He was afraid that others—especially the people from Huang’s—would cause trouble if they found out. He told Nie Qinghe not to share too many details with outsiders. She could mention that she was dreaming, but there was no need to tell them everything.
Nie Qinghe understood. She smiled and said, “Rest assured, Head Shopkeeper. Only you believe in me. To prevent anyone from saying I’m talking nonsense, I’ll just tell them that you’re knowledgeable and taught me, and that I’m quick-witted and learned fast!”
Shopkeeper Liu laughed. “You’re a clever girl. You don’t even need to explain yourself to anyone. If anyone questions you, just tell them to ask me.”
They then discussed the profit-sharing for items Nie Qinghe created for the shop. For low-profit items, she would receive two coppers for every hundred coppers earned. For higher-profit items, she would receive five coppers for every hundred. This would not conflict with the two coppers she earned for every hundred coppers she personally sold to customers.
After finalizing the terms, Shopkeeper Liu wrote up a contract. Each of them kept a copy, and the agreement was valid for six months. If the partnership proved mutually beneficial, they would sign a new contract with renegotiated terms.
He also wanted to see the results for himself. If Nie Qinghe truly brought benefits to the shop, he was willing to pay her more. If not, he would have to call it quits, as he had a responsibility to the employer.
Nie Qinghe had originally planned to cover her own meals, figuring that since she was taking a commission, she’d earn enough to feed herself. But Shopkeeper Liu insisted on providing her lunch.
After signing the contract, Shopkeeper Liu found himself cornered by the two second shopkeepers, who nagged him incessantly.
“You’ve always been so cautious,” they pressed. “Why the sudden whim to hire a mere slip of a girl? We’ll be the laughingstock of the trade—’men don’t discuss internal affairs, women don’t discuss external ones.’ What if she fails to bring in any money? The employer will have our heads.”
They added, “Besides, having a young girl here… it’s just not proper.”
Shopkeeper Liu stroked his beard, a faint smile on his lips. “Give her a few days to prove herself. Who can hold their own from day one?”
The two shopkeepers tried to argue further, but his smile vanished.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly. “My mind is made up. We’re letting her try.”
Snubbed, the two managers retreated. One went to the accounting office to balance the books, while the other took his place behind the counter, watching Nie Qinghe like a hawk, waiting for her to make a mistake.
After finishing her meal, Nie Qinghe decided to strike while the iron was hot. She wanted to create a price list—a clear, professional menu of services for hair and makeup—to make the business look more official.
Hairstyling started at five coppers, with prices tiered by complexity: five, eight, or fifteen coppers.
Formal styling and ornamentation began at fifteen coppers. This included elaborate looks like the Peony Bun, which required a false hairpiece and over a dozen accessories, or styles incorporating gold and silver wire. Such grand arrangements were reserved for the most formal occasions.
A noblewoman who could afford a full set of hair jewelry wouldn’t hesitate to pay two hundred coppers for the service. Of course, such elite clientele would never seek her out now. She listed these high-end styles simply to announce her expertise.
Makeup was an additional five coppers.
Her initial strategy was to build a reputation through low prices and high volume. Once she had established a steady stream of customers, she would raise her rates.
For instance, makeup would eventually start at twenty coppers. Five coppers was far too cheap, especially considering the cost of rouge and powder. Besides, ordinary women rarely needed makeup. It was reserved for weddings or other momentous occasions, making twenty coppers a reasonable price for such a transformation.
Nie Qinghe had listed several names for the hairstyles: Peach-Tip Topknot, Goose-Gallheart Bun, Twin Flying Swallow Bun, Peony Bun, Lily Bun, Fortune and Prosperity Bun, Concentric Heart Bun, Flying Phoenix Bun, Rising Void Bun, and Flying Immortal Bun.
She planned to draw diagrams for each one later, hanging them in the shop as both decoration and a display.
When Laishun brought over the brushes, ink, and paper, she was about to start writing when a cold snort came from behind the counter.
The sound snapped her out of her reverie. She had been so absorbed that she’d almost picked up the brush herself.
Nie Qinghe turned and smiled at Second Shopkeeper Lin. He had been about to scold her for wasting ink and paper, but he found himself staring at her fresh, sweet smile.
He quickly turned away, coughing into his hand to hide his embarrassment.
“Shopkeeper Lin,” Nie Qinghe said, “could you help me out? I need a few price tags written.”
Though he grumbled inwardly, Second Shopkeeper Lin didn’t refuse. Instead, he puffed out his chest and strode forward, striking a grand pose as he brushed the characters for Price Tags in a bold, sweeping script.
Nie Qinghe chuckled. “You look so serious, Shopkeeper Lin, but your calligraphy is surprisingly free and unrestrained.”
Are you mocking me? he wondered.
Nie Qinghe read out the names of the hairstyles for him to write. Second Shopkeeper Lin responded by using a very formal, rigid regular script, deliberately making his strokes stiff and constrained.
He shot Nie Qinghe a sidelong glance, his mustache twitching with smug satisfaction. Go on, say something now.
Nie Qinghe smiled. “Shopkeeper Lin, your calligraphy is superb. These signs are for the ladies, and since most of them can’t read, they’ll be looking at the overall feel. Your writing is rounded and gentle, without any sharp edges—it’s perfectly suited to their tastes. Your wife must always praise you for being such a considerate man.”
Second Shopkeeper Lin instinctively puffed out his chest, his pride swelling.
She wasn’t wrong, he thought. His wife was always telling him how good-natured he was and how well he treated her.
Wait a minute, he paused. How did this little girl know that?
He eyed Nie Qinghe suspiciously, but she had already called Laishun over to find a board, glue the signs to it, and hang it outside to attract customers.
Second Shopkeeper Lin still felt a hint of disdain.
A little girl trying to run a business with a few signs? he scoffed. If no one shows up for the next two weeks, I’ll have to tell my wife to bring a few friends over to support her.
It’s the least I can do to save her from total embarrassment.
Laishun had just placed the sign—Cloud-Coiffed Hair and Phoenix Hairpins—outside when a delicate-featured woman approached. She read the sign, then stepped into the shop, curiously asking about the styling service. She wanted to try it.
Nie Qinghe noted the woman’s thick, lustrous black hair, which was simply coiled at the back of her head. It was held in place by a plain silver hairpin, without any other adornments. Yet, she wore gold-and-jade earrings, a Hangzhou silk summer blouse, a floral white satin skirt, and embroidered platform shoes with upturned toes. She was clearly a woman of means.
After a brief introduction and some polite pleasantries, Nie Qinghe learned the woman was known as Madam Luo.
Madam Luo sat gracefully on the embroidered stool. “Go ahead,” she said. “Style my hair however you like, and add a few ornaments.”
Laishun had a page move a lightweight double-layered screen into place, shielding the customer from public view to ensure her privacy.
Following Shopkeeper Liu’s instructions, Laishun brought over a tray of rouge, face powder, osmanthus hair oil, and floral-scented water. He also carried in a curio shelf to hold the tools, an old elm table to serve as a dressing station, and several fashionable vanity boxes—both for use and for sale.
Nie Qinghe observed Madam Luo’s serene and elegant demeanor, which suggested she might come from a scholarly family. As she began to style the woman’s hair, she noticed how clean and fresh it was—no dandruff, no oil.
This indicated not only a diligent washing routine but also a comfortable life, free from the need to cook over a stove. She had clearly avoided using hair oils or wood ash water, for even daily washing wouldn’t have kept her hair this pristine otherwise.
Nie Qinghe divided the hair into three sections. She combed the side locks smooth, tying each with a cord. The hair on top was braided and coiled at the back of the crown, secured with a cord and then fixed in place with Madam Luo’s melon-patterned silver hairpin. The side locks were then wrapped around the bun and tucked in, their remaining length teased into a soft, cloud-like fluff. The hair at the back was gathered upward, tied with a cord, and its ends coiled into the bun.
Without the use of oils or ash water, the fine hairs at the temples fell naturally, complementing the voluminous cloud-like bun to create a look of captivating charm. The bun itself was styled securely, yet its low-slung position added a touch of natural grace, enhancing Madam Luo’s lotus-like beauty and her gentle, approachable aura.
Madam Luo tilted her head from side to side, admiring the result. “It’s exactly how I imagined it,” she marveled. “I’ve always wanted to style it this way, but I could never manage it myself.”
Hairstyling was a talent, especially when doing it oneself. You’d imagine it one way, but your hands would create something entirely different—it was infuriating.
Her lifelong struggle with hair had made her a target. Her sisters had mocked her for it as a child. After she married, her mother-in-law had berated her for a poorly styled head of hair before a meeting with her in-laws, forcing her to practice. Yet she could never master the art.
Whenever her mother-in-law scolded her, she would retreat to her room and take her frustration out on her hair, threatening to cut it all off. This would send her husband running to plead for mercy with his mother. After the old woman passed away, he indulged her, letting her carelessly bunch her hair up every day. When she grew frustrated, she’d again threaten to shear it all off, eventually forcing him to learn how to style her hair himself.
Lately, however, the little troublemaker had sent her husband away on errands. Left to her own devices, she couldn’t manage her hair at all, leaving it a tangled mess. The little troublemaker had even teased her, saying she was better suited to be a nun.
What was she supposed to do? it wasn’t her fault! It wasn’t as if she had eyes on her hands. She could see it perfectly in the mirror, she could picture it perfectly in her mind, but the moment she started styling it, everything went wrong.
She turned her head from side to side, completely satisfied.
“How much?” she asked with a smile.
While styling her hair, Nie Qinghe had explained where each pin was placed and which small hairpiece was used. The styling cost five wen, and the pins and hairpieces totaled one tael and three mace of silver.
Since she used silver hairpins, the price included not only the value of the metal itself but also the labor and a profit margin. This wasn’t a random price; customers could bring their own gold or silver to be crafted into jewelry, but they would still have to pay for the labor and the applicable taxes on precious metals.
“Madam Luo, if you aren’t satisfied with the small hairpins I used, you can return them to the shop for a refund,” Nie Qinghe said. “For a one-tael silver item, you’ll only need to pay a ten-wen fee.”
Madam Luo paid promptly. “No need to return them. I think they look lovely.”
She had initially expected that by saying “anything will do,” the shopkeeper would adorn her with expensive gold and jade jewelry. Even a simple gold hairpin, if it had a single jewel on it, would cost over ten taels. Instead, Nie Qinghe had used only basic tools to secure her hair. Madam Luo was deeply impressed.
After Madam Luo left, Nie Qinghe went to Second Shopkeeper Lin to record the earnings.
Head Shopkeeper Liu, who had come over when he heard someone was getting their hair done, was now shooting Shopkeeper Lin pointed looks.
Shopkeeper Lin was still trying to process the situation.
Who in their right mind would come to this little girl to get their hair done? he wondered. But I have to admit, she did a great job. A madwoman walked in, and a graceful lady walked out.
Head Shopkeeper Liu personally handed Nie Qinghe twenty-six wen. Adding this to the fifteen wen she had already earned and the five wen for Madam Luo’s styling, her total earnings now came to forty-six wen.
“Congratulations, Qinghe!” Shopkeeper Liu said, his approval of her growing.
He shot a pointed look at Shopkeeper Lin.
The second shopkeeper grudgingly muttered, “Congratulations on your first customer.”
Though delighted, Nie Qinghe kept her expression calm and composed.
Madam Luo walked home, her new hairstyle drawing admiring glances from every passerby. Her steps grew lighter, and she began to hum a little tune.
Turning into her alley, she first went to the neighboring courtyard. Upon entering, she saw two black-clad guards standing like statues. He Yu, still convalescing, wore a white robe and lounged in the breeze, playing a game of chess against himself.
She smiled triumphantly. “Young Master, what do you think? What’s different about me?”
He Yu lifted his eyelids, gave her a lazy glance, and then returned his focus to the chessboard. “Are you off to join a convent?” he asked casually.
Madam Luo never bothered to style her hair at home. Any bun she managed to pin up would unravel shortly after, so she simply let it hang loose—no one dared scold her since her mother-in-law had passed.
He Yu hadn’t complained about her disheveled appearance during his stay. But seeing her hair so neatly arranged today, with a few wisps framing her face, he had assumed she’d cut it off in a fit of pique.
Serves you right, Madam Luo thought bitterly. No wonder you can’t find a wife!