Great Nation, Small Freshness (Imperial Examination) - Chapter 6

6: Stir-Fried Cabbage Noodles with Lard

Because the previous manuscript wasn’t enough for a full volume, Mr. Sun decided to wait a little longer before returning to the county seat to discuss things with the shopkeeper.

In the blink of an eye, it was already the twentieth of the tenth month. Qin Fanghe and Qin Shan came again to deliver the new manuscript. Mr. Sun read through it, extremely satisfied. After resting a moment, he read it once more.

But this time, as he read, his expression suddenly turned strange.

He scrutinized that section several times, then picked up the previous batch of manuscript to glance at it again. Finally, he raised his head to look at Qin Fanghe, hesitation and complexity in his eyes.

Qin Fanghe had a sudden bad premonition and struck first. “Is there something wrong?”

Mr. Sun was silent for a moment, seeming to want to speak but holding back. In the end, he merely shook his head and began talking about the details of printing.

Traditional printing was extremely expensive. Even using the cheapest wood, just the carving of the blocks and labor cost several taels of silver. Adding paper, ink, transportation, taxes, and so forth, each book had to be priced at no less than 140 wen to turn a profit.

For every copy sold, Qin Fanghe would earn 5 wen, settled monthly.

“…It’s hard to say how well they’ll sell. We can print a hundred copies of these few volumes first and see how the market responds…” Mr. Sun said, habitually squinting as he fiddled with his abacus.

He was used to keeping accounts, no matter how small the sum, he always had to flick the beads a few times to feel at ease.

“One times five equals five, two hundred copies would be one tael.”

One tael!

Qin Shan’s heart bloomed with joy. He whipped his head around to look at Qin Fanghe, his whole face glowing.

A whole tael of silver!

Qin Fanghe gave him a small smile, but worry still lingered in his heart:

It would be great if they all sold, but the question was—how long would it take?

If it took eight or ten years, the daylilies would have gone cold long ago.

Mr. Sun glanced at him and chuckled, “It is indeed a slow way to earn money, with no certainty. Why don’t you ask those two gentlemen for me? If they’re truly in urgent need of cash, there’s another option.”

Qin Fanghe met his gaze. “…”

For some reason, he felt the way the man emphasized the word “two” was particularly heavy.

Qin Shan asked curiously, “What option?”

Was there really more than one way to sell storybooks?

Mr. Sun explained, “Sell both storybooks outright to our bookshop in one go. After that, we have nothing more to do with each other, whether we profit or lose is up to heaven. Once the manuscript is finished, they can take five full taels of silver on the spot. They can deposit it, spend it, whatever they like, without having to worry day after day.”

As if performing a magic trick, he pulled a gleaming silver ingot from his breast pocket and placed it on the scale.

On the other tray sat a five-tael weight. The moment the ingot was set down, the balance swayed gently. That dazzling silver light blinked silently before the three of them, like a lotus leaf bobbing on a pond after rain—up, down—filled with quiet, wordless temptation.

The air instantly fell silent.

Even Qin Fanghe, who had once handled cases involving massive embezzlement, had to admit that one day he would truly be rattled by this tiny piece of silver.

Five taels—five thousand wen. What could that buy?

Far too much.

Eggs that shot up in price around New Year were only three wen for two, new grain was thirteen wen a jin, a jin of good fatty pork was fifteen wen, a jin of tender lamb was forty wen, even pure white official salt was only fifty-five wen a jin…

With five taels of silver, not only would the two-tael guarantee fee for the county examination be covered instantly, they could live comfortably for an entire year without worry.

If even Qin Fanghe felt shaken, there was no need to mention Qin Shan.

The poor boy was utterly stunned by this huge sum, his eyes lost focus.

Five taels!

A whole five taels!

Years ago, his own older brother Qin Hai’s “all meals and lodging provided plus five hundred wen monthly” had once been shocking, but it wasn’t even a fraction of this!

So… so much money!

In his whole life, this was the first time he had seen a solid piece of silver!

Qin Shan suddenly felt his mouth go dry. Blood rushed to his head, his hands and face grew hot.

So… so this was how easy it was for scholars to make money?

Seeing that Qin Fanghe remained silent for a long time, Mr. Sun spoke with a hint of temptation, “Well? Slow and steady trickle, or take it all at once?”

“Thank you for your consideration.” Qin Fanghe lowered his eyes and took a very slow, very long breath, then let it out just as slowly. “But how do we determine when the book is ‘finished’? Is it finished when the two gentlemen say it is, or only after your honored shop has reviewed and approved it? If the two sides disagree, whose opinion prevails?”

Selling by the copy would earn him five wen per book—and this was only the first half. With a little patience, waiting a few more months or years, the total income would definitely far exceed five taels.

But Qin Fanghe couldn’t wait.

Maximizing profit required investing a huge amount of time, clearly contrary to his original purpose. What if he didn’t have that time?

They had been discussing serious business, yet that complicated expression appeared on Mr. Sun’s face again. He stared at Qin Fanghe for a long time before suddenly saying in a faint, meaningful tone, “Young man, both sets of handwriting… were they taught by an elder in your family?”

Qin Fanghe: “…”

Qin Shan: “!!”

Is… is it what I think it is?

The solemn atmosphere instantly shattered into pieces, replaced by suffocating awkwardness.

Seeing the panicked look on the other boy’s face, Mr. Sun knew he had guessed correctly and was himself quite shocked.

Two manuscripts that should have been written by different people both had the habit of adding an extra dot at the end of certain characters. He had already been suspicious. Looking more closely, although some characters appeared different at first glance, the occasional strokes and flourishes were subtly similar.

Of course, if they had studied under the same master or practiced from the same copybook for a long time, similarity would be natural.

But what truly confirmed his suspicion was Qin Fanghe’s series of reactions:

No matter how carefully someone else explained things, they couldn’t cover every detail. When he had suddenly proposed the five-tael outright sale, if Qin Fanghe were truly just a messenger, he should have hesitated and said he needed to discuss it with the elders first.

But he hadn’t!

Not only had he not hesitated, he had immediately begun bargaining on the spot!

Who has full authority to make decisions about something?

Only one answer, its owner.

With that realization, Mr. Sun now looked at Qin Fanghe as if he were gazing at a monster.

You little devil—how old are you, and you’re already writing storybooks?!

And damn it all, writing them so… titillating!

Inside, Mr. Sun’s emotions surged like overturning seas and rivers, inside Qin Fanghe, waves crashed just the same.

He had imagined his cover might be blown one day, but he never thought it would happen this quickly!

After all, it was his first time doing this kind of business—he was inexperienced.

Qin Shan looked back and forth between them, sweat pouring down his forehead, unsure whether he had caused trouble.

At this point… should I grab Brother He and make a run for it?

Amid a thousand tangled feelings, Qin Fanghe lifted his head and met Mr. Sun’s equally conflicted face.

Mr. Sun’s face rapidly flushed red, his nostrils flared. “…”

Damn it, damn it—this kid had played him for a fool last time and scammed him out of so much paper, ink, and brushes!

Qin Fanghe inexplicably read the resentment in his eyes, cleared his throat, and defended himself, “I was going to use them sooner or later anyway.”

The masks were off, no more pretending. “Xiao Changsheng” is me, “Chuanyue Ke” is also me, and the one running errands to fleece you was still me.

So what are you gonna do about it?

No refunds—this lifetime, impossible.

Who knows how long passed before a loud gulp broke the dead silence.

The two staring at each other turned simultaneously to see Qin Shan on the verge of tears.

“C-can… can we still sell them?” he asked cautiously.

Who wrote them doesn’t matter, does it?

As long as we can still get the silver!

Qin Fanghe shot him an approving glance, then looked at Mr. Sun.

Come on, priorities! A businessman shouldn’t be this petty, right?

Cao Zhi could recite the Zuo Zhuan and Records of the Grand Historian at five, wrote regulated verse at ten, Wang Bo could compose poetry at six and wrote the ten-volume “Pointing Out Flaws” at nine, Luo Binwang wrote “Ode to the Goose” at seven, Gan Luo became prime minister at twelve… All of them are scholars. So what’s wrong with a nine-year-old writing storybooks?

Mr. Sun: “…”

Thinking back to how he had politely addressed “two gentlemen” earlier made him want to slap himself several times.

So embarrassing—at his age, nearly fooled by a little brat!

At this point, he no longer treated Qin Fanghe like an ordinary child. He pulled over a table, and the two sat down opposite each other to discuss business properly.

Qin Shan didn’t dare relax in the slightest.

Recalling the imposing retinues of wealthy people he had seen on the street, he tried his best to lift his chin, puff out his not-very-broad chest, and put on a stern expression with his still-baby-fat face, attempting to look more intimidating beside Qin Fanghe.

Mr. Sun spared him a glance.

Keep puffing, you’re still just a little quail chick, hmph!

After going back and forth for half the day, they finally reached a preliminary agreement: at the bookshop’s request, the stories would be a bit longer than originally planned, and accordingly, the payment would increase from five taels to seven taels.

All paper, ink, and brushes needed during writing would be provided free by the Bai Family Bookshop. On the day the manuscript was completed, one hand would deliver the manuscript, the other would take the money—no delays.

With the deal settled, both sides breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Sun went inside to fetch the contract papers, his face stiff as he handed them to Qin Fanghe to sign.

Qin Fanghe read them carefully, then picked up the brush to sign—while secretly resolving never to use these two handwriting styles again!

Looking at the signed contract, Mr. Sun finally felt a tiny bit of compensatory satisfaction. Then he heard the little rascal ask, “May I ask how many people live in Zhang County?”

Mr. Sun was taken aback and answered automatically, “The court classifies counties as upper, middle, or lower based on registered households: over ten thousand, five thousand, or two thousand. Zhang County is a lower county, so probably between two and five thousand households.”

Most households had three to nine people, taking the average of six people per household, that was around 3,500 households—roughly 21,000 people.

Assuming half male and half female, among the more than 10,000 males, about two-thirds were commoners at the bottom. Even ignoring literacy rates, purely from an economic perspective, the chance of participating in the civil examinations was minuscule.

So, the upper limit for storybook consumers within the county was roughly three thousand people, and the twenty xiucai quotas each year also came from this pool.

Three thousand people competing for twenty spots.

More than one in a hundred.

And only one could be the top scorer.

A one-in-three-thousand chance.

Seeing Qin Fanghe deep in thought, Mr. Sun said grumpily, “Don’t tell me this is another one of your ideas?”

Qin Fanghe smiled politely.

Guess?

Seeing his calm, precocious, infuriating little face, Mr. Sun felt anger rising from all sides. “Or is this another question from the ‘elder’ in your family?”

At this point, he didn’t believe a single word about “there’s an elder in my family.”

Qin Fanghe paused briefly, then said lightly, “There was indeed an elder… before.”

Before, yes—which meant now there wasn’t.

Mr. Sun understood instantly. His mind buzzed as if he had been punched in the face, intense regret and shame flooded him.

Damn it, I’m scum!

He’s only nine—how could such a young child have any malicious intent? Was he born to deceive people?

A grown man like you—why bicker with a child? Are you even a man?

Qin Shan was also angry. In a burst of heat, he yelled at Mr. Sun, “How can you be like this?!”

Poking right at someone’s sore spot!

There was no need for him to say it—Mr. Sun’s own face was already burning. He wanted to do something to make amends.

Looking around, he noticed the roasted tangerines on the stove lid were ready. He hurried over and began peeling them.

The roasted peel clung tightly to the flesh and was hard to remove, in a few places he tore it, sending little sprays of juice into the air.

The sweet-sour fragrance of tangerine grew stronger.

Finally, Mr. Sun managed to peel an ugly, pockmarked, “naked” tangerine. Awkwardly, he handed it to Qin Fanghe. “Eat.”

Qin Fanghe stared at the pitted, bare fruit in his palm. To be honest—he was a bit repulsed.

How presumptuous!

So ugly… couldn’t you just give a normal unroasted one?

A moment later.

“Mmm…”

“Wow, Brother He, it’s really sweet!”

“…Yeah.”

It was ugly, but it really was sweet.

Thanks to this little interlude, the atmosphere relaxed a little.

Qin Fanghe could feel the guilt radiating from Mr. Sun, so he took the opportunity to ask many things he had always wanted to know, including but not limited to: “Where is the county magistrate originally from?” “Do his parents live with him?” “How old is he? How many wives and children does he have?” and so on.

Mr. Sun grew deeply suspicious of his motives.

After all, some nine-year-olds only knew how to cry for their parents, while others could already deceive people—no, perform great transformations.

What exactly are you planning with all this information?!

After exhausting what little credit he had left and repeatedly stressing that he had legitimate business, Qin Fanghe finally obtained a wealth of valuable information.

The county magistrate’s surname was Zhou. He had passed the juren examination in the ninth year of the Tianyuan era and was now approaching fifty years old. He had only one principal wife with whom he was deeply in love. They had two daughters and one son, all already married. The son and grandson remained in the ancestral home studying…

As Mr. Sun spoke, Qin Fanghe silently constructed a character background chart in his mind: apparently no powerful backers, no strong connections.

The current year was Tianyuan 21, meaning Magistrate Zhou had taken a full twelve years after becoming a juren to obtain a lowly seventh-rank county magistrate post—and in such a poor place.

If he had any useful family, teacher, or marriage connections, he would never have ended up here.

As for his native place—ordinary commoners had no access to maps, so the exact location was unclear. But according to Mr. Sun, Magistrate Zhou came from somewhere southeast downstream along the Yangtze, not on the coast, with both mountains and rivers. He loved eating fish.

Everything about Magistrate Zhou’s origins felt worlds away from this place.

While inwardly shedding a tear of sympathy for the man’s bitter career, Qin Fanghe’s mental abacus clacked furiously: people whose careers were not going well often felt stronger homesickness. When the county examination came, could he perhaps make use of that angle?

Once ancient officials entered the bureaucracy, unless stripped of office and free to travel, they rarely had the chance to return home.

Memory and habit are terrifying things—they constantly remind, constantly beautify, and blur the things one once disliked. As long as Magistrate Zhou had no blood feud with his hometown, any tiny shared origin could produce unimaginable effects.

After eating that ugly roasted tangerine, Qin Shan’s newly formed wariness toward Mr. Sun vanished like smoke. He began asking curiously about the county seat.

“Do people in the city really wear gold and silver every day? Does the magistrate really eat meat and drink wine at every meal?”

What kind of immortal life was that!

Mr. Sun laughed in spite of himself. “I certainly don’t have the fortune to watch the magistrate eat and drink every day, but meat and wine… I suppose he has them…”

Unlike the other three classes, scholar-officials received monthly salaries in silver and grain from the court, plus seasonal gifts. Even without taking bribes, they at least never worried about food or clothing.

He looked at Qin Fanghe and, for once, spoke earnestly: “This is the benefit of studying and becoming an official—freedom from want, respect wherever you go. Young man, since you are studying, you should aim to obtain a degree in the future. Honor your family above, care for your wife and children below, and comfort your ancestors, so that your life is not lived in vain.”

Ordinary people didn’t think too far ahead. Grand ideas like serving the court or revitalizing the nation were too distant and glorious—unreal.

Only the silver in your hand, the meat and wine in your mouth, the peace of mind for parents and children, and the envious, respectful gazes of others when you went out—those were real.

“Yes.” Qin Fanghe answered seriously.

No matter what interests lay between them, at least in this advice Mr. Sun had not held anything back.

Twenty days later, Qin Fanghe and Qin Shan arrived again with new manuscript pages. Mr. Sun checked them on the spot and offered a few suggestions based on market preferences.

With all disguises dropped, Qin Fanghe no longer hid anything. He immediately asked for brush and ink and revised right there at the table.

The revisions took them straight through to noon. Just as Qin Fanghe and Qin Shan were feeling hungry, a rich aroma wafted over. They looked up to see Mr. Sun cooking over the stove himself.

Nothing fancy, just thinly sliced fatty pork slowly rendered until the fat turned golden and the edges curled and crisped. Then fresh cabbage was washed, cut into strips, and stir-fried with scallions until soft. Water was added and brought to a boil.

There was already a small basin of coarse-grain batter ready. Mr. Sun took chopsticks, scraped along the edge of the basin, and the batter obediently leapt into the boiling pot in thin strips, wriggling like little fish among the bubbles.

The tiny noodle-fish cooked quickly. Soon they were done. Mr. Sun rummaged around and found two bowls, filled them generously with noodles and broth, and called to the boys, “Come eat first.”

Both boys were flattered and a bit shy to step forward.

They had eaten noodle-fish before, but this pot actually had real meat in it!

Look at those golden oil slicks floating on the soup—dazzling!

Mr. Sun put on a stern face. “Are you eating or not? If you go home there won’t be…”

Won’t be any adult to cook for you.

Sigh, I really am scum!

Only then did Qin Fanghe pull Qin Shan forward, thank him politely, and the two hugged their big bowls and buried their heads in eating.

The rendered pork was heavenly, even the scalding broth became a delicacy. The fragrance of scallion oil assaulted their noses nonstop.

A few frantic mouthfuls of noodles and soup—rich, oily, piping hot—made sweat break out all over, as if every bit of fatigue had been swept away.

After wolfing down the meal, Qin Fanghe and Qin Shan conscientiously cleaned up.

Having washed the bowls and chopsticks, Mr. Sun handed over a blue cloth bundle. “Inside is one five-tael ingot and another two strings of cash…”

Ordinary people rarely used silver in daily transactions, the ingot was for saving, while copper cash was more practical.

Qin Shan grinned foolishly—seven taels of silver!

But when Qin Fanghe felt the weight was off and opened it, he found not only the money but also a stack of paper and a compiled collection of this year’s county examination questions—with Magistrate Zhou’s personal comments.

Before Qin Fanghe could speak, Mr. Sun added casually, “According to tradition, on the twenty-seventh of the twelfth month there will be a banquet in the county seat. The magistrate and all the local gentry will be there, sharing the festivities with the people. You two… could come and watch the excitement.”

Qin Fanghe instantly understood:

So curious about the magistrate? This was the best chance an ordinary person had to see him openly and above board.