Chapter 12: Rather, It Adds Flowers to Fine Brocade

After paying a few coins to the gatekeeper, he finally entered the marketplace. In the Tang Dynasty, the marketplace was the heart of the city’s commerce, with nearly every shop clustered within its bounds, including the ordinary inns. Business typically began in the afternoon and closed by sunset, at which point the gatekeepers would shut the gates and a curfew would fall upon the streets, forbidding travel. After mingling with the crowd, Ye Lian sought out a shop that was just about to open, inquiring after the merchant surnamed Qin. Upon learning that this merchant was not an itinerant trader but had a small shop of his own, Ye Lian went straight to his storefront and knocked vigorously for quite some time before hearing someone muttering curses and running to open the door.

“What business have you?” The man who answered was a burly, dark-skinned fellow. He did not invite Ye Lian in, but stood in the doorway with hands on hips, eyes wary, as if annoyed at having his rest disturbed.

“I have a lucrative deal to discuss,” Ye Lian said with a respectful bow. “Are you the honorable Mr. Qin from Qinyang?”

“I am not,” the man replied, then called back over his shoulder. “Wulang! Wulang! A customer is at the door!”

“Oh? So that’s why the magpies were chattering this morning—an esteemed guest has arrived early... But Xicheng, it’s not opening time yet. Ask the customer to wait a moment,” came a voice from within.

“I cannot wait, truly cannot!” Ye Lian protested loudly. “I have an urgent need—please, sir, come out and see me!”

“You’re unreasonable. The market doesn’t open until noon. If you’re told to wait, you wait!” Xicheng bellowed. “Now move along so I can shut the door!”

“I want to buy all your remaining bamboo—every last stalk!” Ye Lian cried.

“Oh?” Upon hearing this, Xicheng stopped trying to drive him away, and shouted toward the back, “This one’s a big spender, Wulang! Better come meet him yourself!”

“Even if he is, business doesn’t start before opening. Half of our bamboo’s already sold, and the rest has been reserved by someone else. Tell him we’re out of stock.”

Ye Lian grew anxious at once—he suspected the person who had reserved the bamboo was Ye Chang! If so, and Ye Chang had secured the rest, it meant he could bypass the mountain and truly divert water to the hillside fields.

“I’m willing to pay above the market price for whatever bamboo you have left!” Ye Lian insisted.

“Above market? A stalk is worth two coins, three for the best. I’ve three hundred left, so even at a premium that’s nine hundred coins... For a mere nine hundred coins, am I to ruin my reputation?” The voice inside was angry. “Throw him out, Xicheng. If he won’t leave, call the gatekeepers!”

“Four coins a stalk!” Ye Lian shouted.

“Out!” came the curt reply.

“Five!” Ye Lian gritted his teeth.

“Hurry up and throw him out!” Xicheng began to move.

“Six!” Ye Lian’s voice was nearly hoarse.

“Xicheng, what are you waiting for? Out with him!”

Ye Lian had doubled the usual price but still failed to sway Qin Qinshou, and was pushed out into the street by the burly Xicheng. He walked away, disgruntled, and heard the man spit on the ground behind him: “Thought he was a big customer, but he’s just a fool trying to make us break our word...”

In these times, commercial honor was prized; forcing a man to break his promise was asking too much. As Ye Lian considered this, he recalled his wife’s broom at home. If he returned now, he’d be lucky to escape with only a scolding—more likely, he’d taste the rolling pin. Worse, if that brat Ye Chang succeeded, any future attempt on his property would be hopeless. Including the house and three plots of land, it was worth two or three hundred strings of cash—a fortune compared to the cost of bamboo.

Besides, a man must fight for his pride. Even if not for the estate, he couldn’t let that brat have the satisfaction!

With that, Ye Lian turned back, shouting, “Ten coins! I’ll pay ten coins per stalk!”

“You’re impossible! My master said no business with you—ten coins, fifteen, makes no difference. Take your leave!” Xicheng raised the door bar, looking ready to strike. At that moment, a tall, dark-faced man emerged, “Even at eighteen coins, I’d only consider...”

“Twenty!” Ye Lian, recognizing his last chance, bit the bullet and offered an exorbitant price.

The usual price was three coins a stalk; now he was offering twenty. In these prosperous Tang times, grain prices were steady—fifteen coins would buy a measure of rice, enough for a man for a month at ninety coins. After he called out twenty coins, Ye Lian hesitated, then added, “If I weren’t desperate, I’d never offer such a price. Any higher and I’d have to look elsewhere!”

“Truly... twenty coins?” Qin Qinshou hesitated.

“That’s right!”

“I have three hundred stalks...”

“That’s six thousand coins!” Ye Lian, steeling himself, signaled his servant, who handed over the money bag.

“You carry so much with you?” Qin Qinshou was startled. Six thousand coins—six strings—would weigh twenty-five kilograms in copper, no easy burden! Ye Lian grimaced, hefted the bag, and handed it over. “Here are three strings—please count them.”

Qin Qinshou counted the coins—three thousand. He set the bag down, hesitant. “That’s half...”

“I have more!” Ye Lian pulled out a pouch from his sleeve, opened it to reveal a silk handkerchief, and within, three bright gold ingots. He handed one over, “Pure gold, five qian each—you may weigh it.”

These were treasures from his wife’s dowry, pledged to cover the cost until he could reclaim his property. After weighing, Qin Qinshou nodded, “At Chang’an’s gold price, it makes up three strings. But to spend six thousand coins on three hundred bamboo stalks—pardon my bluntness, you’ll surely regret it.”

“Never!”

“Words won’t suffice. If you return in a few days with complaints, I can’t be responsible.”

“I’ll sign a contract!”

Though Ye Lian was not well-read, the market had scholars-for-hire who wrote up the agreement, with the gatekeeper and nearby neighbors as witnesses, each receiving a small tip. By the time all was done, the market drum began to sound, and Qin Qinshou, beaming, bowed to Ye Lian, “Truly an honored guest... Now the market is open—would you like to come count the bamboo?”

“No need, right here is fine,” Ye Lian said, unwilling to leave.

“Very well, Xicheng, put on a pot of tea for our distinguished guest.”

Ye Lian’s purpose in staying was to witness Ye Chang’s humiliation. He knew Ye Chang had come to buy bamboo, and after spending six strings, he had to see with his own eyes Ye Chang’s despair.

As the drum sounded three hundred times, the market gates swung open, and customers surged in, shops hawking their wares. Ye Chang entered, listening to the different sales cries, studying the signs, and feeling a moment of disorientation. The county market was bustling—though like a small town’s trading post in later times, it had all the essentials. Still, he thought, if a fire broke out in these crowded conditions, it would be disastrous, especially with the narrow streets outside, where flames could spread easily.

He wandered with Ye Shu and Liu Kun, his brother and brother-in-law—the only people he truly trusted. Today’s business required their presence.

“This way, over here.” Liu Kun smiled, leading the way. “The Qinyang man’s shop is just ahead.”

Soon they arrived, seeing a banner with the character for “bamboo” hanging out front. In good spirits, Ye Chang couldn’t help quoting a later poet: “Better to live without meat than without bamboo; meat makes one thin, but without bamboo, one becomes vulgar...”

Inside, Ye Lian snorted, “So the brat can recite doggerel now!”

Qin Qinshou bowed, “The young gentleman outside seems quite the character. I’ll go greet him—please make yourself comfortable.”

He stepped out and, recognizing Liu Kun, paused. “Oh, it’s you?”

“Yes, just as well you remember. The customer I mentioned before is my brother-in-law,” Liu Kun replied.

Inside, Ye Lian sneered. So it was Liu Kun who had made the arrangements—an unremarkable offshoot of the Liu family, a mere kiln worker, daring to act on Ye Chang’s behalf. Ye Lian wondered whether to have his formidable wife visit her family and give Liu Kun a hard time.

“Young master, that was a fine poem. Might I ask, with your permission, to display it in my shop?” Qin Qinshou asked.

Though it was midday, the shop was dim without glass windows. Ye Chang and his companions stood in the light, Ye Lian in shadow, and so they didn’t notice him inside. Hearing the shopkeeper’s request, Ye Chang smiled, “I heard it from another. I’m just a country fellow, not a poet. If you wish to use it, you’re welcome.”

“Many thanks. May I ask who wrote the poem?”

In the Tang, literary culture flourished, especially since the Sui had instituted civil exams and poetry became all the rage. From Zhang Yanghao and the Four Talents of Early Tang on, stars abounded. Though a merchant, Qin Qinshou’s family had scholarly roots and a taste for elegance. He inquired after the poem’s author, but Ye Chang was at a loss—should he say it was written centuries later by a bearded, pot-bellied man named Su Shi?

“Ahem... Master Qin, if you eat a delicious egg, would you insist on knowing which hen laid it?” Ye Chang replied.

Qin Qinshou was momentarily stunned, then realized: the youth must have written it himself and was simply being modest.

Though simple, the verse was profound; Qin Qinshou bowed deeply, “Please, please, come inside and talk.”

After repeated invitations, Ye Chang finally entered the shop. Within, bamboo was only one of many goods; all manner of bamboo wares were piled high. Adjusting to the dimness, Ye Chang saw Ye Lian’s face twisted in a cold sneer.

“Brat, you see me and don’t pay your respects?” Ye Lian barked.

“So it’s you, eldest uncle,” Ye Chang smiled and bowed. “Pardon my rudeness.”

“You, recite poetry? That poem of yours is nonsense—‘without bamboo, one becomes vulgar...’ I say, without bamboo, one should weep!” Ye Lian launched into a tirade, but by the last line he was grinning.

He wanted to see Ye Chang cry. Remembering the time Ye Chang’s sharp tongue left him speechless, he felt a sense of satisfaction.

Yet, as his laughter faded, he sensed something was off. The shopkeeper, Qin Qinshou, was looking at him with puzzlement, while Ye Shu and Liu Kun’s gazes held... a trace of pity?

Ye Lian’s mind spun, his eyes fixed on Ye Chang, who, far from being panicked, wore an inscrutable expression. This irked Ye Lian—his satisfaction unfulfilled, he determined to reveal all.

“Brat, I’ve bought up all the bamboo here. You may leave! Let’s see how you gather enough in the next few days!” Ye Lian declared, then laughed again.

Ye Chang waited for the laughter to subside, then shook his head, “So you’ve bought all the bamboo here, uncle?”

“Of course!” Ye Lian replied darkly. “If you beg me on your knees, remembering you’re my late cousin’s son, I might spare you a stalk or two!”

“Paid a high price, did you?” Ye Chang pressed.

“Hmph! I’ll pay what I please—what’s it to you?” Ye Lian retorted.

Ye Chang shook his head again, clicking his tongue.

This reaction startled Ye Lian; he’d expected tears, not indifference. As he wondered why, Ye Chang turned to Qin Qinshou with a bow, “Congratulations.”

Qin Qinshou returned the bow, a strange look in his eyes, “Congratulations to you as well.”

“My brother-in-law explained everything last time, didn’t he?” Ye Chang asked.

“Yes, it was all made clear,” Qin Qinshou replied.

“In that case, as agreed, please settle the account,” Ye Chang said.

Qin Qinshou gestured to Xicheng, who brought out the money bag. Ye Lian’s eyes widened—he remembered Qin Qinshou had stashed his coins and gold bar in that very bag!

“What’s the meaning of this?” Confused and uneasy, he watched as Qin Qinshou handed the bag, containing three strings and the gold, to Ye Chang with a bow, “Please verify the amount, young master.”

“No need—I trust you, Master Qin.” Ye Chang smiled, handing the bag to Liu Kun. “We have other matters to attend to. Farewell.”