Treasure Fish!

Three fish baskets laden with the catch were carried down from the boat, drawing the eyes of every fisherman present — and when the most eye-catching item of all appeared, the spotted-head fish, it set off a buzz of talk in a small cluster. "Whose boat is that? They must have run into a school of fish. What luck — oh, and there's a spotted-head!" "Don't know it, though it looks awfully familiar. The wharf only has that handful of named experts, and this boat doesn't look like any of theirs." "Isn't that Ah Shui's little sampan? The one that scabby fellow insisted on trading." "Who's Ah Shui?" "Have you forgotten? Liang Dajiang's boy — the good-looking one." "He's still alive? Didn't he become an orphan? Last time I saw him, he'd come to borrow grain and got thrown out." "Shh, he's alive and well. Don't talk nonsense." At these words, the fishermen present were rather taken aback; clearly none of them had imagined an orphan could survive entirely on his own. Truly rare. "Pah, pah, pah. A hard-luck child. Well, at least it looks like he can feed himself. Not an easy thing." "Looks like our wharf will be turning out another expert! Pity it couldn't be my own boy — that one hasn't a shred of promise." The fishermen carried on like this for a while, trading remarks amid their envy, and once the baskets were carried into the fishing yard's shop, they drifted off one by one. Orphans rarely lived. That one had survived alone was uncommon, to be sure, but it was no business of theirs — just something to gawk at. Surely he wouldn't amount to anything great later on? Meanwhile, Lin Songbao weighed the fish and tallied the account. "With the spotted-head, that comes to one hundred thirty-two wen in all. How about I call it one hundred thirty-five for you?" "Give me one qian of broken silver plus ten wen instead." "One qian of broken silver?" Lin Songbao sank into thought. Prices had been stable in recent years; the official rate put one tael of silver at roughly a thousand copper coins. But silver held its value — a thousand copper coins would never actually buy one tael of silver; it took eleven or twelve hundred to be enough. One hundred twenty-five wen exchanged for one qian of broken silver was a slight gain. At that thought, Lin Songbao agreed. He drew back the string of copper coins he had pulled out and swapped it for a small nugget of broken silver plus ten copper coins. "Keep it safe." "Mm." Leaving the fishing shop, Liang Qu made his usual stop at the inn for a meal — the old three, as always — thinking as he ate. "I've got two taels and three qian already. Four taels and seven qian more, and I'll have enough to enter a martial hall. If I could put away a hundred wen every day, it would take only two months — but that would be far too conspicuous. Even if I'm going to do it, the rise has to look gradual." With the Fat Catfish's help, Liang Qu's daily haul was already higher than the average fisherman's — but he had been making thirty wen a day only days before, and a sudden leap was too strange; the change needed time to settle in. As for why he had suddenly sold over a hundred wen today — well, who never got lucky and ran into a school of fish? It was like catching yellow croakers: once or twice was nothing. Only when it happened too often did he need a plausible excuse. "And the tax falls due at the end of autumn — that's a problem too. Two months won't come near covering it. Anyone who can't pay gets seized for corvée labor. Damn it all, this goddamned feudal society!" Liang Qu had a clear plan for his future: he had to learn the martial arts. Not only because, having come here, he wanted to see how big the world truly was — there was also the Zhao residence hanging over his head. That goddamned old bastard, dangling there like the sword of Damocles. Scowling, Liang Qu shoveled down the last mouthful of rice, settled the bill, went home, and flopped onto his bed. "If only I could catch a treasure fish like the tiger-head grouper." He was thinking of the five-jin tiger-head grouper someone at the neighboring wharf had caught last month: a martial master had claimed it at the market, and it had fetched the sky-high price of a full three taels and five qian of silver. Fish like that worked wonders for tempering the body — a single one could spare a martial practitioner over a month of training. It might be even more precious than the treasure-plant lotus root he himself had found. Just as Liang Qu was weighing whether to spend some time having the six-whisker catfish hunt for one, a sudden clamor rose outside — and quickly died down. "Ah, someone's quarreling again." Small places were like that. Let any household quarrel loudly enough, and the whole neighborhood heard every word. Liang Qu mused that once he had money, he would absolutely buy a grand compound, ten courtyards deep, and keep ten pretty maids besides — every one of them slim-waisted and long-legged, fair-skinned and lovely — carrying tea trays and inviting him to tea in soft, coquettish voices. He would live the life of a lord too. Thump, thump-thump. The knocking cut his daydream short. Liang Qu rose in surprise — surely it wasn't Zheng Xiang again? "Who is it?" "Me." An answer that said nothing at all — but Liang Qu hurried to open the door. He knew that voice far too well; he could never afford to forget it. The door opened on Chen Qingjiang, face dark as thunder. The man thrust a small cloth bag into his hands and turned to go, without a word. "Uncle Chen! This—?" Liang Qu couldn't even catch up before that retreating figure had made for home. He had no choice but to open the bag: inside, of all things, was grain — and no small amount of it, a good five or six jin. In a flash, he understood everything. To earn a little more, Uncle Chen walked a dozen-odd li into town every day to sell his fish. He was an honest, warm-hearted man, and he most likely had no idea at all that Liang Qu could already feed himself — he simply assumed the boy's life was as hard as ever. "This really wasn't necessary." Liang Qu sighed. The kindness of that one flatbread was not something he dared forget. Without it, he might have starved to death in his home long ago. But learning martial arts took money, and so did the autumn tax — he had never gotten around to repaying any of it. So that quarrel just now must have been Uncle Chen and his wife? Liang Qu felt deeply ashamed. Having delivered the rice, Chen Qingjiang returned home to a house still wrapped in silence. His wife, Ah Di, sat in the corner nursing her anger alone, not sparing her husband a glance, head bowed over her thread ends. As for giving the rice away — in ordinary times she wouldn't have refused, but their younger son had taken ill days before. The sickness was cured, and their savings with it, and come autumn's end the tax fell due — the tax for three people, no less! Wasn't that just posturing beyond their means? For a time, the two of them faced each other without a word. The candle flame danced in the room, washing the walls a deep, murky red. After a long while, Chen Qingjiang rose abruptly. The stir of air pressed the flame low, and it flickered so that Ah Di nearly pricked her hand with the needle. She jerked her head up in indignation — and the next moment, her body went suddenly light. Ah Di's mind went blank; she was mortified and furious. "What are you trying to do now?" Chen Qingjiang scooped his wife up in his arms, bent his head, and blew out the candle. "Sleep," he rumbled. "Da Wa and Er Wa are asleep in there!" "Two little piglets — what's there to be afraid of?" Ah Di's mind emptied entirely, her face burning red. Where had all that anger gone now? This was the way to handle a woman. At the door, hearing the sounds rising from inside, Liang Qu drew back the hand he had raised to knock, his expression awkward. He had figured it couldn't be good for a husband and wife to quarrel over him, and had meant to come apologize in person — only to walk in on something this embarrassing. Hefting the bag of rice, Liang Qu could only carry it home. Whatever was owed could wait for another day. For the next half month or so, Liang Qu sold fish at the wharf, steadily raising his daily catch. From forty wen it climbed little by little to eighty — the image of a young man of promise, a real fishing talent, played to the hilt. An ordinary fisherman's daily earnings ran sixty or seventy wen; only seasoned fishermen in their prime, like Chen Qingjiang, could make eighty, and just a rare few experts ever topped a hundred wen. That Liang Qu, at fifteen or sixteen — an orphan, no less — had come this far left the wharf's fishermen, who had all seen it with their own eyes, greatly astonished. For a time he enjoyed a modest name of his own, and gathered a good deal of envy and jealousy. There was one strange thing, though. In recent days, Liang Qu had meant to return rice to Uncle Chen's home, but time after time he found no one there. It was as if the whole family went out to work the moment dawn broke; every visit missed them perfectly. Utterly baffling. By rights it shouldn't be so. Could Sister Ah Di have gone out to work as well? With no one home, they would have to keep the children at their sides? Preoccupied with these thoughts, Liang Qu walked to the wharf — and to his surprise saw someone he had no wish to see. The matchmaker. His showing over the past two days had successfully caught the matchmaker's attention, and she had come calling again and again, bent on brokering a marriage! "I already told you — I have no plans to marry for now." Liang Qu hopped briskly onto the sampan, cast off the rope, and steered quickly away. His retreating figure had a distinctly hurried air. The fishermen ashore took it for embarrassment and jeered. "Go easy on Ah Shui — he's still a virgin!" "Bet he doesn't even know how good women are yet!" "What a shame — why not match him with me instead?" "Get lost, you old bachelor — go play with your own balls!" Liang Qu had never imagined that displaying his "fishing talent" at the wharf would make him such a prize catch on the marriage market. He rowed on and on, until the wharf was out of sight, and only then did he let out a breath. When he reached the lotus root waters, he slapped the surface with his oar. The massive Sow Dragon rose slowly to the surface. Catching sight of the boat, it swished its tail, and a pair of claws came to rest on the gunwale. Seeing no one about, Liang Qu took up his fishing net and an air-filled pig-bladder float and slipped beneath the water. Man and beast searched the water for Ah Fei. Liang Qu's daily haul could reach about one hundred fifty wen at the outside, but only eighty wen of it could be shown openly. The rest of his time went to hunting for treasure fish — and the Fat Catfish got no rest either. But treasure fish were hard to find; days on end had turned up nothing. Until just now, when word came through Ah Fei's spiritual link: a treasure fish had been found!