On the twenty-first day of the fifth month, Shao Shuyi resumed his post at the greenware shop.
He had arranged with Cheng Ji for his next lesson to take place on the tenth day of the sixth month. In the interim, he consolidated what he had learned, mentally rehearsing the calibration and maintenance of an infantry bow while reinforcing his foundational understanding of ballistics and weaponry. He began recording the key points of each session to review later, hoping to glean new insights over time.
Moreover, he came to a stark realization: the path of martial arts was exorbitantly expensive—far more so than scholarly study.
The maintenance costs for a single infantry bow were already steep, to say nothing of the consumables expended during practice. Take arrows, for example: Cheng Ji had mentioned that the Hangzhou Arrow Bureau employed twenty artisans who manufactured eight hundred arrows a day, consuming countless shafts, heads, fletching, and lacquer. While military arrows were issued at no cost to the army, purchasing them privately would cost tens of wen apiece.
The price was staggering. The old adage rang true: "Poor scholar, rich warrior."
After lunch, Shao Shuyi strolled to the shop entrance, only to stop dead in his tracks.
"Haven't seen you in a month. Still alive?"
A nondescript ox cart was parked nearby. Zheng Fan lifted the curtain and waved, his voice dripping with ill intent.
Shao Shuyi walked over and bowed. "Greetings, Sir Zheng."
"Oh? You know how to address me now?" Zheng Fan looked him up and down, grinning playfully. "Your complexion is ruddier, your frame sturdier. Can a man change so much in a month? Did you swallow some immortality pill?"Shao Shuyi was at a loss for words, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
Zheng Fan’s smile slowly faded. "Thirteenth Brother is at the silk shop and couldn't come, so he asked me to bring you a message."
"Please speak, Sir." Shao Shuyi bowed again.
"You eat and drink at the shop, enjoying yourself freely—have you forgotten your proper business?" Zheng Fan said. "Just that. Think it over carefully."
Shao Shuyi started. "I dare not forget."
Zheng Fan chuckled. "I really underestimated you back then. You’re slippery. Don't tell me you plan to offend neither side?"
"How would I dare? How would I dare?" Shao Shuyi replied hastily.
"Mm. Good." Zheng Fan nodded. "You are the accountant. I don't need to teach you what you should be doing, right?"
"No need." Shao Shuyi paused before responding.
Zheng Fan leaned closer. "Are you afraid of dying?"
"Sir must be joking." Shao Shuyi offered a bitter smile.
Zheng Fan scoffed. "Just scaring you. Go back and do your work. Thirteenth Brother has long found Wang Sheng an eyesore, and even the Third Young Master is—well, enough. Why am I telling you this? I'm heading back. Don't mention to anyone that I came."
"I understand," Shao Shuyi said.
Zheng Fan lowered the curtain. The ox cart lumbered forward, slowly disappearing around the street corner.
Shao Shuyi took a deep breath, turned, and walked back into the shop.
Someone was dissatisfied with his "passive sabotage" and had sent a spur to his flank. From today on, his room for maneuvering would shrink, and the tightrope would become increasingly difficult to walk.
Not long after returning to the counter, he saw the martial master, Zhang Neng, approaching. Shao Shuyi stood and bowed.
Zhang Neng barely acknowledged the gesture, his gaze sweeping over the few deckhands cleaning the floor. The men immediately scattered like startled birds.
Zhang Neng withdrew his gaze and looked at Shao Shuyi. "Greenware will be arriving in a few days, and we'll need hands to move it. The Manager said to buy some light wine to have ready."
Shao Shuyi understood; it was a request to draw cash for procurement. He paused, took a breath, and asked, "How much wine? How much in notes?"
"Five jars will do. We need thirty strings of notes," Zhang Neng said.
Shao Shuyi opened the account book and began grinding ink. "Buy it where? What wine? How many sheng and dou?"
Zhang Neng grew irritated. "It's just five jars of wine. Get it at the Chen Family Wine Shop near the Old Locust Tree."
"Five jars of what wine? How many dou per jar? How many mace per dou?" Shao Shuyi pressed.
"Why must the accountant be like this?" Zhang Neng snapped.
"It is my duty," Shao Shuyi insisted. "If I am keeping accounts, I must record them clearly."
Zhang Neng’s expression turned ugly as he watched Shao Shuyi’s hand rhythmically grinding the ink. Shao Shuyi remained unmoved.
Seeing his resolve, Zhang Neng forcibly suppressed his anger. "Fire wine! Burnt wine! Arighi! Five sheng per jar."
"Where is the slip?" Shao Shuyi asked.
Zhang Neng looked ready to explode.
Shao Shuyi felt a flicker of fear, but he tamped down the surging emotions, looked up, and spoke calmly. "Thirty strings. It requires a requisition slip from the Manager."
Zhang Neng stared at him for a long moment before letting out a cold snort and storming into the backyard. A moment later, he returned and slapped a paper slip onto the counter.
Shao Shuyi picked it up gently, inspected it carefully, then signed and stamped it. He pasted it into the account book, dipped his brush in ink, and recorded the twenty-odd characters: Chen Family Wine Shop. Five jars of burnt wine. Total two dou five sheng. Thirty strings of Zhongtong notes. Disbursed by Martial Master Zhang Neng.
"Done." Shao Shuyi smiled and pushed the account book forward.
He knew perfectly well that two dou and five sheng of burnt wine would not cost thirty strings; Zhang Neng would likely pocket ten strings for himself. But according to the rules, as long as the Manager approved it, the discrepancy had nothing to do with him. He was, after all, just an accountant.
However, things had changed. Previously, accounts for food and drink were vague, leaving room for explanation if scrutinized. Now, the details—what wine, the volume, the unit price, the total, the purchaser, the vendor—were crystal clear. If anyone checked the books later, there would be a story to tell.
Zhang Neng, likely worried about exactly this, gave Shao Shuyi a dark look. He forcefully pressed his thumbprint onto the page and left without a word.
Shao Shuyi watched his retreating figure. In the art of making money, Zhang Neng was a pitiful amateur. If he had to embezzle from the petty cash for wine and food, he clearly lacked other channels.
Wang Sheng was not loyal; he hadn't even taken care of the old follower who had served him for years. Excluding Zhang Neng from the real profits showed a distinct lack of vision.
After Zhang Neng left, the shop fell idle again. There was no business all afternoon; only two small plates were sold, bringing in a single string of notes.
By evening, just as Shao Shuyi was preparing to close, a burst of laughter drifted in from outside. Shortly after, Manager Wang Sheng returned, flanked by two men.
Shao Shuyi recognized them both: the greenware guild broker Sun Chuan, and the "powerful commoner" known as Young Master Zhou.
He took the initiative to stand and bow.
The three men’s gazes touched upon him and immediately withdrew. Wang Sheng and Young Master Zhou said nothing, but Sun Chuan pointed at Shao Shuyi with a chuckle. "Is this the new accountant? It looks like he can already stand on his own."
Wang Sheng lightly stroked his beard. "Precisely. Heroes come from the young; it is remarkable."
"I like young, promising people." Sun Chuan waved his hand at a follower hurrying inside. "Bring an ingot of notes. Add some tea money for Accountant Shao."
The follower didn't waste words. He opened a bundle, extracted a stack of notes, placed them on the counter, and spoke softly. "A little tea money. Accountant, please do not think it too little."
Shao Shuyi was startled. He immediately pushed the precious notes back. "Squire is too polite. As the saying goes, one should not accept a reward without merit. I would be ashamed to accept this; I ask Squire to take it back."
The smile on Sun Chuan's face froze. He turned to look at Wang Sheng.
Wang Sheng pondered for a moment. "Little Hu, the Squire is showing good intentions. We will be busy later, just accept it for now."
Shao Shuyi shook his head. "It is hard to obey."
Wang Sheng's expression soured, but as a man of the world, he soon forced a laugh. "You, oh you. What should I say? How many people desire a greeting gift from the Squire but cannot get one, yet you push it away. Sigh."
As he spoke, he kept glancing at Sun Chuan out of the corner of his eye.
Sun Chuan gave a cold snort and stepped past him into the shop. Wang Sheng hurriedly followed.
Young Master Zhou stood near the entrance, hands clasped behind his back, watching the scene with great interest. As he moved to follow the others, he stopped and looked at Shao Shuyi. "Have I seen you somewhere?"
"Young Master Zhou has a good memory." Shao Shuyi cupped his hands. "In the fourth month, I saw Young Master Zhou at Wuling Bridge."
Young Master Zhou frowned in thought, then let out a sound of recognition. "Ah, I remember now. You are that little servant boy whose hair hadn't even grown in yet."
Shao Shuyi lowered his head slightly and said nothing.
Young Master Zhou laughed loudly. As he walked away, he called out, "You offended Squire Sun, and you also offended your Manager. It will be hard in the future. Hard indeed!"
Shao Shuyi wore a faint smile and paid the man no mind.
He was increasingly certain there was some unspeakable secret between Manager Wang Sheng and Broker Sun Chuan. He just didn't know why this Young Master Zhou had been dragged into it. Were they planning to use his family's ships and manpower?
He thought for a moment but found no clue, so he simply stopped worrying about it.
Shao Shuyi packed up his tools and prepared to go to the kitchen for dinner.
Young Master Zhou was right; he had indeed offended people. But what could he do?
Sun Chuan had tried to give him a "red envelope" of one ingot of notes the moment they met; anyone with a brain wouldn't dare accept it. After being warned by Zheng Song, he no longer had the maneuvering space to play both sides.
This was the sorrow of a small figure. You had no choice.