The man with the medicinal plaster told Zhang Laifu that he had eaten his wontons the wrong way, but Zhang Laifu still could not understand what he had done wrong.
Setting his birdcage aside, the plaster-wearing man called out to the old vendor for a bowl of wontons as well. He first added soy sauce, then chili and minced garlic. After sipping the broth, he smacked his lips and said, "Now this has a bit of flavor. Let me tell you, little brother, the wontons here aren't bad. Your only mistake was eating from the stall across the street first before coming to this one. You don't fear a customer who doesn't know goods; you fear goods being compared side by side. Once you compare the two, you won't be able to stomach these wontons at all."
As he spoke, the man glanced at the stall owner. "Shopkeeper, I'm just speaking the plain truth, not trying to ruin your business."
The stall owner smiled faintly. "Respected guest, you speak the truth. Comparing good to good, I truly can't hold a candle to him. He's a true craftsman."
Zhang Laifu looked at the stall owner. "You know how to make wontons too. Aren't you a craftsman as well?"
The stall owner waved his hands repeatedly. "Respected guest, you mustn't say such things!"
Zhang Laifu did not understand. "What's there to be afraid of saying? Isn't it all the craft of making wontons? It's just that his craft is a little better than yours."
The plaster-wearing man sized Zhang Laifu up and down. "You're from out of town, aren't you? How can you be so clueless? Can just anyone be called a craftsman? You think a bowl of wontons is a small matter? There's deep learning behind it!"
Zhang Laifu shook his head. "Then why don't you tell me what kind of learning is in it?"
The plaster-wearing man snorted, fluttered his fan, and ate another wonton. "Why should I tell you? If you want to learn skills and broaden your knowledge, shouldn't you show some sincerity? Salute, bow, and address me as 'Mister'—surely that's only proper courtesy, isn't it?"
Zhang Laifu actually stood up, bowed politely to the plaster-wearing man, and addressed him with respect. "Mister, I'd like to ask for your guidance."
The plaster-wearing man set down his chopsticks and sat up straight. "Go ahead. What is it?"
Zhang Laifu asked directly, "Are the wrappers thin, or are they thick?"
The man answered, "No matter how thick the wrappers, they still must wrap the filling."
Zhang Laifu asked again, "Do they tumble in the water, or sink in the pot?"
The plaster-wearing man said, "They all roll in one's own broth."
Zhang Laifu asked, "What do these phrases actually mean?"
The plaster-wearing man set down his fan, picked up his pipe, and took a puff. "That's trade cant used by wonton sellers. It's what their guild uses to test someone's purpose. Do you know what trade cant is? Trade cant is secret jargon, the argot of the trade, and matching cant is answering the secret codes. Asking whether the wrapper is thin or thick is asking about your skill. Asking whether they tumble in the water or sink in the pot is asking whether you've joined the local guild."
Zhang Laifu stroked his chin and thought for a long while. "I just wanted to buy a bowl of wontons. Why did he speak trade cant to me?"
The plaster-wearing man looked at the wonton shoulder pole across the street. "He has a good heart and looks out for people in the trade. If you could match his trade cant, that would prove you're one of his peers, and he might even have treated you to a bowl of wontons."
"So that's how it is!" Zhang Laifu got up, ready to head across the street to recite the trade cant.
The plaster-wearing man stopped him. "Do you really think casually picking up two lines of cant and going over to pretend to be an insider will work?"
Zhang Laifu thought about it and realized that made sense. "How about you teach me a couple more phrases?"
The plaster-wearing man shook his head. "I don't know much myself, and besides, it isn't my place to teach you. Selling wontons is a profession with its own lineage. If you truly want to enter the trade, you must first find a master to apprentice under and let your master teach you the trade cant."
Apprenticing to a master.
That was indeed an option.
Zhang Laifu did not know where he was or where to go. He only had one dazi and about twenty copper cash left on him, and he did not even know where his next meal would come from.
If he could apprentice to a master and learn a craft, he would at least have a means of making a living here.
But the problem was, could he stay in Heishakou for long? If he didn't want to stay in Heishakou, where else could he go? With so little money left, he could barely afford another bowl of wontons.
While Zhang Laifu ate his wontons and racked his brains for a way out, the plaster-wearing man chimed in from the side, "If you want to apprentice, you'd better hurry. He'll be packing up his stall in a little while."
"Packing up?" Zhang Laifu glanced at the sky. "He just set up his stall. He's packing up already?"
The plaster-wearing man chuckled. "Don't scoff. That's just how craftsmen do business."
The stall owner sighed beside them. "Craftsmen have real ability. I sell wontons too, and I make wontons, but I'm no craftsman. After decades in the business, I'm still just an unregistered hand."
Zhang Laifu looked at the stall owner's age. A man in his sixties actually called himself a boy?
The plaster-wearing man said, "If you aren't a craftsman, you're an unregistered hand for life. Shopkeeper, save up some money, enter the guild, and learn the craft."
The stall owner shook his head. "Money isn't that easy to save. Every day I get up at two in the morning to knead the dough, roll the wrappers, mince the filling, and simmer the broth, then set out my stall at five. A bowl of wontons sells for two dazi. By eight-thirty at night, I might sell seventy or eighty bowls. Deducting the cost of ingredients and the guild dues, I make fifty or sixty dazi a day, which comes out to only twelve or thirteen silver dollars a month. My whole family relies on that meager sum to eat.
"Now take a look at the fellow across the street. He sells wontons too, but he's a registered journeyman. He sleeps until noon every day, takes another nap after lunch, starts preparing ingredients at three, and sets up his stall at four. He sells each bowl of wontons for five dazi, and by six o'clock, all two hundred bowls are sold out. Deducting costs and guild dues, he makes three silver dollars a day, which adds up to nearly a hundred a month. He only works two hours a day, and once he packs up, he strolls through markets, visits theater houses, and even goes to the foreigners' grand theaters. Every day is filled with good food and leisure. Not only does his family have no worries about food and clothing, but he also puts away plenty of savings. He has the skill and can earn that kind of money, so he doesn't have to suffer hardship—he just comfortably enjoys his life!"
The plaster-wearing man looked at Zhang Laifu with a grin. "Two hours a day and nearly a hundred silver dollars a month—doesn't that make your mouth water?"
Zhang Laifu wasn't covetous at all; first, he had to clarify a concept. "What's a silver dollar?"
The plaster-wearing man frowned. "Silver dollar coins! Silver yuan! Haven't you ever seen one?"
"Never." Zhang Laifu had never seen a silver dollar in his life. "How many copper yuan does one silver dollar exchange for?"
"A hundred and thirty, of course! You didn't even know that?"
A hundred and thirty copper yuan?
Earning a hundred silver dollars a month?
At five dazi a bowl, how many wontons could that buy?
Now Zhang Laifu's mouth was watering intensely. "I'm going to be his apprentice!"
A wonton carrying pole, a petty street vendor of wontons—one of the three hundred and sixty trades. Zhang Laifu was no stranger to wontons, but he had never imagined the gap between a craftsman and an ordinary vendor could be so vast, creating a world of difference in their quality of life.
He decided to go learn the craft from the wonton vendor, but the plaster-wearing man stopped him again. "He's a registered journeyman, a first-tier craftsman. They rarely take on apprentices. Besides, look at his wonton shoulder pole—pots, bowls, ladles, basins, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, stove, firewood, flour, meat filling, even several large buckets of water for replenishing the broth—everything sits on that pole. He shoulders it himself, sells it himself, earns his own money, and spends it himself. Does a business like that need an apprentice giving him a hand?"
What else could he do?
Zhang Laifu racked his brains without an answer. The plaster-wearing man set down his chopsticks, gripped his pipe bowl between his teeth, and said, "I can see you're short on cash. How about I find you some work? Go buy two stuffed buns for me, and I'll give you five dazi for your trouble. Will you do it?"
"Five dazi..." Zhang Laifu calculated. "How much is each bun?"
"Don't worry about the cost of the buns, I'll pay for that separately." The plaster-wearing man took out five copper yuan and set them on the table. "As long as you bring the buns back, this money is yours."
Zhang Laifu finished his wontons in a few quick gulps and stood up to buy the buns. Five copper yuan were very important to him; at least his next meal would be secured.
Seeing a cart stacked with steamers, he stepped forward and asked, "Do you have buns?"
The stall owner waved his hand. "We sell sticky rice cakes here."
"Which stall sells buns?"
The rice cake vendor glanced around. "He hasn't set up his stall today. How about a bowl of rice cake? It's delicious!"
Zhang Laifu went straight to the next stall. This one had steamers too. The vendor lifted the lid, and upon looking inside, Zhang Laifu felt a wave of disappointment.
"Are these... mantou?"
The vendor waved his hand. "These are bobo, not mantou! We're completely different from mantou! Care to try one?"
"I want stuffed buns. Which stall sells stuffed buns?"
"Didn't the rice cake seller tell you? The bun vendor hasn't set up stall today."
Zhang Laifu continued down the line, visiting more than a dozen stalls in a row. There were vendors selling corn, hawthorn jelly cakes, zongzi, aiwowo...
Every stall sold something different. Crucially, none of them diversified their wares: vendors selling fried pancakes didn't sell sweet sugar cakes, and those boiling corn didn't sell tea eggs. Each stall stuck strictly to a single business.
Zhang Laifu asked several times who sold buns, but they all said the vendor hadn't set up stall.
As Zhang Laifu looked around for buns, the faint strumming of a pipa drifted into his ears.
"I only thought the water-caltrop mirror was shattered, never to be whole again,
Who knew that today it would reflect a fair maiden's face once more?
The gilded phoenix returns at last into my hands,
Just like a broken-stringed kite joined together again."
Someone was singing pingtan!
Zheng Pipa!
He was here?
How had he arrived so quickly?
PS: Pingtan performers are one of the three hundred and sixty trades. What Lao Zheng was singing is the classic pingtan piece The Gilded Phoenix. These lyrics fit the situation in this chapter very well: he has found the kite with the broken string, and whether it can get away remains to be seen. I have no idea how much pingtan I listened to before I finally settled on this excerpt.
Chapter 11