The twenty-sixth day of the Fifth Month (1348). Sunny.
Wu Youcai returned from Chuzhou with a massive shipment of greenware.
Early that morning, the martial master Zhang Neng led three or four strapping shop hands and seven or eight hired guards, all armed, out of the shop. Shouting to clear the way, they headed toward the wharf to receive the boat.
Shao Shuyi watched in silence.
He had been at the shop long enough to know that Zhang Neng’s connections were complex; the man knew people. For this reception alone, Zhang had drawn two ingots in banknotes from the accounts, ostensibly to hire muscle for transport and to guard against unforeseen incidents.
The cost was exorbitant, yet the manager had approved it. Shao Shuyi had said nothing, merely processing the necessary paperwork.
As usual, Zhang Neng was displeased. Shao Shuyi had meticulously recorded the headcount and labor details; the daily rate per person could be easily calculated, and with Zhang Neng’s thumbprint affixed, the discrepancy was glaring.
Shao knew perfectly well that Zhang Neng would pocket a portion of those two ingots. The rest would be used to hire his cronies at inflated rates—tossing his "little brothers" a bone so they would remain responsive when he needed them.
What also surprised Shao Shuyi was that this group could openly carry weapons in and out of various places. No one controlled them.
He had once asked, "Does the Imperial Court not forbid Han and Southerners from possessing weapons?" The people he asked had only stared blankly. "I don't know. Who said that?"Shao Shuyi quickly understood. Laws were one thing; reality was another. Between them lay the chasm of enforcement.
The Great Yuan dynasty’s enforcement capability was abysmal. Many laws were selectively applied at the middle and lower levels; officials enforced what they pleased and met the rest with passive resistance until the mandates dissolved into nothingness.
He had heard that seven or eight years ago, the powerful Chancellor Bayan had petitioned to execute everyone with the five most common surnames—Zhang, Wang, Liu, Li, and Zhao—simply because they were so numerous. Such an absurd proposal naturally could not be enforced; it never even became policy, as the Emperor had directly vetoed it.
After the men departed, Shao Shuyi sat quietly in the shop, waiting alongside Manager Wang Sheng.
The shipment from Chuzhou comprised over ten thousand pieces of greenware, large and small, enough to pack the remaining warehouse space to the rafters. This was the last large-scale restocking of the year. Regardless of market conditions, there were fewer than thirty thousand pieces in total. Once sold, there would be no more.
Wang Sheng waited a while before welcoming a guest: his old acquaintance, Sun Chuan.
He rose with a smile. "Any news?"
"Ahmadin's ship has already reached Qingyuan; in another month or so, it will arrive at Liu Family Port." A layer of oily sweat coated Sun Chuan’s face, clearly from rushing. "But this price—"
"Let's talk in the back." Wang Sheng cast a seemingly inadvertent glance at Shao Shuyi.
Sun Chuan nodded. Having an outsider who wasn't of one heart with them sitting in the greenware shop was truly inconvenient.
One following the other, the two entered Wang Sheng’s room.
Wang Sheng scanned the area, and only after confirming they were alone did he shut the doors and windows. He sat opposite Sun Chuan, hesitated a moment, and said, "Squire Sun, let's not mince words. Things have changed at the main estate. The Old Master rarely even goes to the government office anymore; he has neither the heart nor the strength for family affairs. The Third Young Master is in charge now. He isn't too polite with us old retainers, so some matters are not so easily handled."
Sun Chuan seemed to have guessed this long ago. His expression didn't change in the slightest; he only asked lazily, "So, are you doing it or not?"
Wang Sheng hesitated.
"Look at you, cowering like a bear," Sun Chuan scoffed. "Of the thirty thousand pieces in the storehouse, how many are fine works from the Official Kiln?"
"One-third," Wang Sheng said, his eyes flickering.
"What is the value?"
"I haven't calculated it in detail." Wang Sheng shook his head. "At least four thousand ingots."
The porcelain came from different kilns and varied in shape and size, so the prices naturally fluctuated.
Cheaper items, like standard bowls from the Official Kiln, went for three to five hundred wen. The bowls used by commoners in the Great Yuan were even cheaper, mostly obtainable for a few dozen wen, but those were generally not sold abroad.
Porcelain plates were slightly more expensive, generally upward of five hundred wen; those with greater fame and quality approached one string.
As for other forms, it was hard to say; they ranged from a few strings to dozens, and there were even fine works worth hundreds of strings.
If an Official Kiln received a commission to make porcelain for the Imperial Palace or high officials and secretly held back a few pieces to sell on the market, the price would be exorbitant. Such fine works used rare raw materials from the Western Regions; the craftsmanship was complex and the cost immense. They rarely circulated and could be described as priceless—unavailable on the open market.
The foreign merchants who frequented the port knew their goods. They recognized fine works and knew they could present them to the nobles back home, so they were willing to pay high prices—a few thousand or even ten thousand strings for a single piece was quite normal.
Wang Sheng’s rough estimate of four thousand ingots for the batch was largely correct. And that was merely the local selling price—wouldn't it rise when sold to foreigners?
A ruthless seller meeting a foreign merchant who didn't understand the market, didn't know how to haggle, and lacked a local network could sell directly for three to five times the value.
For someone like Ahmadin, who had visited more than once, understood the market, and had the assistance of brokers, one naturally couldn't gouge him that deeply. But marking up the price by sixty or seventy percent, or even doubling it—such behavior was not uncommon.
Business, after all, was a game between buyer and seller. Would the foreigners not mark up the price when they transported it back? They would likely be even more ruthless.
Therefore, what Wang Sheng faced now was a transaction worth seven or eight thousand ingots. Although the Zheng family sons would make the final decision, that did not mean he couldn't exert influence and profit from the middle—he had done so more than once. It had taken only a few years to go from initial timidity to his current greed.
"A major transaction of several thousand ingots... letting just a little slip through your fingers could mean hundreds of ingots..." Sun Chuan said with a faint smile.
"Keep your voice down." Wang Sheng glanced subconsciously at the tightly closed doors and windows, his voice a hushed shout.
"What's the big deal?" Sun Chuan mocked. "Who are you afraid of? That new kid?"
Wang Sheng didn't want to admit it, but under the pressure of Sun Chuan’s gaze, he reluctantly nodded. "He was recruited by Young Sir Zheng. His background is ostensibly that of a declining maritime ship household, but I dare not trust it."
"Why?"
"He is proficient in reading and calculation, and writes a fine hand, possessing some of the spirit of the Duke Wei of Zhao (Zhao Mengfu)."
Sun Chuan hesitated. Aside from Confucian households, how many children from families of ordinary commoners, maritime ship households, artisan households, relay households, military households, or fisher households were proficient in reading and calculation? Let alone being capable of beautiful calligraphy.
Secretly learning at a private school was just a boast for others to hear. Sun Chuan didn't believe it.
"Can he be bought?" Sun Chuan asked after a moment’s thought.
Wang Sheng frowned deeply. "You saw it yourself; he won't take a single copper in tea money. Last month, when the greenware was delivered, a few pieces were smashed while entering the warehouse. He actually demanded to see the shards. Fortunately, it was Wu Youcai recording the accounts at the time, and he forced the entry through."
"So unappreciative of favors?" Sun Chuan was slightly annoyed.
Wang Sheng sighed.
Theoretically, the business with the foreign merchant Ahmadin was none of anyone else's concern. He was responsible for negotiating the price, and Shao Shuyi only recorded the accounts, just as Lu San managed the silk shop.
But matters were obviously not that simple. Shao Shuyi was the accountant; many situations could not bypass him. Over time, with so many people talking, who could guarantee no leaks would occur? In fact, even though Wang Sheng had run the shop as tight as an iron barrel, rumors had still leaked out. Otherwise, why was Shao Shuyi here?
Furthermore, this new accountant was stubborn. Even for normally damaged greenware, he wouldn't let it go until he saw the fragments. Who could stand that for long?
Wang Sheng could rely on other methods to skim money, but men like Wu Youcai and Zhang Neng counted on the "wastage" of greenware. Cutting off this source of wealth would certainly make them dissatisfied with the new accountant. As the saying goes, the worry is not scarcity, but inequality—if the Manager scooped up money by the handful while they got nothing, would they accept it? It might lead to a disturbance.
"Think of a way, then," Sun Chuan said, suddenly standing up.
Wang Sheng was startled. He looked at him blankly.
Sun Chuan paced the room, then stopped. "Do you know any salt households from the outer prefectures?"
"Salt households?" Wang Sheng did not understand.
Sun Chuan sneered. "North of the River, there are salt households who occasionally steer boats across to sell smuggled salt. That generation loves bravery and fierce fighting; many are desperadoes. Some things that are inconvenient for us can be handed over to them. After the deed is done, they return directly to the North of the River, known to neither gods nor ghosts."
Wang Sheng jumped in fright. "We seek only wealth; why go to such lengths?"
Sun Chuan’s sneer deepened. "Don't think I don't know how Zhao Nan died."
Wang Sheng dared not look him in the eye. He stammered, "Accountant Shao has only been in the shop for a month. If something happens now, wouldn't it be suspicious? Improper, improper."
Sun Chuan shook his head, seeming extremely disappointed.
"There should be another way," Wang Sheng whispered. "Let me think it over carefully..."
"You take your time thinking. I will find the men first, lest it be too late when we really need them." Sun Chuan huffed coldly. "Rest assured, the salt households of Taizhou in Jiangbei are far away. After finishing the job, they’ll row back to Taizhou the same day; no matter what, it won't be traced to them."
This time, Wang Sheng did not object. He seemed to acquiesce by default.