Back home, Liang Qu poured out all the silver he had saved so far — nine taels three qian — plus the one hundred twenty-seven copper coins on him. That was the whole of his fortune now.
The bits of silver rolled and clicked against one another on the hard plank bed, and the more he listened, the more the sound went to his head.
Twenty-six days in this world, nearly a month, and he had finally saved enough to learn martial arts — enough to glimpse the most mysterious corner of it.
Not easy. Not easy at all.
Liang Qu kept rolling the silver pieces around, gazing at that tempting bright-white gleam, and for a moment felt a flicker of kinship with old Grandet.
But spending money now was for the sake of earning more later, of living better.
He drew a deep breath, set aside seven taels of the silver, packed it into the small money pouch Martial Master Hu had given him offhandedly, and tucked it carefully against his chest.
Yixing counted as a large market town, and Scabby-Head Zhang was not its only hoodlum. Among a few thousand people there were always a few scoundrels rotten enough to fester.
But he was no longer the orphan who could barely stay alive. That alone would make people think twice.
The remaining two taels three qian and the one hundred twenty-seven copper coins went into the dirt beneath the rice vat, set aside for the autumn tax.
Dashun had already folded the head tax into the land tax and adopted the Single Whip Law, so taxes were simple — a single levy — but in substance not a copper less; everything had merely been merged together, and the money had to be ready all the same. Fall behind, get seized for corvée labor, and the loss would far outweigh the gain.
Once the tax was paid and he was enrolled at the martial hall, his purse would breathe easier. First, buy a mattress — sleeping on this hard plank bed was damn uncomfortable. Then save a few more taels to repay Uncle Chen, and life would be a good deal better.
Heart swelling with excitement, Liang Qu did not fall asleep until well past midnight.
First thing the next morning, Liang Qu, faint dark circles under his eyes, met Li Libo — who wore dark circles of his own.
The two looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"What hour did you get to sleep last night?"
"Somewhere in the Hour of the Rat — around midnight. You?"
"The Hour of the Ox."
Liang Qu jeered, "No wonder the circles under your eyes are darker than mine."
Li Libo gave an icy snort, glanced left and right, and said in a low voice, "You've got all the money on you?"
"Mm." Liang Qu nodded. He had left first thing in the morning precisely so he could pay the martial hall as soon as possible — lest the night grow long and dreams multiply, giving certain people notions they shouldn't have. Once the money changed hands, not even the boldest ruffian would dare go demanding it back from martial masters.
As for Li Libo, today was not actually the day he had planned to present himself as a disciple, but seeing how anxious Liang Qu was, he had moved it up so the two could go together, and his father had consented.
Along the way, the two traveled together to the edge of Yixing, paid ten wen, and hitched a ride on a flatbed cart to neighboring Pingyang Town.
The road, none too smooth, ran beneath dense trees. Only on a bright sunny day would people walk it, Liang Qu reckoned; under overcast skies or after dark, few would dare such a road. All the same, he felt a flicker of anticipation for the Pingyang Town they were nearing.
The Liang Qu of memory, like Chen Qingjiang, had walked a dozen-odd li at his father's side, fish basket on his back, to sell their fish in Pingyang Town for a better price.
A sight entirely unlike Yixing.
"Fresh-roasted chestnuts! Fresh-roasted chestnuts! Straight from the pan — fragrant and soft, delicately sweet!"
"Sheep's blood soup! Sheep's blood soup! Fresh sheep's blood soup!"
"Osmanthus buns! Hot osmanthus buns!"
Vendors' cries filled the long street. It was paved with bluestone slabs, like Yixing's streets, but far wider — even the side lanes were paved, instead of being yellow mud paths.
Buildings stood packed row upon row on both sides of the street, the upswept eaves of the shops nearly touching, and the inns, battling for custom, had pitched cloth awnings of every color outside their doors.
"Customer, take two — they smell wonderful."
"I'll take two."
Liang Qu tossed over the copper coins, took the two osmanthus buns, and threw one to Li Libo.
"Hss, hot, hot!" Li Libo passed the bun back and forth between his hands, waited for it to cool a little, then bit down — and his mouth filled with delicate fragrance.
Liang Qu had tasted osmanthus cake before, but never an osmanthus bun. He bit in: not as good as he had imagined. Next to modern mass-produced goods, the gap was far too wide.
Pingyang Town's bustle outstripped imagination, the streets so thick with people that it could almost stand beside the Bianjing of Along the River During the Qingming Festival. So this world's productive power was more advanced than he had thought — what, then, did the capital of Dashun look like?
He was still turning the thought over when he found that Li Libo had already led him, without his noticing, to the place he had longed for day and night: the Yang Family Martial Hall.
There was nothing of carved beams and painted rafters about it, but the grounds were large. It sat at the edge of Pingyang Town, backed by a fir wood, with a stone-walled rear courtyard where people could often be seen coming and going — probably the lodging for the ten-tael tier.
A long table stood at the martial hall's door, a young man seated behind it. Seeing visitors, he rose to intercept them, cupped his fists, and said, "Xiang Changsong, at your service. You two are unfamiliar faces — what business brings you here? To learn martial arts, or to visit friends?"
Li Libo, the older of the two, stepped forward and returned the cupped-fist salute with a fine show of form. "Hello. We've come to learn martial arts."
"Do you two know what training costs?"
"Some of it. Seven taels will cover it — is that right?"
"Correct. Seven taels of silver, board and lodging not included. Ten taels covers lodging. Twenty taels covers lodging and medicinal broth, meals charged separately. Fifty taels covers board, lodging, and the medicinal bath. Also, the term is only three months — though the teaching is the same throughout; how much you learn is entirely up to you."
"And once the three months are past, if you still cannot break through the skin gate — the first of the four gates of skin, flesh, bone, and blood — then to stay on, you must pay the tuition again."
Liang Qu clicked his tongue. Only at fifty taels did one get the high-grade medicinal bath — that would take ten ox-horn pomfrets! An ordinary person could never scrape it together in a lifetime.
The three-month term wasn't strange either. Without the talent, you couldn't simply plant yourself there and refuse to leave.
Come to think of it, the Yang Family Martial Hall was thoroughly well appointed — a professional greeter right at the gate, and a friendly one, who showed not a flicker of reaction to the fish stink on the two of them.
Not quite like the novels. Where was all the promised flexing and face-slapping?
Li Libo nodded again and again. "We know, we know. We're only signing up for the seven taels."
Xiang Changsong's face carried not a hint of scorn. He pointed at the long table where he had been sitting. "In that case, please register here — state your names, ages, and places of origin, and pay the fee."
The two stepped up and gave their particulars. When Xiang Changsong finished writing, he read it aloud to them once.
The script of this world was pictographic too, and, surprisingly, differed hardly at all from that of his previous life. Liang Qu had found that startling when he first arrived, but in time he got used to it. He had never let on that he could read; he simply nodded along like Li Libo, affirming.
Once everything checked out, Xiang Changsong led them into the martial hall, through a corridor, to the payment office, and handed over the sheet bearing the two men's particulars.
The silver was weighed and found correct. Xiang Changsong received two wooden tablets in return and handed one to Liang Qu and one to Li Libo.
The whole enrollment ran like a routine worn smooth — the hall had plainly taken in plenty of apprentices.
Liang Qu took his tablet and studied it for a moment. It was simple: his own name carved into it, and the date he joined. Once the three months ran out, the tablet would be void. The Yang Family Martial Hall did not have so many people; whether someone was an apprentice came down mostly to remembering faces, and no anti-counterfeit measures were needed.
"Congratulations, you two. From today, you are disciples of the Yang Family Martial Hall. You may call me Senior Brother Xiang."
"Senior Brother Xiang!" the two said together.
Xiang Changsong smiled. "I'll take you around for a turn so you can get familiar with the place, then give you a brief introduction to the knowledge of the martial path, so you have some notion of the road you're setting out on."
"Thank you, Senior Brother Xiang."
Liang Qu's spirits lifted. The part he had anticipated most was finally here. A month in this world — wasn't this hard, practical stuff exactly what he'd been waiting for?
Chapter 14