used a strip of cloth to trace around his own body; after tracing, he measured the lengths with a bamboo ruler to get the figures.

But after measuring the dimensions, Ye Tao hesitated. Should he make it a little bigger after all?

After all, he didn’t have many clothes right now, and you never know when he might need them in a pinch; if he made them a bit bigger, Chen Chuan could wear them too.

Just like how he’s currently wearing Chen Chuan’s old clothes—if needed, they could switch back and forth, which would effectively give both of them a few extra outfits. Besides, hemp fabric gets softer the more you wear it; as long as it doesn’t tear, old clothes are actually more comfortable than new ones.

Most importantly, if he made them according to Chen Chuan’s measurements, he could cut the fabric for both of them at once—one less cutting session, which would save time and effort. Ye Tao convinced himself, put away the measuring tape, and began cutting the fabric directly based on Chen Chuan’s original clothes.

He planned to make two sets of clothes, including vests, shirts, and pants. The outer garments would be made in the style commonly seen today—with a front-opening design.

Although called a front-opening style, based on Ye Tao’s observations, most people would fasten the lapels together, creating a cross-neck effect when worn.

When the cut fabric is laid flat without being sewn, it forms a “cross” shape.

Typically, there are four sections: the two sleeves and the body, divided into left and right panels. The shoulders remain unseparated, with the front and back connected; after sewing, a center seam remains on the back.

Ye Tao surmised this might be related to the limited width of the fabric; most bolts were only a little over one chi wide, which wasn’t wide enough for the shoulders. The fabric he was currently using was one chi four in width, but even the combined width of all four panels wasn’t enough for the full sleeve length, so the sleeves still needed to be pieced together.

Chen Chuan also has a vest called a “quandang.” It is still cut into left and right panels, but unlike the outer tunic, the front placket of the quandang is sewn directly together, while the underarm sections on both sides of the body are not sewn together but connected using two or three pairs of fabric strips.

Ye Tao felt that it wasn’t as convenient as a vest, and since he’d have to sew on a few extra fabric strips for the arms anyway, he might as well just sew them all together.

He didn’t plan to make the “pants-hands” the way they’re usually made either. The current design simply sews two pant legs together, with the seat and waist at the same width—effectively doubling the leg length. Without an elastic waistband, they rely entirely on a belt to stay up.

The crotch was attached using a square patch, but Ye Tao always felt it sagged when he wore it. So, following his usual practice, he simply cut out a crotch opening and slightly cinched the waistband—this would fit his body shape better.

He had sample garments for the outerwear and vests, so cutting those out was quick, but the pants required pattern-making. Ye Tao spent a long time sketching and calculating with his bamboo ruler and charcoal pencil before finally making the first cut.

Finally finished cutting, Ye Tao yawned, folded the cut fabric neatly, and was just about to turn off the light when he heard a knock at the door again. This time, he didn’t ask who it was; he shuffled over and opened the door directly: “What’s up? Coming back in the middle of the night…”

Before he could finish, he realized the person outside wasn’t Chen Chuan. It was Chen Siwu, who called out, “Brother Xiaotao.”

Ye Tao straightened up and greeted him politely: “Why are you here so late? Have you eaten yet?”

“I have.” Chen Siwu set down the Hemp Sack he was carrying. “Second Brother couldn’t make it, so he asked me to bring the rice back for him.”

The family still had rice left—Chen Chuan should have known that. Could it be he’d come across an offer he just couldn’t refuse?

He reached out to take it, but Chen Siwu dodged slightly. “It’s heavy,” he said, forcing the sack onto the table and whispering, “There’s something inside the sack. Take a look after you’ve locked the door.”

Ye Tao didn’t understand what was going on, but since Chen Siwu was about to leave after finishing what he had to say, and Ye Tao didn’t have time to look, he could only call out to him: “Wait a minute. Aunt Lin made a pair of shoes—could you take them over for me?”

Chen Siwu waited by the door. Ye Tao found the shoes and handed them to him, then asked, “Is your dock far away? Can I go there?”

“It’s not exactly far—it’s at Xinqiao Dock,” Chen Siwu replied, puzzled. “What are you going there for? Do you have something to tell Second Brother? I’ll take it to him for you.”

Ye Tao had originally thought that if he worked quickly tonight, he should be able to finish a vest to send to Chen Chuan first, but when Chen Siwu mentioned it, he calmed down.

What good would it do to know where it was? Last time, Chen Chuan had left before dawn; the boat probably departed very early. Since he wasn’t familiar with the area, he might not be able to find it in the dark, and it wouldn’t be safe either.

It wouldn’t be right to leave Aunt Lin and Zhenniang at home either.

“Nothing. Will you be back tomorrow? I’m making a new set of clothes; they should be ready by then.” Chen Siwu scratched his head: “I can’t say for sure—I don’t get work on the ships every night.”

Ye Tao didn’t ask any further.

After Chen Siwu left, he opened the Hemp Sack. He didn’t know what Chen Chuan was thinking, but there was money buried in the rice. He pulled out the string of copper coins—it was over a chi long.

The grains of rice slid aside, revealing more copper coins beneath. 

Ye Tao: “……”

Ye Tao took the small Hemp Sack that Zhaoniang had fixed last time, thinking he’d transfer the rice over there first. He scooped up two handfuls, suspecting that Chen Chuan had mixed in with the coins.

No wonder Chen Siwu said they were heavy—with a whole bag of copper coins like this, how could they not be heavy?

Some of the copper coins were strung together, while others were loose. The strung coins weren’t all in strings of one hundred wen either; the longest one was the one from earlier, over one chi long, while the shortest might have been only a few dozen wen.

Ye Tao reorganized them into strings of one hundred wen each. The next day, he hid the coins in a clay jar and carried it to the next room. As soon as Lin Niang saw it, she asked him, “Has A-Chuan been back?”

“No, Chen Siwu brought it over—it was hidden in a rice sack,” Ye Tao said with a look of disgust. “He doesn’t even mind the dirt. I’ve set that sack of rice aside separately; when he comes back, I’ll cook it just for him.”

Lin Niang couldn’t help but chuckle: “He put it right in the rice? He didn’t use a separate money pouch?”

“Maybe he couldn’t find a bag big enough,” Ye Tao said as he set the earthenware jar on the table. “I’ve just counted it—two thousand seven hundred and one wen.”

Chen Chuan had mentioned this to Lin Niangzhi beforehand, so she said, “Two guan are for me; you can keep the rest.”

As she fished the coins out of the jar, Ye Tao got his first real sense of what “one guan” meant—a thousand wen really was a lot; stacked up, they measured over three chi in length.

Chen Chuan probably hadn’t counted them carefully; he’d just taken them back once they looked about right. It was a bit more than they’d agreed upon. Ye Tao had wanted to give the extra to Aunt Lin, but fearing she’d tease him again, he didn’t dare say anything. After all, it was all family money—it didn’t matter who took it. He stashed the money away and went to set up his stall.

There were noticeably fewer people coming to exchange bag straps today. Granny Qiao said, “There’s also someone at Xinqiao Dock who exchanges bamboo buckles, but he’s new to the trade—his workmanship isn’t as meticulous as yours.”

Ye Tao didn’t know if this was the same person he’d seen at the big market, and even if it was, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He couldn’t very well stop people from doing it—not to mention that patents didn’t exist in those days, and even if they did, as a porter, he wouldn’t feel right using them to restrict others.

But the Xinqiao Dock…

Chen Siwu had also mentioned Xinqiao Dock last night.

After delivering the Hemp Sacks at noon, Ye Tao paid one wen to take a boat toward Xinqiao.

Xinqiao Dock wasn’t actually at Xinqiao; after passing under the bridge, the boat continued downstream, and Ye Tao saw a stretch of extremely wide water.

It was a river bend large enough to accommodate many boats, with a square on the bank where numerous vehicles could park. Large quantities of goods were unloaded here, transferred from water to land transport—this was a hub for water and land transportation; even on days when the market wasn’t in session, the area was teeming with people.

There were many vendors in the square, selling all sorts of things—drinks, snacks, fortune-tellers, street performers—and Ye Tao even spotted a ring-toss game. Has the ring-toss game really been around for so long?

Next to the ring-toss stall, the sign read “Pu Mai” in large characters, with smaller text below stating: “Ten rings for six wen; six ‘chun’ gets you ten extra rings; five ‘chun’ gets you three extra rings.”

Ye Tao had seen “Pu Mai” at the fair before but didn’t know what it meant; only after asking did he understand—it turned out to be a game of tossing copper coins, where six copper coins landing with the same side up was called “six pure,” and five was “five pure.”

“Young gentleman, would you like to give it a try?” After finishing his introduction, the vendor handed Ye Tao two bamboo rings. “These two are for you to try out—no charge.”

Ye Tao asked, “Not even if I get one through the hoop?”

The vendor chuckled sheepishly, “You’re joking, young gentleman.”

Ye Tao wasn’t interested. Ring toss was already a game of chance—and to top it off, you had to toss a copper coin? Wasn’t that just gambling on top of gambling?

However, looking at the small trinkets laid out on his stall for the ring toss, Ye Tao had another idea. He asked, “Brother, are you short on stock?”

He pointed to the small perfume pouch at his waist: “These little pouches—they’re filled with herbal powder to keep bugs and ants away. They’re perfect for summer. New ones sell for one wen each. How about three for two wen? Interested?”

The stall owner looked taken aback. Ye Tao could almost see the words “Making a profit on new stock?” written on the left side of his face, and “Have you gone mad with poverty?” on the right.

Ye Tao thought to himself that Wang Xing had thought the same thing when he’d approached him to sell cloth that day—truly, the tables had turned.

He was still trying to make a sale when a middle-aged man wearing a headband approached from the monkey-training stall next door. The stall owner, completely ignoring his monkeys, greeted him warmly: “Tax Collector Zhang, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

As he spoke, he handed over three wen.

Ye Tao recalled that Hong Zhehan had mentioned that doing business at Xinqiao Dock required paying taxes.

Not sure if simply peddling goods without setting up a stall counted as doing business, Ye Tao didn’t dare say anything more, afraid he’d be caught and forced to pay taxes—losing three wen on top of failing to make a sale. He hurriedly tossed out, “I’ll set up my stall under the banyan tree outside Nanxun Gate,” and walked away quickly.

He walked nearly a full circle but didn’t see the man who exchanged bamboo buckles; he wondered if he’d gone into hiding to avoid paying taxes.

A cargo ship was moored at the riverbank, with a wooden plank extending from it to the pier; the unloading workers walked along it. Ye Tao saw a man carrying three large bundles; as he stepped onto the plank, it sagged under the weight.

He stood where he was, watching until the man had safely delivered the cargo before looking away.

The afternoon sun was blazing, and staying any longer would mean spending money on cold drinks, so Ye Tao had no choice but to head back—the return fare cost two wen. Ye Tao was puzzled: “Wasn’t it just one wen on the way here?”

The boatman, propping up his bamboo pole, said leisurely, “Young gentleman, rowing against the current takes a lot of effort.” 

Ye Tao: “……”

Under the banyan tree, Hong Zhehan asked him what he’d been doing, since he was back so late today. Ye Tao replied vaguely, “I went to deliver Hemp Sacks.”

“It’s just too silly to spend three wen on a boat ride for no reason,” Ye Tao said, feeling a bit embarrassed. “On a hot day like this, wouldn’t it be better to buy a bowl of herbal jelly to cool off?”