Chapter 24 Purchasing

Chapter 24: Shopping for Supplies

When Song Tingzhou got back, he spotted the book Meng Wan was holding.

There were a few literate guys and gals in town, but not many, and they hardly ever bought stuff like that. Still, since Shopkeeper Huang had them in stock, there had to be a market for it.

“The Second Lady of the Zhao estate, the young gentleman from the Fang family, and Mr. Zhang, who just left—they always stop by when I get new stuff in.” Shopkeeper Huang said, grinning.

His shop was handed down from his dad, so no rent to worry about, and it was the only game in town, no competition at all. When he had time, he’d head to the prefectural city to grab some light reads, not just to sell, but because he liked reading them too.

“If you like it, get one.” Song Tingzhou had never read that kind of book, though he’d heard Zhang Jizu talk about them once in a while—just love stories between men and women, nothing special.

But if Meng Wan wanted to read it, buying one wouldn’t be a big deal.

Meng Wan shook his head hard. “No, no, no. I’d rather stick with your Three Character Classic.”

Shopkeeper Huang pulled out some copper coins from behind the counter and said, surprised, “So the young gentleman really can read? Then those spring pictures were really yours?”

Meng Wan took the coins without counting them and handed them straight to Song Tingzhou to wrap up.

“I picked up a bit back in the day. I figured I’d sell a few at the fair to help out at home. Don’t make fun of me, Shopkeeper Huang.”

Shopkeeper Huang gave a knowing smile at that. “Young gentleman, aren’t you going to count them? If they’re short and you come back later, I won’t own up to it.”

Meng Wan cupped his hands in a polite bow. “Shopkeeper Huang, you’re kidding. You own a shop and know my cousin—how could you rip me off for a few coins?”

“Haha.” Shopkeeper Huang let out a hearty laugh.

“Young gentleman, you’re direct, so I’ll get straight to the point. On the fifteenth of the first month, there’s a lantern festival in town. In past years, my shop made plain lanterns to sell, but after seeing your paintings, I’m really impressed. I was wondering if you’d still be selling paintings after the New Year?”

Meng Wan’s heart skipped a beat, and he turned to look at Song Tingzhou.

“Paint if you want.” Song Tingzhou was secretly glad Meng Wan asked for his input, but he kept a straight face.

Meng Wan thought it over and asked Shopkeeper Huang, “What kind of paintings are you looking for, Shopkeeper Huang? I only know a little—anything too hard, I’m afraid…”

Shopkeeper Huang chuckled. “Don’t worry, young gentleman. That spring snake painting you sold today was really cute. Something like that would work.”

Meng Wan got it. “I see.” Cute style, huh?

Meng Wan and Shopkeeper Huang agreed he’d come on the sixth day of the new year to paint the lanterns. By then, the workers he’d hired would have the lantern frames glued together, and he’d just need to paint them. In past years, they were just plain lotus flowers, but with more variety this year, they could sell for a few more coins.

Everything would depend on Meng Wan’s paintings on the sixth day, then Shopkeeper Huang would figure out the price and his cut.

With that settled, Meng Wan was eager to check out the fair and also worried about how Chang Jinhua’s sales were going.

He and Song Tingzhou said goodbye to Shopkeeper Huang and headed down the main street to find her.

“Hold on.” Passing a steamed bun shop, Song Tingzhou stopped to buy a few.

Meng Wan suddenly realized—right, all night, Chang Jinhua and the two of them had been busy making tofu and hadn’t eaten a thing. Chang Jinhua would never spend money on food outside, so she was probably still starving.

Then a steamed bun was shoved into his hand.

Meng Wan took the bun and peeked at the basket on Song Tingzhou’s back.

“What’s up? Not enough? There’s other food on the street, but I figured you’d want to save room.” Song Tingzhou explained seriously.

Meng Wan looked exasperated. “You only got me a bun? What about yours? And Auntie’s?”

Song Tingzhou said, “Mom should have sold all the tofu by now. She’s probably heading home on Dazhu’s ox cart, almost there by now. I had a bowl of soy milk this morning, so I’m not that hungry yet.”

Meng Wan took a bite of the bun, and the rich meaty taste filled his mouth. He thought, *How could he not be hungry? He’s just trying to pinch pennies.* Song Tingzhou usually seems so stiff, but he knows how to save.

Then he thought, *He figured Aunt Chang had gone home, so he bought the bun just for me.*

Call him a dummy, but he wasn’t totally clueless.

The two walked from one end of the street to the other. The crowd had thinned out since morning, so they didn’t have to push through anymore.

After wandering for a while, they didn’t see Chang Jinhua or Aunt Song, but they ran into Mange and Dali, who were packed in the crowd watching an acrobatic troupe.

“Wan, where’d you set up your stall? Dali and I looked forever and couldn’t find you.” Mange spoke to them but kept his eyes on the acrobats.

Meng Wan teased him, “You were probably looking around the acrobats, weren’t you?”

Mange blushed. “No, I really looked elsewhere. Ask Dali if you don’t believe me.”

Dali backed up his husband. “We wandered around for a while and saw your tofu stall. My mother and Aunt sold a lot and finished early. Later, my father sold the eggs, loaded your tofu board, and left on Dazhu’s cart.”

Meng Wan asked, “So where did they go? I didn’t see them.”

Mange said, “Aunt and my mother went to buy New Year supplies—salt, sugar, fruits, all sorts of things. There was too much stuff, and they were afraid of thieves, so they bought everything and went back.”

“Oh, I see.”

Just as Song Tingzhou had said.

Meng Wan asked again, “Are you two still shopping? My cousin and I haven’t been anywhere yet.”

Mange and Dali had already been out for most of the day and were now glued to the acrobatics. “I’m a bit tired. How about I wait here for you?”

Meng Wan didn’t push. “Alright. We’ll come find you here after we finish shopping.”

Parting from Mange, Meng Wan was already a bit tired, but he’d been stuck in the village for most of the year since arriving in this era. Today’s fair was a rare treat, and though his body was weary, his spirits were high.

The most common street vendors were those selling sugar figures and candied hawthorns. The sugar figures were pure sweet, which Meng Wan didn’t care for, but the candied hawthorns were sweet and sour—worth buying a stick to try.

He only glanced at them a couple of times, and Song Tingzhou noticed. He pulled out his money pouch, called over the hawthorn seller, handed over two coins, and said to Meng Wan, “Pick whichever one you like.”

Meng Wan chose a stick he thought was big and red. Instead of eating the first bite himself, he offered it to Song Tingzhou. “You want some?”

He wasn’t heartless. Though his feelings were more tied to Chang Jinhua and he didn’t yet feel anything beyond familial affection for Song Tingzhou, the man treated him like a fiancé and cared for him. He couldn’t just ignore it—that would be too hurtful.

Song Tingzhou tilted his head down. After half a day of work and being jostled in the crowd, his hair was a bit loose, with a strand falling by his cheek, softening the lines of his face.

He was quite handsome—sharp features, well-defined, and not too pale from his constant travel between town and home for studies. Tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he had a scholarly air unique to educated men.

But his words were still a mood killer. “No, we can’t. In broad daylight like this, and we’re not married yet—it would be far too improper.”

Realizing his words might be misunderstood, he quickly added, “I don’t mean you’re improper—I mean I…”

“Forget it, I’ll eat it myself.” Meng Wan pulled the hawthorn stick back with a deadpan expression.

*No wonder he’s destined to be alone forever!*

The street was still full of food stalls. The town was small, and entertainment was limited to the acrobatic troupe Mange and his husband were watching—there wasn’t even a theater troupe. Only when a local gentry family held a celebration would they send someone to the county to hire a troupe.

After wandering a bit more, Meng Wan decided not to linger. Before leaving, he wanted to stop by the town’s cloth shop.

Song Tingzhou trailed behind him like a meek little wife, not daring to say another word to piss him off.

There were two fabric shops in the town, but plenty of private stalls sold cloth outside. Meng Wan had checked those out too; the quality on the stalls was hit or miss, just a couple of wen cheaper than the shops.

Meng Wan casually walked into a fabric shop near the acrobatics troupe, where he could still hear the crowd cheering. Having seen all sorts of shows and TV dramas in his past life, he wasn't into that kind of acrobatics, but he got that with hardly any entertainment options now, catching a play or a tune every now and then was a big deal.

When the landlord threw a birthday bash and hired a troupe, folks from all the nearby villages would wanna go watch—the more the merrier.

Just like this market now, packed and buzzing, with kids in patched-up cotton jackets, but their smiles still showed how stoked they were for New Year's.

The fabric shop was just as packed today, which made it clear the shop was way more profitable than a bookstore, with two clerks running around helping customers.

The owner and his wife were busy cutting fabric for folks. Meng Wan and Song Tingzhou stood there a bit before a clerk finally got around to them.

"Hey gents, what kind of fabric you looking for? For clothes or bedding?"

The clerk asked Song Tingzhou, but he didn't answer, just looked at Meng Wan, who'd been ignoring him.

"For clothes, something dark."

Meng Wan was still in his old indigo-blue cotton jacket, faded from washing, torn in spots, and patched up by Chang Jinhua in a couple places.

The other customers in the shop were all dressed neat, at least in fresh coarse-cloth clothes, making Meng Wan's getup look pretty shabby.

Seeing this young man was the one calling the shots, the clerk kept his smile on.

"Check over here. This is coarse cloth. We dye it even, lots of colors. Hundred fifty wen a bolt—enough for a full outfit, with some to spare."

He didn't say it, but he'd already pegged Meng Wan and gave the price upfront. Since the market stalls were running cheaper today, he wanted to avoid haggling over a few wen later on.

Having been in business so long, this clerk had a knack for handling folks.

Meng Wan felt the cloth carefully, checking the colors. The darker shades were just deep purple, brown, and dark blue. Black didn't count—unless someone died, nobody normal would buy black or white fabric for clothes, since wearing that past someone's house would get you cursed out.

"Hey, buddy, how much is the fine cotton?"

The clerk led them to another crowded spot. "These are all cottons, more colors than the coarse stuff and softer too."

The fine cotton was laid out in the middle of the shop, taking up a big space, showing that most townspeople bought fine cotton.

Meng Wan stepped closer to inspect. There were indeed more colors. The deep purple of the coarse cloth looked like something an old woman in her seventies or eighties would wear, but the crimson purple of the fine cotton seemed mixed with a smoky pink, perfect for a woman in her thirties or forties.

Meng Wan's eyes settled on this cloth. He first asked Song Tingzhou behind him, "Would this cloth work for Aunt Song's clothes?"

Song Tingzhou didn't even look at the cloth before eagerly agreeing, "Very good."

Meng Wan gave him a suspicious glance, his eyes full of distrust.

Is he just humoring me????

Song Tingzhou didn't understand his meaning and grew anxious when Meng Wan fell silent, adding, "My mother wears old clothes from past years. She hasn't had new ones made in a long time, and I don't know what colors she likes."

Meng Wan thought: Waste of a question, I'll have to decide myself.

"Shop assistant, how much is this bolt of crimson purple cloth?"

Seeing that Meng Wan seemed serious about buying cotton, the clerk's smile widened. "For fine cotton, these ten types are four hundred wen a bolt. The one you're looking at, this crimson purple, and these over here have more intricate processing, so they're four hundred fifty wen a bolt."

Meng Wan sucked in a breath. No wonder the villagers all bought coarse cloth and never fine cotton—it was really way more expensive.

He had worked hard these past days, hawking in the alleys for most of the day, earning only about three thousand eight hundred wen, minus three to four hundred wen in costs.

But thinking of how Chang Jinhua had always taken care of him, Meng Wan gritted his teeth and stretched out his hand. "Cousin, pay up."

So, after leaving the fabric shop, Song Tingzhou's basket now held a bolt of crimson purple cloth.

"Is there anything else we need?" Meng Wan couldn't help asking Song Tingzhou again.

Song Tingzhou said, "There are stalls selling hair ties. Do you want to buy a couple to play with?"

"Do you like them? If you do, buy some. I'm not interested in wearing them." Meng Wan had no interest in such things, but he remembered Zhang Jizu seemed to have one hanging at his waist.

Song Tingzhou was silent for a moment. He didn't know what Meng Wan liked; he had only asked because he saw many young men and women gathered around the hair tie stalls, but now the question was thrown back at him.

"Let's go to the pastry shop and buy some snacks. Mother has been reluctant to spend on food or clothes all these years."

Sure enough, at the mention of Chang Jinhua, Meng Wan said without hesitation, "Then let's go. Is that shop ahead the pastry shop?"

When it came to food, Meng Wan also had a craving, but his purse was light, and he was always thinking about saving money, especially since he had a schoolboy to support at home.

The pastries in the town's shop were simple: rice cakes, date cakes, thousand-layer cakes, mung bean cakes, and pea flour cakes—all easy to make.

Meng Wan liked sweets, but unfortunately, he had never studied how to make pastries. He vaguely remembered that birthday cakes were made by whipping egg whites, but he didn't know the next steps.

At that moment, he deeply regretted not attending a cooking school. If he could whip up some milk tea and modern pastries, he might have taken the entire Yu Kingdom by storm!

"Boss, give me a catty of rice cakes and a catty of thousand-layer cakes."

Meng Wan asked the price; the cheapest rice cakes were twenty wen a catty, more expensive than meat. The thousand-layer cakes looked the most tempting at forty-five wen a catty, so for the New Year, he decided to get one catty of each.

Leaving the pastry shop, Song Tingzhou's money pouch was lighter by another sixty-five wen. The two packages of pastries weighed only two catties, not much, but perhaps because of the money spent, Meng Wan felt they were quite heavy now.