“Alright!” Aman agreed immediately, without a second thought.
Ten wen could buy a pound of brown rice; twenty wen could buy a pound of pork. These were high prices. In peak season, she could earn one to two taels of silver a month.
“You said you can slaughter pigs?” the boss asked.
Aman nodded.
“Fine. Tomorrow at mao hour [≈5–7 am], be on time. We must slaughter twenty pigs and send them out before chen hour [≈7–9 am]. If you’re late, don’t bother coming again.”
So early?
From mao to chen hour—about 5 to 9 am—twenty pigs was indeed a heavy workload. Looking at the people at the slaughterhouse, the number of workers seemed just enough.
“I’ll be on time,” Aman said firmly. Right now, nothing was more important than earning money.
Aman worked efficiently. After agreeing with the boss, she immediately returned to castrating pigs. Her movements were swift, knives flashing in the morning light. Piglets squealed and tried to run, but none escaped her hands.
Today, she castrated eight male piglets and four females.
One male piglet earned three wen; eight made twenty-four wen. Four female piglets earned twenty wen.
In total, Aman earned forty-four wen today!
The boss inspected the pigs she had worked on. They were healthy, lively, and no accidents had occurred. Even the knots she tied were neat.
“Exiled?” the boss asked.
Aman’s heart skipped. Her gaze flickered. Few knew the deposed crown prince had been sent to Yong’an. If anyone found out, it could cause serious trouble.
“Alright,” the boss said, showing little patience. Her evasive eyes gave it away—she was from a family of disgraced officials.
Ningzhou and Yong’an had always been places of exile. Year after year, exiled officials and nobles arrived; they were used to it. But this was the first exiled person to work here.
Seeing she wore no shackles, the boss guessed it wasn’t a major crime—serious criminals would be chained to restrict them from leaving town.
Plus, the girl had skills. Judging by her looks, she wasn’t from a wealthy family—perhaps a servant exiled along with a disgraced family member.
But this little maid… she was impressive.
“Boss, I can do other work too!” Aman was thrilled with her forty-four wen.
Not much, but at least she had some coins.
Outside, vegetable buns cost three wen each, meat buns six wen. Aman calculated in her mind how many meat buns she could buy—today she would treat herself and Zhao Ye to some meat!
The man looked at the thin, dark little maid. Clearly, she was desperate for money; otherwise, she wouldn’t come to a slaughterhouse to work.
“What else can you do?”
“There are fifteen people here. At noon, everyone eats from a communal pot. I can cook!” Aman promised confidently.
“You can handle so much work alone?”
“Yes, yes. Let me work here, I’ll do everything perfectly!”
“You don’t need a girl to slaughter pigs,” the boss said. “You can help with chores and cooking. I’ll pay twenty wen per day, including lunch.”
Aman’s eyes lit up. What a kind man!
Who says harsh lands produce cruel people? Good people exist, too.
She didn’t know that the man she called “good” had once been a ruthless killer.
“Clean up this place and I’ll add ten wen extra.”
The boss pointed to the pig pens behind them.
Aman’s eyes sparkled. “Meals included?”
The man stared at her. She felt a bit embarrassed, as if asking for too much. “Even if not, it’s fine,” she said.
“You’ll eat with us,” he finally said.
“But…” the boss continued, “this place isn’t safe.” He scanned the room above her head and added, “My surname’s Tu—Tu Honglie. Remember to call me Boss Tu from now on.”
“Alright, Boss Tu!”
He told her to tidy up today and start work tomorrow.
Aman castrated all the piglets, then went to the market, clutching her forty-four wen like treasure.
Passing a tailor shop, she glimpsed neat, clean clothing. Her heart stirred, but she quickly suppressed the thought.
She had just earned money; who knew what hardships lay ahead? Even the cheapest new clothes cost seventy to eighty wen; a thin inner garment would still be twenty to thirty wen. She needed to save money for emergencies—money is power, after all.
She passed a bun shop: six wen for a large meat bun. Aman treated herself, buying four—two each for her and Zhao Ye. She also bought some brown rice, planning to mix it with white rice to stretch her supplies.
“Zhao Ye, I’m back!”
At the door, she called out. Hearing no response, she shouted again: “Zhao Ye?”
“I’m here.”
Finally reassured by his clear, refined voice, she entered after washing herself, holding the meat buns carefully.
“Guess what I bought today?” she asked, grinning.
Zhao Ye lay there, still unable to move.
Seeing Aman’s excited entrance, the room seemed to brighten instantly.
He had already smelled it—meat buns.
“You bought what?” His voice had recovered over the past few days, smooth and cultured again.
Aman felt a pleasant tingle hearing it.
She unwrapped the wax paper like presenting treasure. Four plump meat buns sat before Zhao Ye.
“Meat buns!”
In this remote place, the buns weren’t made from pure white flour—they mixed in coarse flour, sometimes even cornmeal to cut costs.
During famine years, wheat bran was added too, rough on the throat.
Pure white buns would cost three to four wen each. Aman wasn’t willing to spend that much now—just a bit of meat to treat themselves would do.
“Meat buns?”
Zhao Ye pretended surprise.
“Yes! I worked today and earned forty-four wen,” Aman said.
“Once I save more, I’ll repair the house—then we can survive the winter.”
Even though it was midsummer, Aman already prepared for the cold months ahead.