While Wang and Sun held their secret discussion, Shao Shuyi remained seated in the corner behind the counter, taking over the rough daybook that the counter clerk normally would have kept, transcribing and consolidating the entries into the formal ledger.
He was beginning to appreciate one distinct advantage of this job: it brought him into contact with all sorts of people, deepening his understanding of this society.
For instance, just a moment ago he had watched two Buddhist monks come in to purchase porcelain. Robust and heavily built, they walked with wind in their strides and held themselves with supreme arrogance, barely even bothering to haggle over prices.
A golden age for monks indeed!
Since ancient times, there had probably never been a dynasty that favored Buddhism so lavishly; they truly had struck it rich.
From the very founding of the dynasty, temples had been endowed with vast tracts of land, granting them formidable economic might. Even now, with the Yuan court facing financial hardship and reclaiming a portion of the official lands previously bestowed upon monasteries, schools, and nobles, the lion's share remained intact, and the monks continued to live in utmost comfort.
Not only did they command throngs of tenant farmers, they even kept cadres of hired thugs, loaned money at usurious rates, kept multiple wives and concubines, and bullied men and women alike—there was virtually nothing they dared not do.
For an ordinary person to enter a monastery was exceedingly difficult. Unless an influential, high-ranking monk put in a word on one's behalf, one could never hope to secure a hold on this iron rice bowl.
Besides monks, Shao Shuyi had also seen opera singers, flower sellers, traveling merchants from distant lands, wealthy landlords visiting the city, and many others.
Occasionally, these people would chat casually, and their remarks were fascinating to overhear. For example, a merchant back from Yunnan recounted that some heartless wretch from the Jiangzhe Branch Secretariat had transported massive heaps of seashells over from the coast, crashing the local market, driving prices sky-high, and plunging the common people into misery.
It was only then that Shao Shuyi learned for the first time that many regions in Yunnan actually used cowrie shells as currency.
There was also a wealthy landlord lamenting that a certain squire in a neighboring village had taken in three live-in sons-in-law, all ruthless men. Once the old squire died, the three matrilocal husbands divided up the family estate among themselves, leaving the clan without a single scrap of the spoils.
And an actor had overheard noble patrons discussing how rain had been falling across Henan for over a month straight, and that before long refugees from the north were bound to flee south. They needed to make preparations, stationing roadblocks at key intersections to intercept the fleeing commoners and replenish their own households of bondsmen.
There was all manner of such talk, far too much to recount.
Shao Shuyi had heard no whispers of impending war, which brought him a measure of relief. The catastrophic upheaval had not yet arrived; there was still time to prepare.
Toward the end of the snake hour, the first batch of cargo returned from the docks and began arriving for storage.
Shao Shuyi had the shop assistants bar the doors and shutter the windows in advance, suspending business, while he walked over to the warehouse, brush ready to keep the accounts.
Ox carts rumbled in one after another through the side gate.
The hired hands also filed in and set about unloading the cargo.
Shao Shuyi glanced around and saw Shopkeeper Wang Sheng chatting warmly with several unfamiliar men. He guessed they were probably merchants escorting the cargo from Chuzhou, old acquaintances of Wang Sheng and perhaps even Zheng Song.
He did not bother concerning himself with that. Standing quietly to one side, he merely watched as the hired hands unloaded the porcelain piece by piece and carried them into the empty rooms that had been cleared out as temporary storage.
The scene was somewhat chaotic. Even though he had never witnessed the logistics operations of a modern enterprise, Shao Shuyi still felt there was ample room for improvement. Of course, that was a matter for the future. This was the Yuan dynasty, and this was simply the prevailing industry standard.
Once one room was filled, Shao Shuyi stepped inside and began taking count.
This was also a troublesome chore—not merely due to the sheer volume of work, but because there were no standardized specifications or item names. He had asked Wang Sheng and Wu Youcai about it before, and both had told him to just jot down rough approximations without any further requirements. It was crude and careless, leaving countless loopholes.
Shao Shuyi felt that if he continued recording things as loosely as they had before his arrival, he would never pass muster. And so he applied himself with utmost diligence. For instance:
"Sancai ceramic pillows, red and green overglaze, Hanshan and Shide: twenty pieces."
He recorded them in detail, clearly describing their form and type. Had Wu Youcai been here in his place, the man would likely have written nothing more than "ceramic pillows"—a careless notation, as there could easily be multiple varieties of pillows at varying prices, creating ample room for embezzlement and fraud.
As for noting down "Hanshan and Shide," it was primarily because the pillows bore an inscription: "Those two, Hanshan and Shide, crazed and carefree, clapping hands, chuckling merrily in the street—what tremendous joy!"
In short, it was a themed porcelain pillow.
"Village shrine drum ceramic pillows, plowing-prompting field drums, inscribed: 'Field drums contend beneath the trees, plump crows fed beside the altar': twenty pieces."
Having jotted this down, Shao Shuyi felt a touch embarrassed. He could vaguely deduce that the final inscribed lines came from some poem, but he had never read it and had no idea who had written it.
"These are all ceramic pillows fired in Chuzhou imitating the various northern kilns. Certain foreign merchants have a taste for them, so—wait!" Wu Youcai had barged in unannounced. When he caught sight of the entries Shao Shuyi had recorded in the ledger, his face darkened.
"I see," Shao Shuyi said, nodding to show he understood, and then continued counting the porcelain.
"Why go to such lengths?" Wu Youcai looked at the ceramic pillows, then glanced down at the account book, no longer bothering to conceal his annoyance.
"Just doing my duty," Shao Shuyi replied.
Even as he spoke, he kept writing in the ledger: "White ceramic pillows: fifty pieces."
Wu Youcai stared fixedly at him. After a long pause, he spoke up: "Xiaohu, you've been at the shop for over a month now. You have food and lodgings, meat and fowl every few days, and your tea has never run dry. Isn't life far more comfortable than it used to be?"
"Indeed," Shao Shuyi paused his brush and said. "Thanks to the shopkeeper's generosity."
"Since you're grateful to the shopkeeper, why defy him?" Wu Youcai stepped in close, lowering his voice.
"Why does the warehouse keeper speak like this?" Shao Shuyi asked, affecting a touch of surprise.
Wu Youcai glared intently at him, trying to fathom whether the youth before him was truly ignorant or merely playing dumb.
Yet he lacked the patience to mince words and quickly laid it bare: "Take those celadon pieces you just inventoried. You could easily have written 'ninety ceramic pillows' without going into such petty detail. That is the shopkeeper's wish. You—you are being far too reckless!"
For a brief instant, a flicker of dread stirred in Shao Shuyi. Wu Youcai's words had punctured the paper window outright, putting everything plainly on the table.
Yet he had no choice.
In his heart of hearts, he certainly did not want to take risks. But things having come to this pass, he no longer possessed the luxury of choice.
Weighing his thoughts, he ultimately disregarded Wu Youcai's words and resumed his meticulous tallying.
***
After lunch, Wang Sheng stood before the window, quietly gazing at the heaps of celadon scattered in disorder across the courtyard.
Martial instructor Zhang Neng had also joined the unloading along with his men, presenting a scene of bustling energy.
"Shopkeeper, that fellow Shao Shuyi won't budge an inch. What should we do?" Wu Youcai slipped over and asked in a hushed whisper.
Wang Sheng said nothing.
"Shopkeeper..." Wu Youcai called out quietly, unable to hide his anxiety.
"What's the rush?" Wang Sheng snapped in rebuke.
Wu Youcai choked, feeling a pang of aggrieved resentment.
You're the shopkeeper, so of course you aren't anxious. Conspiring with Sun Chuan to shave twenty percent off the margin for the foreign merchants will rake in at least three or four hundred ding into your pocket. Naturally you look down on petty cash.
But the rest of us can't afford that luxury. Take those ceramic pillows recorded just now: if we could fudge the records a bit, several tens of guan would be ours for the taking. Even if we didn't pocket it all ourselves, using it to grease the palms of the hired hands and shop clerks from time to time would be useful—without tips and payouts, the hired hands aren't going to do your bidding.
Wu Youcai's ambitions were modest; pocketing ten or twenty ding from this affair would have satisfied him completely. But having his road to riches blocked cut him to the quick, making him want to kill someone—even if, pushed to the brink, he would never have the nerve to actually do it.
"Keep an eye on Zhang Neng and tell him not to act rashly," Wang Sheng said, turning around to face Wu Youcai.
"Understood," Wu Youcai replied meekly, reigning in his feelings.
"Don't harbor resentments," Wang Sheng pointed a finger at Wu Youcai and said. "The master is already suspicious. It's only out of deference to the old lord, and because we are fellow townsmen from Quzhou who have served diligently for years, that he hasn't moved against us right away. But he still sent over a new accountant—can't you see through that?"
Wu Youcai gave a start.
Wang Sheng sighed and said, "Just now Sun Chuan told me he knows some salt-smuggling households from north of the river who sneak across to sell illicit salt, and he wanted to strike a fatal blow, but I talked him out of it. Do you think the Third Young Master and Young Master Zheng haven't anticipated this? Sacrificing an accountant with neither roots nor backing in exchange for an excuse to strike, while shutting the old lord's mouth in the process—they would jump at the chance."
Wu Youcai opened his mouth, then hesitated.
You've made your fortune and don't want to take any more risks, but I haven't made mine, and Zhang Neng hasn't made his either. Even if we swallow it this time, what about the future? Are we supposed to hold back every single time?
Yet that thought stayed in his head; he dared not voice it aloud. Seeing that the shopkeeper had nothing more to say, he promptly bowed and took his leave.
Wang Sheng remained by the window, gazing silently outside.
His own thoughts were in utter turmoil. Truth be told, if given the opportunity, who wouldn't want to rake in more money? After all, the payoffs Sun Chuan delivered to him were tallied in ding, but baochao paper currency accounted for only a tiny fraction; the lion's share was gold, silver, and assorted gems—hard assets far more valuable and useful than paper notes.
Managing the celadon shop was a lucrative post, yet he wondered how many days he had left in it.
Was this predicament really caused by that new accountant getting in the way? No, the lad wasn't important enough. The real foes pressing down upon him were back at the old residence on Salt and Iron Creek.
Shao Shuyi was merely a pawn—a pawn that could be discarded at any moment.
Chapter 23