Shi Yin recalled a documentary she had watched on television in her past life, where the voiceover had explained:
Since ancient times, in many livestock trading places, the most commonly adopted method was bargaining inside the sleeve, the purpose being to prevent bystanders from knowing the base price of the goods.
The transaction relied entirely on the wits and skills of both buyer and seller; once a price, high or low, was settled on with a single word, there was no going back on it.
She had never expected that the markets of the late Western Jin dynasty would already be rife with such rules.
Yet this obscure method of trading was exceedingly inconvenient for her as a woman. No wonder that ever since she arrived here, only the peddlers selling chickens and ducks had been willing to proactively strike up a conversation, while the rest of the livestock dealers had merely glanced at her indifferently and completely ignored her thereafter.
Just as she was fretting, Chengzhou stepped forward, reached out to pull the sheep-selling old man out of the crowd, and said, “Grandpa, just bargain with me inside our sleeve, and I’ll relay it to my mother.”
With that, he openly extended his small hand.
Only then did the old man seriously look this family over, scanning them up and down before giving a slight nod: “Very well.”
Immediately, he grabbed Chengzhou’s hand, and both of their palms were hidden inside the wide sleeves, their fingertips rising, falling, and silently gesturing to negotiate the price.
Chengzhou nodded and returned to Shi Yin’s side, lowering his voice to whisper in her ear: “Mother, this old grandpa held up one palm, which means five taels of silver. I think he might be trying to fleece us.
I remember Father used to say that in times of chaos, grain is expensive and sheep are cheap; when the world is in turmoil, you’d rather have a *dou* of millet than ten sheep. This is still just a lamb, so it definitely isn’t worth such a high price.”
Looking into her son’s bright, shining eyes, Shi Yin formed an idea in her mind: “Chengzhou, I will entirely entrust the matter of buying this sheep to you today, alright? You handle the pricing, and as long as you think it’s appropriate, Mother will pay.”
Chengzhou’s eyes widened in surprise, and he furrowed his brows with a trace of uneasiness: “But Mother, what if I press the price down too little and we get the short end of the stick?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Shi Yin smiled faintly: “Taking a loss is how one gains experience. A person must always stumble once before gaining wisdom. Whatever price you negotiate today, Mother will accept it. If you drive it down, we get a bargain; if we take a loss, it’s a rare and valuable training for you either way, so it’s not a bad thing at all.”
Hearing these words, Chengzhou’s uneasiness dissipated, and his expression suddenly turned serious: “Alright, Mother, leave today’s matter to me.”
As the words fell, he turned around, gave a slight shake of his head to the old man from before, and walked straight toward another sheep-paddock vendor, briefly exchanging words before once more sliding his hand into his sleeve to gesture. After a moment, he gently shook his head and walked away.
Seeing Chengzhou go to inquire at other stalls one after another, the old man who had earlier quoted an inflated price finally began to take him seriously. He hurriedly strode forward to pull him back, proactively extending his sleeve to signal that they could discuss it further.
Knowing in his heart that the long-haired ewe was precisely what his mother had her sights on, Chengzhou reined in his impatience, returned, and walked around the ewe twice, carefully inspecting beneath its wool, its teeth, and its four hooves—the areas most prone to disease.
Shi Yin did not know how Chengzhou told a good sheep from a bad one, but seeing his earnest posture, he looked quite professional.
Nor did the old man look down on him, detailing the merits of the sheep: “This sole seedling is the only one my ewe gave birth to. When it was born, the wool on its body was denser than past lambs. It’s only half a year old now—look at how its wool already has an oily sheen, how thick it is! Look at its hooves, too.”
The old man lifted the ewe’s hind hooves, which were sturdy and intact with no rotting spots.
“Come and look at this sheep’s rump; it’s already storing fat at half a year old. By the time it grows up, a single tail of sheep fat will be enough to feed your family for a whole year! Besides, this is still a female lamb, the silver I’m asking for is really not much!”
The more Chengzhou looked, the more pleased he became, yet he let no emotion show on his face. In his childish voice, his words went straight to the core: “My family is buying a sheep regardless of whether it’s male or female, and we aren’t planning to breed it. We’re solely counting on that New Year’s Eve feast at the end of the year.
Judging by this sheep’s build, the grain it will consume over the next three months will certainly be considerable. Grain is far too expensive these days, and your asking price is truly outrageously high.”
His mother had not kept the situation on Heishan Island a secret from him from the start; it was already doubtful whether there could even be a second livestock animal on that island, so hoping for the ewe to bear offspring was a bit of an extravagant hope.
They had taken a fancy to this sheep purely for its fleece, and who knew if it might be skinned for its meat before it even lived out its natural life.
Crucially, his exposing the difficulty of feeding it precisely hit upon the underlying cause for why sheep were cheap in the current troubled times.
Sheep could not haul cargo or plow fields; aside from producing wool, they were only good for eating meat.
Yet they ate quite a bit. Calculated out, raising one to adulthood would cost a person half a year’s worth of rations.
In times of peace, a sheep was silver.
In times of chaos, it was just something to fill one’s belly—at most sustaining seven or eight days of rations. Who couldn’t figure out that simple math?
The old man had also sold off his family’s sheep one by one in exchange for grain precisely because of this reason.
Now, this single lamb was all that remained at home. He had originally wanted to keep it as his capital to turn his fortunes around in the future, but seeing the court’s situation deteriorate day by day, he had finally been forced to bring it out to sell.
Initially, he had figured this solitary trio of a mother and children wouldn’t understand the trade, intending to take advantage of the situation by raising the price, but he had never imagined this child could be this perceptive.
Helpless, he let out a sigh, tugged at Chengzhou’s hand, and the two resumed gesturing inside their sleeves.
The scene between the two of them was exceptionally peculiar: an aging merchant and a child of merely seven years, the old and the young with their sleeves tucked in, frowning one moment and shaking their heads the next, without a single word of dispute throughout the whole process, yet harboring a hidden game of wits.
After several rounds of back-and-forth, Chengzhou’s brows relaxed into a smooth expression, and he smiled and nodded.
He walked briskly back to Shi Yin’s side and reported in a low voice: “Mother, it’s settled. The old grandpa is willing to sell us the lamb for one tael of silver.”
Shi Yin actually had no idea how low the price of sheep had plunged in times of chaos, but buying a half-grown long-haired lamb for one tael of silver was definitely a bargain.
This son of hers—at such a tender age, to be so composed and measured—was truly living up to her expectations.
Shi Yin took out one tael of silver and handed it to Chengzhou. Since the transaction had been negotiated by him, the settlement of the silver was also left for him to handle personally.
On the return journey, Shi Yin pushed the wooden cart, while Ronger sat securely inside with the docile lamb cradled in her arms.
As for Chengzhou, he remained so excited that he stubbornly refused to climb onto the cart to rest. He walked right alongside it, chattering away animatedly about the mental journey of how he had successfully carried out his mother’s commission.
Shi Yin had originally wanted to acquire a few more items, but her available silver was limited, and secondly, they were ultimately going to cross the sea and land on an island, so excessive accompanying luggage was inconvenient. In the end, she only spent twenty *wen* to purchase two bags of bran as feed for the sheep, before returning to the inn.
After eating dinner, Shi Yin had the innkeeper prepare a crock of winter pickles.
Winter pickles were made by chopping cheap vegetables like cabbage, mustard greens, and turnip greens into small pieces, adding garlic, salt, and the innkeeper’s secret seasonings, then drying and fermenting them.
Stored properly without touching any oil or raw water, they could keep for a year or two without any problems, making them an indispensable small reserve side dish for ordinary people during the winter.
The container was a medium-sized jar, the most ordinary gray pottery and worth very little, but after some persuasive bargaining, the innkeeper agreed to waive the thirty *wen* cost for the jar itself, charging only one tael and two hundred *wen* for the winter pickles.
Shi Yin also bought buckwheat flour from the inn to make *helu* noodles.
Flour milled from buckwheat lacked elasticity, but its advantage lay in being cheap—even cheaper than millet. However, if one wanted to turn it into noodle dishes, some bean flour and millet flour had to be mixed in.
The ratio prepared by the innkeeper had its own specific trick to it; the resulting noodle dishes had a texture that was warm and not coarse, easy on the stomach and long-satiating, making them best suited for consumption by children like Ronger.
So she spent another five hundred *wen* to add an extra bag.
All of these provisions she had prepared were meant to be brought aboard the ship tomorrow, and her large and small bundles were already neatly packed.
Apart from the cart kept in the backyard, even the lamb had been brought along and placed inside the room.
The gamey, mutton-like stench lingered persistently, filling the air and making it difficult for Shi Yin to fall asleep.
Yet she could only force herself to adapt as quickly as possible.
Because starting tomorrow, days of comfort like this would no longer exist.