Chapter 229

Chapter 229

Holy cow, are they really this efficient? No fuss or anything? Just telling them to whip out their rice bags?

Not just the old ladies—even Liu Erlang was taken aback, not expecting the other party to be so straightforward. He thought he'd have to do a lot of talking to get things started, but instead the old man just took a look around, tossed out a few pieces of clothing, and then that was it—no putting on airs, no making a fuss, no saying this was wrong or that was no good.

Zhao Sandi lifted the cloth covering the cart and picked up a sack of grain with one hand.

Old Man Zhao cleared a small space, and Liu Erlang, quick-witted, rushed over with a few long benches to form a low table. Zhao Sandi came over, put the grain sack on top, and like a magician, produced a bamboo tube for scooping grain.

The old women set down their baskets, brought some chairs from the main hall, and Old Man Zhao sat down without ceremony, then said to them, "You've seen for yourselves—we weren't bluffing. We really have brought grain, and we're sincere about trading with everyone. I don't know if Hua Erniang gave you a heads up, but now I'll add a few words. If what I say is blunt, bear with me."

"Old stuff isn't worth much. This isn't a shop, so I can't price things like eggs—one piece for a coin, or two for a coin. I can only give grain based on the situation, more or less, no fixed amount. If you can accept that, pull out your rice bags now, and I'll scoop grain for you right away. If you can't accept it, if you think it's unfair, I won't force a trade, and I won't stop you. You can take your clothes back right now."

He pointed at the grain on the cart: "This isn't new grain; it's old grain from last year. But it's still edible and won't make you sick. You can rest assured about where it came from—I guarantee it's safe and won't cause you any trouble. Once you take it home, it's your food; no one will come running to claim it's theirs and demand it back."

The old women exchanged glances. They had to admit, those words touched on their worries—that the grain might have been stolen or looted, and the owners would trace it to them and demand it back, leaving them in a bind.

Even though he confidently said it came from a legitimate source, they couldn't fully believe him. But even if they couldn't trust him completely, they had no other choice.

"Erniang did mention it to us. We understand," one of the old women finally said, fidgeting with the edge of her clothes. "Old things... they really aren't worth much. But they're winter clothes that can keep you warm—when it's cold, they can bring a bit more warmth. We dare not ask for much; we only hope you won't be too tight-fisted, and that you'll let a bit more grain slip. Our kids are crying from hunger; we're really short on food."

Old Man Zhao lowered his eyes, catching a glimpse of his daughter squatting on the ground, looking through the clothes. After a moment, he gave a slight nod. "You can be at ease."

While he spoke, Zhao Sandi had already untied the sack. He grabbed a handful of grain and held it out to them with a smile. "No dampness, no mold—take a look yourselves. It's all good."

Liu Erlang, with permission, also reached in and grabbed a handful to inspect closely. The grains weren't all perfectly plump, but they weren't far off. He sniffed them—no musty smell—and chewed one; no off taste either.

He nodded at the old women, indicating everything was fine.

"Let's trade!" The old women were completely reassured. Those with rice bags pulled them out; those without bags simply used the clothes they brought as containers. "Let's trade now! We'll hurry home to bring the rest of the clothes and tell everyone else to come quickly."

"Alright." Old Man Zhao didn't waste time. He had his second and third sons count up the items from each household, while he scooped grain with the bamboo tube. "This pile is yours, right? Let me count: three sets of adult winter clothes, two sets for children, plus two quilts... The quilts aren't very thick, and the clothes have many patches, but they don't smell bad. They look clean enough."

After counting, he picked up the bamboo tube. Under the women's nervous and uncertain gazes, he scooped tube after tube until the bag was about halfway full.

The rice bag wasn't small; Old Man Zhao figured it could hold several dozen jin. Having worked the land for years, cutting and drying grain every season, he could gauge the weight of dried grain at a glance. Five winter outfits and two sets of bedding, all worn-out old things—even selling them to poor folk in the countryside would fetch at most half a sack of beans.

The woman lifted the grain sack, feeling the weight like a stone pressing on her chest. She stood frozen for a long time, until the old man waved his hand and the person behind her pushed her, then she quickly hoisted her bag and moved aside to make room for the next.

The old man's voice counting items came again: one shirt, two jackets, one quilt, two quilts...

Then came the rustling sound of scooping grain.

The woman bit her lower lip, trembling as she tied the sack shut, then struggled to lift it into her basket. She knew exactly how much her bag could carry. These were just worthless old items, yet the man had given her four or five dou of grain—probably fifty or sixty jin.

After they husked the rice, ground the chaff into flour, mixed it with some wheat, and made pancakes, they could last several meals.

It was far better than she'd expected. She'd thought she'd be lucky to get twenty or thirty jin. After all, no matter how much one praised their own clothes, they were just a pile of worthless old things. In times when a single dou of grain could spark a fight, this was truly a great deal.

A steal, a huge steal.

Zhao Xiaobao helped her second brother clear a space, stacking the exchanged clothes neatly so they wouldn't get mixed up with others'.

After the old women finished their trades, they kept thanking him, saying they had more clothes at home and would be back soon, begging him to wait.

"Only clothes? We also trade for tools. If you have any spares, bring them too. Tools are worth more than clothes, so I'll give more grain." Old Man Zhao was quite vexed; he'd barely seen any tools earlier. There were a couple of chipped kitchen knives, but that didn't help.

"Ah, it's not that we don't want to—we just don't have any to spare!" one old woman said quickly. "We're city folk—we don't farm. We have a cleaver and an axe at home, but hoes and sickles are only at our hometown in the countryside. But now with the floods, the roads are blocked, and we can't get back. And time's too short. Even if we took a raft and traveled through the night, it'd take a day or two. Please don't blame us, brother. We can still find some old clothes and quilts, but farming tools—we simply can't manage."

Even if they tried to fish for drowned poultry from the river, they might not find any. Besides, the court strictly controls all iron items. If they tried to salvage poultry from the river, the officials might not care, but sickles or hoes? They'd definitely be stopped. That's just how it is.

"Alright." Old Man Zhao waved his hand. He hadn't expected much anyway. "Then hurry back and tell those who are interested to come quickly. We're only here for one day; we won't be trading tomorrow."

"Alright, alright." The old women nodded eagerly, said their goodbyes to Liu Erlang, and left carrying their grain-laden baskets.

Soon, there came a knock on the door—three quick raps followed by one slow.

All morning, the courtyard was bustling. Some came as couples, others as elderly pairs; only a few women came with small children. They arrived carrying clothes and left carrying grain. Even though they were overjoyed, they all put on sorrowful expressions to avoid drawing attention.

This area was remote, so there was no need for Old Man Zhao to remind them. After trading, they went their separate ways, not clustering together, so as not to be conspicuous.

At noon, they rested for half an hour, ate two steamed buns, and then continued in the afternoon.

The grain on the cart dwindled, while the pile of clothes in the courtyard grew. Zhao Ertian and Zhao Xiaobao were in charge of inspection. Zhao Xiaobao, with her sharp nose, would toss aside anything that didn't smell right.

There was one quilt that particularly displeased her. The cover was clean, and the cotton was thick enough. Zhao Ertian couldn't detect any musty or medicinal smell, but she still said no. When asked why, she couldn't explain—just shook her head.

It belonged to a young couple. When Zhao Ertian tossed the quilt out, the woman was about to argue, but meeting Zhao Xiaobao's gaze, she immediately fell silent.

The little girl's clear eyes seemed to see through everything. The woman instinctively looked down, her lips twitching, but ultimately she said nothing.

She had found that quilt. A child had died next door, and the family had thrown away two big sacks of clothes and bedding. The clothes were new and good fabric—she wanted to keep them for her own children. The quilt was old, washed white, but without patches. Her family didn't lack winter quilts, so she thought she'd trade it.

Hua Erniang had specifically warned not to bring clothes or bedding from the dead or the sick. This quilt had been freshly washed, probably dried the day before the child died. Since they were neighbors, she had seen it clearly.

Just a few days—she thought it wouldn't matter.

But this little girl was so sharp she could smell something wrong even without a medicinal odor. It was downright scary.

"Two adult outfits, two children's outfits—almost all patched up. Quite old." Zhao Sandi counted the old clothes from her household and then tossed them aside after checking. Old Man Zhao didn't even look; he just scooped a few bamboo tubes of grain into the open bag in front of him. Barely two dou.

"Next."

The woman didn't move, nor did her husband. They felt they'd been cheated. Other families with four winter outfits got nearly three dou—why did they get so little?

"I—"

"Done? Then move aside—others are waiting in line!" Hua Erniang stepped forward and yanked the couple away. Old Man Zhao didn't even glance at them. He didn't want to hear complaints. If they thought it unfair, they could take their clothes back and return the grain. No one was forcing them.

Bringing a dead child's quilt to fool Old Man Zhao? Did they think he was a saint handing out charity? If it weren't for Hua Erniang and her husband helping out so much, he wouldn't have given them a single pound of grain. Too sneaky.

"Give a bit more, please. I have three winter quilts here, all quite thick."

"Where are they thick? On a cold day, you'd need three of those to feel warm. Don't haggle—you're not being cheated. That's the price."

"Just half a bamboo tube more? I have many children at home. Have some mercy, brother."

"Go on, get out! Who doesn't have a lot of kids? Who isn't pitiful? No more talk—that's what it is!" Old Man Zhao grumbled while quickly pouring two more bamboo tubes into her bag. Without waiting for her to thank him profusely, he waved her away impatiently. "No time to listen. Finish up and go—we want to pack it in before dark."

"Yes, yes, yes. Wouldn't dare disturb your work. I'll clear out now." The stooped old woman clutched her grain bag, motioned to her granddaughter standing by. The little girl pursed her lips, bowed to Old Man Zhao, then sat on the ground to let her grandmother put the grain into her basket. Supporting each other, the old and young left the courtyard.

The setting sun was blood-red, painting heaven and earth.

The busy courtyard gradually quieted. During a break, Zhao Sandi took Zhao Xiaobao out and came back with some steamed buns and a few sacks of grain.

Hua Erniang's heart, which had been in her throat, eased when she saw the grain on Zhao Sandi's shoulder. Seeing the cart's grain sacks being opened one by one until they were empty, with no resupply, she had been frantic, afraid the promised three hundred jin of grain would disappear into thin air. She would have been sick.

When the last family left, smiling and carrying their baskets, only Hua Erniang's family remained in the large courtyard.

Old Man Zhao took a breath and said to them, "You've had a long day and must be tired. Find a place to sit and rest, and have a steamed bun to tide you over."

Zhao Xiaobao immediately stepped forward to hand out the steamed buns. She had been busy all day too and felt quite involved in the proceedings.

Hua Erniang casually pulled up a chair and sat down, taking the bun Xiaobao offered with a warm word of thanks.

"You're welcome," Zhao Xiaobao said with a smile, waving her hand.

She handed out the steamed buns she had brought from the Immortal Land, giving exactly one to each person, no more. The prices in the prefectural city were high, and even people with thin savings could hardly afford coarse flour buns. Her third brother, Zhao San, hadn't wanted to spend the money, so he simply brought some from home.

Her mind on the grain, Hua Erniang clutched the bun without appetite and turned to Old Man Zhao. "Uncle, I really couldn't manage the farming tools. I asked at the blacksmith's shop, but they had no spare hoes or sickles. I... I was afraid if I said too much, I'd make a mistake, so I didn't mention the grain."

Yesterday she had promised she could handle things, but when she got home, she started to feel unsettled. Clothing and bedding were no trouble, but farming tools—no amount of extra trips would let her sort that out. She wasn't up to it.

All day she had been on edge, terrified that the old man would lose his temper, but he didn't. When he saw her, he was quite welcoming, and he didn't shortchange anyone on the grain exchanges—he even gave a little extra sometimes. She knew he was a kind-hearted person.

And precisely because she knew that, she didn't dare hide anything and pretend all was well. She had to bring it up herself and admit her mistake.

She gripped the bun tightly, her head bowed. "Uncle, I'm really sorry. This is my fault. If I had a little more time, I could have tried to find something in the countryside, but one day was just too tight. I…"

"This isn't your fault—I didn't think it through," Old Man Zhao said, finishing his bun in a few bites. He hadn't had time to eat all day, and now he took a moment to ease the gnawing hunger in his belly. "If you want to trade for farming tools in the prefectural city, the only place is a blacksmith's shop. An ordinary family might use the same kitchen knife for two generations. You folks don't make a living with a hoe, so it makes sense there wouldn't be any spares." If there were, he'd be worried—they must have been fished out of the river.

He had been too optimistic. Nothing was that easy. Blacksmiths required a deposit before forging anything; how could they have spare tools on hand? Even if they did, he wouldn't trade so much grain for them—he couldn't afford new ones.

"Since there's not much grain left, if you have enough silver on you, I'll sell it all to you." He stood up, and Hua Erniang and her husband immediately rose as well. "The morning shipment is down to a little less than half a sack, maybe thirty or forty jin. These four sacks haven't been opened—one hundred jin each, so total four hundred and forty jin. We'll skip the scale and take that as the count."

"No need to weigh, Uncle—I trust you," Hua Erniang nodded hastily, calculating the amount in her head. When she reached the figure, her heart pounded wildly.

It was practically giving it away.

Eight coppers for a dou—in the old days, that would only buy rough rice, but here it was stored grain. Once the husk was removed, it would become rice. If they carried these several hundred jin outside, they could sell for several taels of silver, but Old Man Zhao was selling to them for less than one tael!

"Uncle, are you really selling all this to us?" Hua Erniang swallowed, half incredulous, hardly daring to believe it.

"Hurry up—pay and take the goods. Take the grain and leave the keys," Old Man Zhao said impatiently. He had already taken a loss several times today; with a full granary of grain backing him, he didn't really care much for this stored grain, and his palate had long been spoiled by the harvest from the Immortal Land.

Hua Erniang immediately shot her husband a look. Liu Erlang called over his brothers and sisters-in-law, who had been helping with the clothes, to carry the grain. Hua Erniang pulled out her money pouch and started counting copper coins.

On closer look, her hands were shaking—she couldn't hide her joy.

When she handed over the coins and the keys, Old Man Zhao couldn't be bothered to count them one by one. He stuffed them all into his shirt and waved his hand. "Alright, settled. While it's still light, you'd better head home. I won't see you off."

"Uncle, why don't we help you tidy up the clothes on the ground first?" Hua Erniang felt a bit awkward, knowing she had gotten a great bargain and wanted to help with something. "This pile is a mess; it won't be easy for you to bundle up."

"No need," Old Man Zhao waved again, his face showing some impatience. "Selling you the grain cheap is making my heart ache. While I haven't changed my mind, you'd better go."

Liu Dalang immediately reached out and pulled his younger brother. Liu Erlang, carrying the grain on his back, called out with a red face, "Er Niang, let's go then. Don't disturb Uncle and the others."

Hua Erniang had no choice but to shoulder her basket, repeatedly thanking them, and the family hurried away.

When the sky had completely darkened and all around was pitch black, Zhao Xiaobao moved the mountain of winter clothes and bedding from the ground into the Immortal Land.

Then, Zhao Ertian took a straw mat, spread it behind the gate, and lay down to sleep right there.

...

Old Man Zhao went to the storeroom and found the village's farming tools. He carried them to the fields and dumped them all into the paddy that Zhao Sandi had already flooded with water.

"Will this work?" Zhao Sandi looked worried. "After soaking for a few days, won't they still recognize them?"

"No way." Old Man Zhao took out a hammer and a chisel, rolled up his trouser legs, and sat on the edge of the field. He picked up a hoe, pried off the handle and threw it away, leaving only the hoe blade. "Every family is used to their own wooden handle—they'd know it by feel even without looking. But the blades are all the same. Knock off the old caked mud, soak them for two days, and later we'll say we found them in the river. The handles got in the way on the raft so we tossed them. Let them choose new wood to fit on."

"Same for the sickles and axes—throw away the cloth wrapped around the handles, sharpen them, bend them a bit. I don't believe they'll be able to tell."

Even if they did recognize them, it wouldn't matter. Deny it to the death—they wouldn't be able to say anything.