Chapter 22 Selling Spring Couplets

Chapter 22: Selling Spring Festival Couplets

With only a few days left until the twenty-eighth, since Song Tingzhou had bought the red paper, Meng Wan started working hard. The cutting of the paper, which he had promised to do, ended up being done by Chang Jinhua instead.

Song Tingzhou was quick at writing the "fu" characters and couplets; three hundred sheets were no big deal for him, given how much he wrote during his usual lessons and reading.

Meng Wan was much smoother with a brush for drawing than for writing. In the first few days, he sketched out about one hundred fifty to sixty sheets of the simplest cloud patterns, some on "fu" characters and some on couplets. For the "fu" characters, he drew around the character itself, and for the couplets, he added a design at the top and bottom. The leftover paper from cutting the "fu" characters was just right for the horizontal banners of the couplets.

Then Meng Wan started brainstorming other designs.

Time was tight, and the coming year was the Year of the Snake. After several discarded drafts, he finally settled on a cute cartoon snake—big eyes, a round head, a short tail, and an adorable tongue sticking out. The snake’s tail curled around a vertical banner, with words written by Song Tingzhou: "Golden Snake Brings Good Fortune."

It received unanimous praise from Chang Jinhua and Song Tingzhou.

"Wan Geer really has a knack for this! I’ve never seen such a cute snake. In past years, the New Year paintings with snakes were all full-sized, so big that hanging them up during the holiday made me uneasy. This one is festive! If I saw it, I’d grit my teeth and buy one."

Song Tingzhou examined the painting and said, "It’s really good. It’ll sell."

Meng Wan said smugly, "We can change the words on it too—like 'Snake Brings Good Luck,' 'Snake Year Wishes,' 'Snake Holds Peace.' Think eighteen wen each, would that work?"

Chang Jinhua tsked. "How much? Eighteen wen for one sheet? Will anyone buy it?" She had just said she’d buy one, but now that she heard the price, she wasn’t so sure.

Song Tingzhou calmly said, "That price is reasonable. It’ll sell."

Meng Wan’s eyes lit up. "Then if I draw something more complicated, can I sell it for more?"

Song Tingzhou reminded him, "The market fair is in two days."

The more complex the drawing, the more time it took. Three days wouldn’t be enough to finish.

Meng Wan didn’t get discouraged. "Then I’ll finish the snake drawings first. On the last day, I’ll see how much paper is left and draw whatever I can."

For the next few days, Chang Jinhua didn’t let him cook or even feed the chickens. In two days, Meng Wan holed up in his room and drew a hundred snakes. To make it an even number, he stayed up late—not too late, but he added lamp oil twice.

On the third day, with fifty sheets left, Meng Wan thought it over. He was tired of drawing snakes, so why not try a Wealth God or a baby-bringing figure?

Still simple versions, but his sketching skills made them more realistic. The Wealth God was also a cute cartoon sketch, not the usual solemn image—he drew twenty sheets.

The two baby-bringing figures took a bit more effort; he only drew five sheets. They were as cute as real babies, holding banners that read: "A Thousand Gold Brings a Son," "A Unicorn Brings a Son," "Good Fortune Brings a Son," "Lucky Baby Brings a Son," and "Joy of Having a Son"—each with a different blessing, all inscribed by Song Tingzhou.

Chang Jinhua couldn’t stop admiring the figures in the painting. When Meng Wan offered to give her one, she scolded him for it, saying that since he wasn’t married yet, hanging it at home would make relatives laugh at him after the New Year.

On the twenty-eighth, the whole family stayed up all night, making five blocks of tofu. Song Tingzhou stoked the fire, with both stoves running nonstop, keeping the house warm and cozy as bundles of firewood were hauled into the kitchen.

It was still dark when the village head’s son shouted from outside the Song family gate, "Aunt Song, you ready? Time to go."

Chang Jinhua called back from the kitchen, "Coming! Dazhu, come help me with the tofu." The village head was also from the Song clan, so they were close as clan members.

Song Dazhu climbed down from the ox cart and went in to help with the tofu. Chang Jinhua’s house was near the village entrance, and as Song Dazhu drove the cart out, two women were already sitting on the cart—one older, about Chang Jinhua’s age, and another younger, in her twenties. Both held children around five or six years old, who had begged to come but couldn’t walk far, so they paid two wen to ride.

The kids had woken up early and were still drowsy, dozing in their mothers’ arms as the two women chatted.

"Widow Song's really changed. She used to always look grumpy, but now that she's running a business, she's all smiles," the younger one began. She was holding her little boy in her arms.

The older woman sniffed dismissively. "Hah, some business that is! A widow should keep to herself, but she’s out there selling tofu every day."

Her words were dripping with jealousy, even the younger woman couldn't stand it. She liked to gossip, but she wouldn't talk behind someone's back like that, so she shut her mouth.

When Chang Jinhua finished loading up and climbed onto the cart, the younger woman greeted her with a smile.

Chang Jinhua sat on the edge, steadying the five blocks of tofu. "Deng'er's wife, you're taking the little one to the fair too? Where's Deng'er?"

The young woman said sheepishly, "He's walking behind. He made me and the kid take the cart."

Chang Jinhua’s gaze fell on the sleeping little boy, bundled in a thick cotton coat and wrapped in a blanket by his mother, his cheeks flushed from sleep.

"Deng'er's a good man. He knows how to take care of his wife and kid."

Some people would sell their kid for two bags of grain, while others truly cared for their children, regardless of gender.

The older woman tucked her hands into her sleeves and curled her lip. A boy like that isn't worth coddling; raising him a few more years is just a waste.

Song Dazhu climbed onto the cart shaft and saw Meng Wan and Song Tingzhou still cleaning up in the kitchen. He asked Chang Jinhua, "Aunt, aren't Tingzhou and Wan Geer coming?"

"They'll lock up and walk over later." The distance from Sanquan Village to the town wasn't too far; only those with kids or goods to sell took the cart.

As the cart moved forward, Sixth Aunt Song was waiting at her door with a basket of eggs.

"Sixth Aunt, come sit inside."

"Ah, I'll manage myself. You drive, Dazhu." Sixth Aunt Song sat next to Chang Jinhua, cradling the eggs in her arms.

Chang Jinhua asked her, "Didn't you say you had two baskets of eggs saved up? Why only one?"

Sixth Aunt Song slapped her thigh. "Oh, your nephew said since it's New Year's and there's no fresh veggies in winter, we should save the other basket for the family."

Chang Jinhua understood perfectly. Dali must be spoiling Man Geer, who just married into the family, wanting his wife to eat good food. Looks like her son wasn't the only one like that.

They had agreed yesterday that Sixth Aunt Song would help Chang Jinhua sell tofu today, while Sixth Uncle Song would follow the ox cart on foot, letting the young ones go off on their own.

When they reached the town, everyone got off the cart. The town had one main street running from east to west, and people were already setting up stalls at the entrance.

Taking the ox cart was faster; it was still early, and there were spots inside. Song Dazhu drove Chang Jinhua straight in, found a good spot, and stopped. Chang Jinhua set up two wooden stools she had brought from home, placed them apart, and stacked the five blocks of tofu on top.

Everyone paid their fare and got off. Kids rode for free, but even so, the older woman shortchanged them by one wen. Since she was a fellow villager, Song Dazhu couldn't bring himself to ask for it and had to let it go, silently vowing not to let her ride back if there were more passengers.

He drove the cart away and called to Chang Jinhua, "Aunt, I'll be waiting at the east entrance to pick people up. If you want a ride back to the village, come find me there."

Chang Jinhua replied, "Alright, got it."

Sixth Aunt Song set her eggs at her feet and stood with Chang Jinhua. "Taking the cart really is faster. If we had walked, we wouldn't have gotten a good spot."

She was right. By the time Meng Wan and Song Tingzhou arrived, the street was packed to the brim.

Meng Wan was stunned. "All the roadside spots are taken. Where are we going to sell the New Year paintings?"

Song Tingzhou shielded him from the crowd and said, "There's a small alley next to the bookstore where people sell 'fu' characters and couplets. Stay close to me. With the New Year coming, there might be kidnappers in town."

Just then, a woman with a child behind Meng Wan was scaring the kid. "If you run off again, the kidnappers on the street will snatch you up when they see no adult around!"

Meng Wan glanced back at the stubborn little boy, who looked like he wasn't listening at all and just wanted to buy a sugar-coated hawthorn stick or watch a street performance. He silently grabbed Song Tingzhou's clothes. He had been sold before, so he knew to take advice.

Song Tingzhou looked sideways at him, inwardly regretting that Meng Wan's half-up hair was still pinned with that wooden stick, and lamenting that his loose hair hadn't been fully tied up yet. Otherwise, he could openly hold his hand instead of just having his clothes tugged.

Scholars might have this flaw—what seemed trivial to Meng Wan was a life regret to Song Tingzhou. Later, even when he rose to the highest official rank, he still loved to stroll around holding his husband's hand, even getting reported to the emperor by a censor for it.

When Meng Wan found out, he privately cursed the censor for meddling, calling him worse than the village gossips. "A couple holding hands—he has to butt in? He might as well go do a village census and argue with all the uncles and aunties!"

Song Tingzhou, hearing his husband's words, was deeply moved. So one year, he took the opportunity to recommend that censor for a post in the countryside, where he could truly shine.

The town was small, with only one bookshop, which was arguably the quietest shop at today's market, given that there were only a few scholars in the entire town.

Meng Wan had asked Song Tingzhou about it. In Yu, printing techniques already existed, but in remote areas, bookshops still relied mainly on hand-copying. Only the large, established bookshops with branches elsewhere used printing as their primary method, with manual copying as a backup.

This town's bookshop didn't even have a name; the sign above the door simply read "Bookshop" in plain characters, straightforward and clear.

There was no shop assistant inside; the owner ran it by himself. He knew exactly how many scholars were in each nearby village, so when Song Tingzhou passed by the entrance, he called out warmly, "Well, if it isn't Mr. Song! Please, come in. And who is this?"

Song Tingzhou replied openly, "Greetings, Boss Huang. This is my fiancé. We won't come in, as we're heading to the alley next door to sell some couplets we wrote ourselves."

In such a setting, introducing him as a cousin would have felt off. Who brings a cousin around the same age to a market fair?

"Then go on ahead—there are plenty of people here today," Boss Huang said cheerfully, not bothered they weren't coming in to buy anything.

Meng Wan followed behind Song Tingzhou, thought for a second, then pulled out a picture of the God of Wealth from Song Tingzhou's basket. "These are just some things I painted, not worth much. Hope your business thrives next year, Boss Huang."

Boss Huang didn't expect that a simple greeting would lead to Scholar Song's fiancé giving him a painting. He quickly refused, "These are things you sell for money; I can't take them. That won't do."

Meng Wan smiled and said, "Please, keep it. Hanging it in your shop might even help us get the word out."

"Well... then I'll be shameless and keep it."

Boss Huang was truly amazed. Having lived in this small town for over forty years and even visited the county and prefectural cities, he'd never met a xiaoge who talked so cleverly, let alone one who looked so good.

His two sons were tall and sturdy, with the eldest already a father, yet they'd stammer when asked a question. They were way less composed than this xiaoge.

The bookshop was near the west side of town, with a little alley next to it. Usually, few people passed through, but today, with the main street packed, vendors who couldn't find a spot or families selling odds and ends had set up in the alleys.

This alley by the bookshop was mainly for selling New Year paintings, "fu" characters, and couplets. There were fewer stalls than those selling food or goods—only four in total, including one from the old student candidate from Red Temple Village.

He sold this stuff year-round and had prepared more than the others, with seven or eight rolls, each containing over a hundred sheets.

Meng Wan found a spot. "How about here?"

Song Tingzhou, naturally deferring to him, set down the basket and began taking things out one by one.

Meng Wan first spread a piece of rough cloth on the ground—leftover fabric from Chang Jinhua's sewing for him. The clean, apricot-yellow cloth stood out big time against the gray, grimy hemp cloth used by the neighboring stalls.

"Young fellow, you don't know how to run a household. Wasting good cloth as a mat!" the elderly man at the next stall began to lecture.

The other stallholders nearby said nothing; they were all just trying to earn a few extra coins at the market and had no time to meddle in others' affairs.

Meng Wan replied with a smile, "Uncle, when selling goods, it's not just about the quality—you need to display them nicely too, so people want to buy it right away." Otherwise, how could you spark their desire to shop?

He stood there and scanned the area. All four stalls sold essentially the same items: square red paper with a black "fu" character in the middle, differing only in the calligraphy style. The couplets were similar, with the appeal lying in the brushwork.

Meng Wan thought to himself, "This should be fine." He didn't know about the others, but the old student candidate across from them made a living from this, and he had prepared so much, so it must sell well.

After Song Tingzhou laid out the "fu" characters and New Year paintings, he pulled out a small wooden stool from the bottom of the basket.

Meng Wan exclaimed in surprise, "When did you pack that? Why didn't you let me carry it on the way? It's so heavy."

The stool, nailed together at home, had thick legs and a sturdy seat, weighing quite a bit. Yet Song Tingzhou had carried it all the way to town.

Song Tingzhou set the stool on the ground. "It's not heavy. You sit."

Meng Wan had no choice but to sit. "We'll take turns later."

The elderly men selling "fu" characters all brought their own cushions made from old rags at home, but only he had a small stool. He looked handsome and sat there looking obedient.

A woman passing through the alley to buy "fu" characters immediately noticed the young men's stall.

She stepped closer and was even more intrigued by the "fu" characters on their stall. "Oh, are these clouds painted on top? How lovely. And what about this one?"