Shao Shuyi did not sleep soundly that night.
Before taking his leave, Zheng Song had cast him a deeply meaningful look that refused to fade from his mind, leaving him somewhat unsettled.
Damn it all, every single person thought they could threaten him. What a life—
Yet when he rose and made his way to the dining hall, what little displeasure lingered in his chest melted away at once, for today's breakfast was remarkably sumptuous.
The cook was quietly swallowing her saliva off to the side. Upon receiving a nod from Wang Sheng, she beamed and said, "The accountant is at an age where he's still growing, and the shopkeeper instructed me to cook fine food every day without repeating dishes. Today I made torn noodles with foxnut starch. I wonder if the accountant will take a liking to it."
Wu Youcai, the warehouse keeper, and Zhang Neng, the martial instructor, were already seated, bowls in hand, slurping their noodles with gusto.
Shopkeeper Wang Sheng smiled and said, "Sit down and eat with us. If one bowl isn't enough, there's more in the pot."
At this, he paused briefly before adding, "Don't mind her babbling. At my age, chills, dampness, and aching joints are unavoidable. Having some foxnut starch in the morning happens to suit the essentials of preserving health. It wasn't prepared solely for you."
Zhang Neng set down his chopsticks and chuckled. "Yesterday, someone said the new accountant is still a young lad and ought to eat well to nourish himself. I'm just basking in his light. After practicing martial arts for so many years, I have every old complaint in my knees, waist, and legs. The shopkeeper's generous spirit nourishes both the accountant and me; if you ever have any tasks for me hereafter, I certainly won't refuse."
Wang Sheng laughed heartily. "Such a trifling thing—why keep bringing it up?"
With that, he beckoned Shao Shuyi to sit. "Eat quickly. Once it goes cold, it loses its freshness. This broth was simmered with choice mutton leg, black cardamom, and chickpeas. It's thoroughly nourishing."
Upon hearing this, Shao Shuyi bowed politely and said, "My thanks, Shopkeeper."
"Isn't the accountant being a bit too distant?" Wu Youcai remarked with a chuckle. "The shopkeeper is an elder and has always been generous. You ought to call him 'Xiansheng.'"
Shao Shuyi kept his composure and said with a smile, "The shopkeeper is a man of letters. He ought to be addressed as 'Xianggong.'"
Having said that, he sat down without further ceremony, picked up his bowl, and began eating the noodles.
The two forms of address—*Xiansheng* and *Xianggong*—were vastly different.
In the present dynasty, the former had originally been used to address Daoist priests. Later, its scope gradually expanded to include senior figures of high virtue, prestige, or exceptional learning, and finally teachers and mentors who had personally instructed you, signaling closeness and deference.
*Xianggong*, on the other hand, was an ordinary honorific of respect. From grand chancellors at court down to common clerks and even educated men of letters, all could be addressed as *Xianggong*. In short, it carried none of that familial intimacy.
Wang Sheng caught the distinction. He smiled faintly but said nothing.
Shao Shuyi glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw no sign of Zheng Song. The man had probably hurried out before daybreak, seemingly quite busy.
At this thought, an idea suddenly sprang to Shao Shuyi's mind: if Zheng Song were still here, would these men be enjoying such an extravagant breakfast?
Making this dish of torn noodles with foxnut starch was no simple feat; Shao Shuyi had heard people talk about it and knew a thing or two.
An entire mutton leg was chopped up and simmered in a pot with five black cardamom pods and half a sheng of chickpeas—which had to be pounded and skinned first—to make a broth, which was then strained, saving only the soup. Then two jin of foxnut starch, one jin of bean flour, and one jin of wheat flour were mixed with water and kneaded into dough, rolled out into thin sheets, cut into wide strips, and torn by hand into small flakes before being dropped into the boiling broth to cook through.
Finally, fresh mutton was sliced into fine shreds, stir-fried until cooked, and tossed into the boiled noodle soup along with shredded scallions, vinegar, and salt to balance the flavor.
To people of later generations, it might have seemed like an ordinary bowl of mutton noodles, but only Shao Shuyi knew how hard it was to eat such a bowl in these times.
The management of this Zheng family celadon shop lived rather well indeed.
Overseas trade was undoubtedly lucrative, even exorbitantly profitable, but those profits belonged to the master and had little to do with the shop clerks. If Wang Sheng and the others ate and drank like this every day, there was bound to be something fishy going on. Furthermore, the way they had tried to win him over right from the start carried an aroma that even a fool could smell.
Shao Shuyi ate his noodles quietly, uttering not a word.
After finishing one bowl, he looked up, trying to see how he might get another.
The cook came over with a broad smile. "Accountant, just hand me your bowl. I'll dish it up for you right away."
Wang Sheng continued eating his noodles at an unhurried pace, while Wu Youcai quietly lifted his head and gave the cook a meaningful look.
Catching the hint, the cook soon returned from the kitchen with a bowl brimming to the rim. Seeing the pile of tender mutton mounded high on top, it had clearly been given an extra portion.
Shao Shuyi offered his thanks and kept his head down, eating away.
Only after finishing three large bowls did he let out a quiet burp of contentment. Pure comfort!
This fifteen-year-old body was at an age of extreme nutritional craving, feeling as though it could never be filled. Securing a long-term meal ticket at a celadon shop—preferably long-term—could not have been better.
Such was the power of knowledge. Of course, Shao Shuyi knew full well that this was only one reason, and perhaps not even the primary one; the other reason remained to be explored.
Among the other three men in the dining hall, martial instructor Zhang Neng had already left early. Wu Youcai had just finished eating and announced he was going to take inventory of the recently delivered celadon once more before getting up and leaving.
Wang Sheng ate the slowest. Seeing Shao Shuyi rise, he shoved the remaining half-bowl of mutton noodles aside without the slightest regret and said, "I hear the accountant's childhood name is Xiaohu?"
Shao Shuyi nodded. "It is."
Wang Sheng took a cloth to wipe his mouth. "This old man is advanced in years, so I will take the liberty of calling you by your childhood name. The foremost task of our shop is to count and catalog the various celadon sent from the main branch into the warehouse, keeping them in good order. When the foreign merchant ships arrive, they are all sold together. However—"
Shao Shuyi looked at Wang Sheng, quietly waiting for what followed.
Wang Sheng hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "However, celadon is fragile and difficult to store; one must be careful. Furthermore, Master Zheng does not visit often, sending household servants in his stead or directly having the porcelain kilns hire boats to deliver the goods to our door. Those men are not delicate folks; they handle things roughly, and many pieces of celadon arrive damaged. When you enter them into the ledger, you must be very meticulous."
Shao Shuyi neither agreed nor disagreed, merely offering a bow. "Xianggong is experienced and prudent. This junior admires it greatly."
Wang Sheng's eyelid twitched. With a chuckle, he turned and walked away.
Shao Shuyi quietly watched his retreating back, lost in thought.
***
Returning to his quarters, Shao Shuyi stood before a bamboo chest.
He had originally expected something like a modern bookcase, only to find two bamboo hampers containing thread-bound account books and ledgers.
For a small commercial shop, that was only natural.
Pulling an account book from the bamboo chest, Shao Shuyi sat cross-legged before the desk and flipped it open to read.
What a coincidence—this was precisely the transactional content Shao Shuyi wanted to see. At a glance, it was kept in the manner of a running log, divided only into rough categories. For instance:
*"Zhizheng 3 (1343), 7th day of the 1st month: 18 guan in paper notes, bought 6 jin of meat for deity worship and kitchen use."*
*"Zhizheng 3 (1343): 4 vats of wine, for rewards."*
*"2nd day of the 2nd month: 1 vat of wine, supplied for the shishu."*
*"17th day of the 2nd month: 15 guan in paper notes, hired men to dredge the well."*
*"6th day of the 3rd month: 60 guan in paper notes to buy oil, for lighting lamps and stir-frying vegetables."*
*"11th day of the 3rd month: 5 wen in paper notes, bought 1 needle."*
...
All manner of things were recorded with great detail and diligence, serving as true firsthand material. Yet as Shao Shuyi read on, his brow furrowed. Though he had not been a professional accountant in his previous life, he recognized that this method of bookkeeping was rife with problems.
First, what kind of "paper notes" were they? Zhiyuan chao or Zhongtong chao? Although he knew very well it was the latter, it was not specified here, leaving room for embezzlement and fraud.
Second, how many sheng were in a vat of wine? He flipped through the earlier records and saw that wine had also been purchased the previous autumn, likewise without any indication of volume. To his knowledge, wine vats on the market came in varying sizes, and the prices naturally differed; moreover, it did not even specify what kind of wine it was.
Third, there was no problem with spending money to hire men to dredge the well, but how many people were hired? How many shifts of labor did they work? There was no record of that, only an expenditure of fifteen guan in notes.
Fourth, how much oil was purchased with sixty guan in notes? Rapeseed oil, sesame oil, or some other variety?
There were simply too many issues; almost every item left room for foul play.
Setting aside the ledger recording the shop's daily incidental expenses, Shao Shuyi picked up the second volume, his spirits lifting at once:
*"1st day of the 4th month: disbursed 1 dan of non-glutinous rice, 5 dou of Xiangsha-Nuomi, 3 liang of fine salt, half a jin of coarse salt, 2 jars of pickled vegetables, and 60 guan in paper notes for Manager Wang Sheng's monthly pay."*
Reading it once, and then a second time, Shao Shuyi finally learned Wang Sheng's salary—essentially three times his own.
Below were the others:
*"1st day of the 4th month: disbursed 6 dou of non-glutinous rice, 2 dou of Xiangsha-Nuomi, 1 liang of fine salt, half a jin of coarse salt, 2 jars of pickled vegetables, and 40 guan in paper notes for Martial Instructor Zhang Neng's monthly pay."*
Mm, Zhang Neng's income was roughly twice his.
*"1st day of the 4th month: disbursed 5 dou of non-glutinous rice, half a jin of coarse salt, 1 jar of pickled vegetables, and 30 guan in paper notes for Warehouse Keeper Wu Youcai's monthly pay."*
Old Wu's pay was also higher than his; such was the privilege of veteran staff.
Still, they surely did not rely on this meager fixed salary to get by, did they? Shao Shuyi surmised silently.
Following them were over a dozen other individuals, most of whom had records only for grain, salt, and pickled vegetables, without any cash or paper notes. Moreover, some months they drew rations, while other months they did not. Only a mere three to five people received baochao, mostly hovering around ten or fifteen guan.
With a rough analysis, Shao Shuyi could tell that those who received money in addition to grain and vegetables were likely hired hands, while those with only grain expenses were mostly the Zheng family's domestic servants or bondsmen.
With that, the personnel structure of this celadon shop became crystal clear.
Gently setting the ledger back down, Shao Shuyi drew out the third volume.
This was an account book concerning payments, commissions, and taxes to licensed brokers, as well as payoffs to grease the palms of government officials. In just four short months of this year, it involved dozens of officials and clerks from Kunshan Zhou and the Maritime Trade Supervisorate, as well as officers from the Police Inspection Office and the navy. The records were thoroughly scandalous!
The fourth volume in the bamboo chest recorded detailed transaction figures with foreign merchants.
The fifth covered inventory and breakage of celadon and other artisanal crafts...
After skimming through them, Shao Shuyi was left with three distinct impressions.
First, there were massive problems with these account books.
By chance in his past life, he had visited a banking museum, which had introduced the accounting rooms of ancient times. In short, the system was refined significantly during the Qing dynasty and reached its zenith, divided into three major branches: the inner accounting room, the outer accounting room, and the cash room.
The inner accounting room was primarily responsible for recording entries, compiling monthly balances, calculating interest on deposits and debts, finalizing annual profits and losses, and reviewing year-end gains and losses. The outer accounting room was mainly tasked with remitting funds and registering draft bills, while the cash room served as the cashier system.
With a clear division of labor and the separation of revenue from expenditure, it had become relatively professional.
Now, however, it was entirely different. The bookkeeping was extremely crude, and accounting and cashier duties were not separated at all, resting upon a single person. The hidden dangers were immense, and the room for improvement was equally vast.
Second, Shao Shuyi felt that doing business in these times was truly no easy task.
First, one needed rock-solid ties to high officials; second, one had to grease the palms of every sort of ghost and goblin along the way; finally, one had to ally with broker houses, porcelain kilns, and others to form a community of shared interests to rake in wealth together.
In this chain, the Zheng family was actually very easily replaced. To put it bluntly, they were merely "dealers" for the Longquan kilns of Chuzhou, possessing zero production capacity of their own and acting purely as middlemen.
Once their connections with high-ranking patrons ran into trouble, the celadon shop would very likely take a turn for the worse.
Third, Shao Shuyi felt more and more that the rule of the Mongol Yuan dynasty was, in all likelihood, doomed to collapse. Exactions and requisitions were everywhere, funneled directly into military provisions, seemingly to suppress some rebellion or another.
The rising wind foretold an impending storm!
The ramshackle house of the Yuan court was already teetering on the brink of ruin. Riots broke out here today, uprisings flared up there tomorrow, rising in relentless waves. Perhaps they could still suppress them at first, but the Yuan court's strength was depleting rapidly, and that turning point would eventually arrive.
Shao Shuyi exhaled a long breath, put away the account books, and prepared to head up front to take a look.
Chapter 14