Chapter Seventy-Eight: Visitors from Suzhou (Two Chapters Combined)

End of June.

Zhang Yue had already been enrolled in the county academy for over three months. Although the hottest days had passed, the heat in Pucheng, located in Fujian, was still oppressive. Only after drinking a bowl of sour soup did he feel somewhat relieved from the summer’s intensity. Zhang Yue savored the lingering taste; the sourness stimulated his saliva, which in turn brought a subtle sweetness—a truly superior summer refreshment.

The head of the study and Zhang Yue sat together on a cool bamboo couch beneath the shade of a tree, enjoying the sour soup in comfort and contentment. A mountain breeze drifted by, and Zhang Yue raised another bowl to his lips, the flavor leaving nothing to be desired. Seeing his bowl empty, a dorm mate beside the head of the study picked it up and went to refill it from the bucket.

“Brother, don’t trouble yourself—I’ll do it,” Zhang Yue said quickly.

“It’s nothing at all,” the other replied with a smile.

“Let others run such errands, Brother Zhang,” the head of the study said, lounging with his feet up and grinning. “You truly are something. I never imagined that after taking over the county academy’s printing shop, I’d be making this kind of money.”

“Surely the income from printing books is enough for you to recoup your initial investment?” Zhang Yue asked.

“It’s not so simple,” the head of the study laughed.

Zhang Yue took up the freshly filled bowl of sour soup, thinking he was indeed a man with a simple appetite. He said, “This money is nothing, really. If the head of the study is willing to invest further, you could hire more craftsmen. Honestly, our pace is much too slow. With more hands, we could earn even more before counterfeit editions from other printing houses appear.”

The head of the study sighed; the county academy’s small printing shop truly lacked an edge. “How can we compete with the larger shops? It took us two months from carving the blocks to printing, while the big shops can produce a counterfeit in under half a month. If I could sell for half a year, I could easily sell five thousand copies.”

Zhang Yue thought to himself that the real issue was the lack of copyright laws in this era. If they truly had a monopoly, preventing other shops from copying, they could establish a brand—“Two Years to Pass the Local Exam, Three Years to Pass the Provincial Exam”—and the money would keep flowing in.

He said, “I learned a lot this time. The large shops have far more experience with paper and ink; even the printing is finer. Their paper from Shunchang is not only cheaper, but better made, and they even hired experts to add annotations and cite sources. In the end, it looks as if we copied them, and what’s worse, their prices are lower than ours.”

This was the feeling of being defeated by counterfeits—bad money driving out the good.

Zhang Yue hadn’t expected the book market in Jianyang to be so flourishing at this time. In the Chonghua district of Jianyang, every house dealt in books, merchants from across the realm thronged the streets, and every month there were two large and two small market days. The people here could truly be said to “till the fields with knives and hoes, and make their fortune with printing blocks.” Despite the many printing shops, there was never a shortage of buyers; book dealers from all over the country gathered here.

By the Southern Song, there were even copyright announcements between bookshops in Jianyang, the earliest such notices, forbidding one shop from copying another’s books—but not yet at present.

Zhang Yue said, “You have two choices: take the money you’ve made and divide it among us, or reinvest it to expand the shop, hire more craftsmen, and buy better woodblocks.”

The head of the study hesitated, then said, “I think we should quit while we’re ahead. Surely you don’t think me shortsighted?”

Zhang Yue burst out laughing. “You’re a wise man, Head. Many don’t know when enough is enough. I admire your prudence.”

He truly had no intention of insisting. This was just a venture he’d helped with in passing—running a business required far more energy than a casual job on the side. And the publishing industry in the Song only thrived because of the demand for exam-prep books, thanks to the spread of schools. For all its prosperity, the Song’s literacy rate lagged behind the Ming and Qing. Thus, copying a few Ming and Qing storybooks in the Song might find a market, but not a large one.

If the head of the study wished it, Zhang Yue would help—but he wouldn’t force the issue. He preferred to go with the flow in such matters, saving his determination for his studies. One must always be clear about priorities: “Don’t take every path you see.” Even when money is to be made, he knew where to focus his efforts. As for dabbling in everything, that was only for others.

In a feudal society, merchants were at the mercy of the powerful; without protection, anyone could come for a share of your wealth, and the more you earned, the more dangerous it became. With protection, however, it was hard even to lose money.

The head of the study called for the account book, dismissed the others, and said, “Please review it, Brother.”

Zhang Yue smiled, appreciating such openness. It was worth helping him to prosper. He didn’t refuse to check the accounts, but went through them carefully. “By my reckoning, we made just over five hundred strings of cash this time.”

The head of the study was impressed. “Brother, have you done business before? I needed a professional accountant to tally these numbers, yet you didn’t even use a counting rod.”

Zhang Yue thought to himself, as a science student, it was one thing not to know literary classics before crossing over, but not being able to keep simple accounts would be inexcusable. He replied, “I know a little of everything.”

The head of the study said, “I covered the labor, paper, ink, and carving costs. As agreed, we split the remainder seventy-thirty—one hundred fifty-two strings and six hundred thirty-two coins for you. Please review it; I’ll bring you the money in a few days.”

That matched his own calculations. Zhang Yue had only come up with the idea, barely visiting the transcription office, so a thirty percent share was fair.

He signed the account book and said, “If the academic director hadn’t provided the exam questions, we’d have made nothing. We mustn’t forget those who helped us. We should prepare a thank-you gift.”

The head of the study replied, “You’re truly a decent man, Brother. I’ll cover the gift, and we’ll present it in both our names.”

“It’s a pleasure working with you,” Zhang Yue nodded, not refusing.

The head of the study laughed heartily. “Brother, I count you as a friend. If you have another way to make money, don’t forget me.”

“I won’t.”

Zhang Yue calculated that with one hundred fifty-two strings plus the previous thirty-odd, he now had a fortune of one hundred ninety strings—enough to buy back his house or even repay Peng Jingyi’s two hundred strings debt. And, since a monk’s certificate cost two hundred, he now had enough to become a monk if he wished.

At dinner, Zhang Yue, Guo Lin, Wu Rang, and Qian Qiming still ate the second and third-tier meals in the dining hall, dreaming of becoming first- or second-rank officials.

Zhang Yue paused, thinking that despite his hundred and ninety strings of wealth, he was still eating second-tier meals—truly not forgetting his roots.

“Tomorrow, let’s go have some pastries and a bit of meat!” Zhang Yue suggested.

Guo Lin thought for a moment, then agreed, “I’ve saved half a string these past two months at the transcription office. How about sesame buns on me tomorrow?”

“Half a string!” Qian Qiming exclaimed in envy, while Wu Rang pursed his lips.

Qian Qiming said, “After paying my board this month, I’m broke. Otherwise, I’d treat you all, since I so often rely on your help.”

The others laughed, “Qiming, you’re the youngest; it’s only natural we look after you.”

Zhang Yue said, “Very well, sesame buns anytime. Tomorrow, I’ll treat you all to lamb offal soup with bread.”

Qian Qiming was already salivating, as if he could smell the lamb. “Brother, you’re so generous!”

“So bold!”

“So straightforward!”

Wu Rang laughed, “Brother, you’re always good to us.”

Zhang Yue smiled at their words.

After dinner, as they washed dishes, Guo Lin whispered to Zhang Yue, “Brother, I actually saved more than seven hundred coins; I didn’t tell the others the truth.”

Zhang Yue wanted to say something, but swallowed his words and simply said, “That’s impressive, but Brother, keep your earnings to yourself—don’t mention it to anyone.”

Indeed, when it came to getting rich quietly, Zhang Yue was even tighter-lipped than Peng Jingyi.

“I know, I only told you. You haven’t been to the transcription office lately, but even small sums add up... Don’t look down on small change.”

Zhang Yue wasn’t interested in Guo Lin’s rambling, so he asked, “When I mentioned lamb soup, how did the other two react?”

Guo Lin replied, “Qian was fine, but Wu—when I mentioned sesame buns, he didn’t seem moved. But when you mentioned lamb soup, his expression was different.”

After months of sharing a dorm, their personalities were becoming clear. Qian Qiming was open and guileless. Wu Rang was different; at first, he was warm to Zhang Yue, often inquiring after his second brother. But once Guo Lin accidentally let slip that Zhang Yue hadn’t received any letters from his brother since he left home, Wu grew more distant—still polite, just not as close.

On new and full moon days, when there were no classes, Zhang Yue would go home or stay at the school. Guo Lin told him that Wu Rang had recently been coming back drunk for the past few nights. Thinking of Wu’s repeated delays in paying board, the two of them understood.

Zhang Yue said, “Other people’s business is not ours. As long as Wu gets along with us on the surface, it’s fine. Soon he’ll be in a different dorm with the Classics students, and we’ll have nothing more to do with him.”

Guo Lin nodded, “You’re right. You don’t joke around much, but when you speak seriously, you have some sense.”

Zhang Yue rolled his eyes, “Brother, how is Third Sister?”

Guo Lin...

As they spoke, someone called from outside, “Brother, someone from home is looking for you—they want you to go back.”

Zhang Yue was surprised. “Go home? But I haven’t finished my assignments yet.”

Guo Lin said, “Go ahead, I’ll explain to the classics teacher.”

“Alright.”

Zhang Yue hurried to the front corridor of the academy and found his neighbor squatting by the gate, looking somewhat ill at ease.

“Brother Yang, what’s happened at my house?” he asked.

His neighbor smiled, “Brother, there’s a guest at your home. Your eldest brother asked me to fetch you right away.”

“A guest? At this hour? Do you know who?”

He shook his head, “No, only that your eldest brother said the visitor’s come a long way from Suzhou.”

“Suzhou?” Zhang Yue immediately thought of his second brother’s current guardians, who lived in Suzhou. His heart skipped a beat. “I see—thank you, Brother Yang.”

The neighbor nodded, glancing at the students coming and going in white robes, his face full of envy.

“You’re amazing, Brother, really making it into the county academy—I can hardly believe it. It’s so grand here; everyone is an official. I envy you.”

Zhang Yue smiled, “No need for that. Come visit sometime.”

“Of course, thank you.”

Zhang Yue went to the gatekeeper to sign out for the night. The gatekeeper said, “If you’re leaving for business, you need a slip from the academic director or the head of the study. Only for illness can you leave without one.”

He thought to himself, students rarely had an excuse to go out, so many claimed illness. He was leaving on business, and it was getting late—if he didn’t get out before the city gates closed, he’d be in trouble.

“I’ve urgent business,” Zhang Yue said. “If I go for a slip now, I might not make it in time. Could I bring it later?”

The gatekeeper stroked his beard, “Rules are rules; this puts me in a difficult spot.”

Zhang Yue realized the man was angling for a bribe, but instead simply started to change his reason to “illness.” Just then, someone nearby said, “Isn’t this Brother Zhang? Go ahead—I’ll get the slip from the head of the study later.”

“Thank you, Brother Xue. I’ll treat you to tea another day,” Zhang Yue said.

“No need for thanks.”

After Zhang Yue left, the gatekeeper asked, “Who was that?”

“Don’t you know? That’s Brother Zhang. Both the head of the study and the academic director value him highly. Best not to cross him—you think this job is easy?”

The gatekeeper nodded, “Thank you for the warning—I had no idea that was Brother Zhang. Had I known, I’d never have stopped him.”

He stood watching Zhang Yue’s figure recede.

Zhang Yue, anxious about news from Suzhou, hurried home, just making it out before the city gate closed.

The sky was still bright. Zhang Yue calmed himself and slowed his steps, thinking it would be unseemly to arrive home drenched in sweat from rushing. When he reached his door, he saw an elegantly appointed carriage outside. In the Song, horses were rare; most people used mules or donkeys. To arrive in a horse-drawn carriage meant the visitor was from a prominent family.

Zhang Yue forced himself to appear calm and strolled inside. He found his brother, sister-in-law, and nephew all present, while a man of about forty sat at ease, sipping tea.

“Brother, come greet our guest,” said his brother, Zhang Shi. “This is the old steward from your uncle’s household.”

The man, seeing Zhang Yue, paused for a moment before smiling and standing. “Is this Brother Zhang? How you’ve grown! Time truly flies. Good, good—your uncle and second brother sent me to ask after you. They’re always thinking of you.”