2 Making Money

Qin Jin returned home, washed the corn husks he had just picked, and then went to his room to retrieve his back basket. Old Man Qin, knowing he intended to start a food business, had taken the time to weave him a new one.

He first cut the pea cake in the clay basin into pieces of equal weight before placing the basin into the basket. The basket had a wide base and shallow sides; he took a coarse pottery plate from the cupboard, placed it inside, and wrapped his wooden knife, chopsticks, and the washed corn husks in a piece of linen cloth, setting them onto the plate.

Wang Xiuqin had also sewn him a new coin purse, about the size of a palm. He hung it at his waist, shouldered the basket, grabbed a small stool, and stepped out of the house.

Passing by the old courtyard, he greeted Wang Xiuqin. She wanted him to take two coarse-grain steamed buns along, just in case sales were slow and he hadn't finished by noon, so he could use them to fill his stomach. He shook his head to decline and walked quickly out of the village.

Wuligou Village was very close to the county seat, only five li away. If one walked at a brisk pace, it took little more than twenty minutes to reach the city gates. The county seat, named Dongyang County, was fairly prosperous; since it sat just before the border of the capital, many passing caravans stopped there for supplies.

Entering the city to sell goods required a one-wen entry fee. Farmers, reluctant to part with that coin, typically set up their stalls right at the city gates. Over time, the area at the gate had become a marketplace, opening before dawn and not closing until afternoon.

Despite the heat, the city gate was bustling. There were over a hundred stalls of various sizes, mostly farmers selling chickens, ducks, fresh vegetables, or items like baskets, stools, and cloth. There were also snack stalls offering tender meat buns, glistening scallion pancakes, and fragrant mutton soup. Most were inexpensive, but the rich, mouth-watering aromas were strong enough to make Qin Jin swallow hard. It was no wonder the original owner had burned through his silver so quickly; with such proximity to the county seat and so many snacks, who could resist the temptation?

The spots closest to the gate were already taken. He circled around and finally stopped at the spot furthest from the entrance. The location wasn't ideal, but it didn't matter; he was going to offer samples. He was naturally a bit socially anxious, but compared to being poor, what did a few shouts matter?

He placed his small stool on the ground, set the basket on it, and uncovered the linen cloth covering the pea cake. Using his chopsticks, he lifted a piece onto the plate. He cut the palm-sized cake into small, fingertip-sized bites, then looked at the constant stream of passersby and shouted, "Golden pea cake! Three wen a piece, free samples available, come have a free taste!"

*Golden.* *Free.*

The combined allure of these two words was immense. No sooner had he finished speaking than everyone nearby—vendors and pedestrians alike—couldn't help but look his way.

He smiled at them. "Golden pea cake, made with cane sugar and honey dates. It's sweet and delicious. You can have a small piece for free. Neighbors, would you like to try some?"

He was handsome and his tone was sincere. After this invitation, quite a few people approached. Golden pea cake? They had truly never tasted that before.

Seeing this, Qin Jin smilingly held up the plate. Noticing a woman in ordinary clothes carrying a basket in the front, he greeted her, "Ma'am, come try a piece, it’s free."

The woman shifted her basket to her left hand and asked curiously, "Young man, is this made of peas?" As she spoke, she reached out with her right hand, pinched a piece, and popped it into her mouth.

Soft. It was so soft she didn't even need to chew; with just a gentle press of her tongue, the cake melted in her mouth. Besides the softness, there was sweetness. This tiny sample didn't have a honey date, but a faint, lingering sweetness confirmed it was indeed made with sugar. She instinctively looked at the clay basin.

The basin was filled with chunks of pea cake, each layered with honey dates. The pieces varied in thickness, but none were small; she estimated each one weighed about two taels. Peas cost four wen per jin, and this single piece cost three wen. But considering the weight and the layer of honey dates... thinking of the expensive pastries in the shops, she said, "I'll buy one." With three children at home, a piece this size was enough to share.

"Coming right up!" Qin Jin was delighted by her promptness—a great start. He returned the plate to the basket, took two corn husks to wrap a piece of cake, and added a few extra bite-sized pieces for sampling. "Ma'am, you are my first customer, so I'm giving you a little extra."

"Oh! How kind!" The woman beamed, fished three wen from her purse, and placed them in his basket.

"Here you go." Qin Jin handed her the cake. She took it, carefully tucked it into her basket, and squeezed through the crowd as Qin Jin called out, "Have a safe journey!"

***

In just a short while, the small stall was surrounded. The crowd had witnessed the transaction and, without asking questions, all eyes turned to the small pieces of cake on the plate. Qin Jin quickly held the plate up again, greeting the crowd, "Everyone, please have a taste, it costs nothing!"

As he spoke, seven or eight hands reached out at once. The plate was instantly empty. Qin Jin didn't cut more immediately but smiled and said, "This golden pea cake is incredibly soft. It's suitable for adults, and even better for the elderly and children who might have trouble chewing."

"And the price is modest—only three wen for a piece this big."

He wasn't lying; he really wasn't selling it for much. Peas were four wen a jin, and a jin of peas could produce two jin of filling. Although the weight doubled, he had used cane sugar and honey dates. Cane sugar was forty wen a jin, and honey dates were also forty wen a jin. He hadn't had enough money on him, so he had only bought ten wen worth of sugar and twenty wen of dates. He had also spent five wen on gardenia seeds to give the cake its golden, yellow hue. He had made six jin of cake in total, leaving him with only three wen left from the fifty he had borrowed from Qin Bing.

Calculating the costs, the ingredients for one jin of cake came to eight wen. That didn't even count the labor or the firewood. Selling a two-tael piece for three wen meant a selling price of fifteen wen per jin. Subtracting the eight-wen cost left only seven wen. If he subtracted the cost of firewood, he was left with six wen. Working in the kitchen all day in the heat of summer for six wen a jin—this was pure blood-and-sweat money!

The people present had their own internal scales; they knew how expensive cane sugar and honey dates were. Moreover, the cake was genuinely delicious, perfect for the toothless elderly and toddlers. A man wearing a cotton gown and carrying a basket pointed at the basin and said, "I want two pieces. Wrap them up for me."

"Coming right up!" Qin Jin deftly grabbed corn husks, wrapped two pieces, and handed them over. The man took them, placed six wen in the basket, and walked away.

Some of the others left as well. Some stood still, hesitation flickering across their faces. Others asked if he could make it cheaper. When they heard Qin Jin explain that it was already a fair price and not easy to make, they drifted off too. Only the well-dressed man had bought two pieces this round.

Qin Jin wasn't discouraged. This was the city gate, and most passersby were farmers who found three wen hard to part with—after all, eggs were one and a half wen each, and three wen could buy two eggs. Thinking of this, he picked up his wooden knife, cut the two-tael pieces into thirds, cut a few more fingertip-sized samples, and called out for the next round of tasting.

This time, his pitch changed: "Large pieces, three wen; small pieces, one wen."

Pastries for one wen a piece? The price was too tempting. Even the shabbily dressed vegetable-selling woman nearby couldn't resist crowding in. The one-wen pieces weren't large, but having tried the samples, everyone knew how good they tasted. Three people pulled out copper coins to buy. Of course, some who had already sampled in the previous round wanted to taste again. Qin Jin didn't get angry; he just smiled and repeated his rule: "One free taste per person." He said it with a smile, ensuring those he refused didn't feel too embarrassed.

The subsequent sales went smoothly. Few people bought the large pieces, most preferring to spend just one wen on a small one. Selling them piece by piece, after more than an hour, the clay basin was empty.

Packing up, he headed home. On the way, he silently calculated today's profit. He had made six jin of pea cake. He had given over a jin to Wang Xiuqin, half a jin to Ye Miao, and used half a jin for samples. He had actually sold three and a half jin. At fifteen wen per jin, he had forty-nine coppers in his purse. Plus the three wen left over from before, his current total assets were fifty-two wen. Of course, the fifty wen borrowed from Qin Bing would eventually have to be repaid, so he would have to use this money to buy more ingredients to keep earning and pay off his debt.

He returned to the village quickly, but instead of going to his own home, he went to the old courtyard. Wang Xiuqin had already finished lunch and was sitting in the yard sewing shoe soles—she was making him a new pair of shoes. Seeing him return so soon, she was happy and quickly asked how it went.

Just as he was about to give a detailed account, a shy voice came from the gate: "Brother Jin, Auntie."

He looked toward the gate. Ye Miao was holding a large pottery bowl with both hands. When their eyes met, Ye Miao immediately lowered his head, explaining, "I made some stir-fried dried pumpkin with meat. Please, have a taste." He had wanted to know if Qin Jin had returned, so he had come to deliver it himself. He hadn't expected Qin Jin to already be back.

"Oh, child, why go to such trouble?" Wang Xiuqin stood up immediately. She knew how hard life was for Ye Miao and his father, Zhao Feng. Seeing Qin Jin stand up as well, she patted him and said, "Go take it, don't tire out Little Miao."

At these words, Ye Miao lowered his head even further, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Qin Jin strode over and took the bowl. It was piled high with food. The pumpkin slices had been dried and then rehydrated before stir-frying; while the color wasn't as vibrant as fresh pumpkin, the texture was firm and chewy. The preserved meat was translucent, with a perfect balance of fat and lean, garnished with bits of red chili—it looked magnificent. It smelled incredibly fragrant, too. Qin Jin hadn't felt hungry before, but smelling the bowl, he instinctively swallowed.

"Looks delicious," he said directly.

Ye Miao quickly looked up at him, a smile blooming on his small face. "Did the sales go well?"

"Very well. I only came back after selling everything."

"That's good." Ye Miao felt a weight lift off his heart—though, with cakes that tasty, it would have been strange if they hadn't sold well. "I’ll head back now." He turned to leave.

"Wait." Qin Jin called out instinctively.

"Yes?" Ye Miao stopped and turned to look at him.

"I..." Looking into Ye Miao's clear, dark eyes, Qin Jin stuttered. He felt bad about his tone toward Ye Miao in the past, and he thought the way Ye Miao had been peeking at him just now was quite charming. His mind was a mess, and he had stopped him without thinking. But what should he say?

Seeing Ye Miao tilt his head in confusion, Qin Jin cleared his throat gently and said, "I sold over three jin of pea cake today. I've already earned back the capital."

"Don't worry, from now on, we have a way to make a living."

*We?*

At the word "we," Ye Miao’s eyes widened in surprise, but a moment later, his face turned bright red. He looked at Qin Jin with an expression that was half-pleased, half-shy. "I know."

The words were as faint as a mosquito's hum. Before Qin Jin could say anything else, Ye Miao turned and ran. His heart was beating fast—very, very fast. Once inside his own house, he leaned against the wooden door, pressing his hands to his chest to try and calm the erratic rhythm.

*We.*

He had included him as one of his own. After many years of hardship, the person he liked had said "we" to him. It sounded so pleasant, as if it had been soaked in honey; it made his heart soften, feeling as if a small kitten were scratching at it.

Just then, his father Zhao Feng’s voice came from outside: "Little Miao?"

"Yes," he answered in a flurry, quickly patting his cheeks to lower their temperature. But thinking of the word "we," his face heated up again. In the end, he gave up and walked out of the room, blushing. If he was to be teased, so be it; he was truly happy. Very happy.