Though the workday had ended, the small courtyard where the shampoo ointment was being brewed remained brightly lit. Inside, someone worked with steady, methodical precision.
Shopkeeper Lin and Shopkeeper Qian crouched by the courtyard’s gate, peeking through the gap. They exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with shared confusion.
“Old Madam Li left here beaming,” Lin Er remarked. “The stuff must be genuinely good.”
“I’m not so sure,” Qian Er countered. “The Head Manager even brought in this little girl to be the face of the shop. Both the Employer and his wife have been asking about her.”
They whispered among themselves, but their conversation was cut short when Nie Qinghe emerged from the courtyard, carrying a basket filled with white porcelain bottles, each about the height of a palm. The two men scrambled to hide.
Nie Qinghe was faster. She swung open the wooden gate and smiled. “Managers, don’t rush off just yet. I have a favor to ask.”
Shopkeeper Lin immediately turned back, forcing a smile. “We were just taking a stroll.”
Shopkeeper Qian turned more reluctantly, his posture stiff as if someone were gripping his neck. He gave Nie Qinghe a curt nod in greeting.
Nie Qinghe held out the basket toward them. “This is the newly brewed shampoo liquid. I’d like you both to take a bottle home for your families to try. Please let me know if you have any feedback.” She added a few warnings, telling them not to ingest it and to rinse their eyes with clean water if any got inside.
First, win over the staff. Only then can they spread the word and defend the business against any smear campaigns.
Shopkeeper Lin took a bottle. Seeing Qian Er hesitate, he grabbed one for him as well. Then, he bid Nie Qinghe farewell and dragged Qian Er away.
“You’re actually going to try it?” Qian Er asked.
“Of course,” Lin Er replied. “After the silver and the cartload of herbs we spent on this, I have to.”
He shoved the second bottle into Qian Er’s arms and hurried home.
Qian Er stared at the shampoo. He wanted to toss it aside, but feared the head shopkeeper’s reprimand. Yet, taking it home felt embarrassing. Finally, he gritted his teeth and decided to let his wife and mother use it.
He would absolutely not touch it.
At home, Madam Qian had already prepared the meal and was using warm water to wash her mother-in-law’s hair and feet.
Old Madam Qian, with her bound feet, was a woman of the old school. She strictly followed the lunar calendar for bathing. After consulting the almanac, she found she could only wash her hair three times a month. Even in the summer, when the elderly moved little and sweated less, the grime on her body still built up.
Her long hair, always coiled in a bun, trapped a sour smell against her scalp.
Over time, it was no wonder her scalp had developed problems.
Old Madam Qian suffered from a chronic scalp condition. It was an itch so fierce it left her skin flaking off in large patches, some of which had even developed into sores.
Any sane person would have seen a doctor, but Old Madam Qian was convinced they were all frauds.
“I’ve never seen a doctor actually cure anything,” she would declare. “My father died of diarrhea, my mother died of a cold, and my sisters’ bellies rotted away after seeing so many physicians. Not one of them ever got better. I refuse to believe an itchy scalp could actually kill me.”
Madam Qian knew better than to argue with her stubborn mother-in-law. But seeing the old woman scratch her scalp raw broke her heart. She tried to secretly buy some herbal remedies to boil into a wash, but Old Madam Qian found out. She berated her daughter-in-law mercilessly and forced her to return the herbs.
Now, the condition had turned severe. Old Madam Qian scratched until she bled, but the itching persisted. She ordered her daughter-in-law to boil water and use a fine-toothed comb to scalp her, claiming the lice had laid eggs deep within her skin. She insisted they had to be boiled and combed out.
Boiling water on a raw scalp? Madam Qian thought. How could anyone be so foolish?
When Qian Er finally returned home, Madam Qian looked at him as if he were her savior. She begged him to talk some sense into his mother.
Qian Er hesitated for a moment before handing over the bottle of medicinal liquid. “Wash your hair with this,” he said in his low, gruff voice. “Don’t get any in your mouth.”
Old Madam Qian, assuming her daughter-in-law had spent money on it, immediately cursed him as a spendthrift. “Why buy something for washing your hair? We have stove ash for that! What a waste of money!”
“It didn’t cost anything,” Qian Er replied quickly. “The shop made it. They gave it away for free, so just use it.”
At the mention of “free,” Old Madam Qian’s attitude shifted. She couldn’t bear to let a free gift go to waste. Waving her wrinkled hand, she said, “Quickly, bring it here. Let me see if it’s any good.”
Madam Qian had her mother-in-law bend her head, resting her hands on the rim of the tin basin. She poured some of the liquid out and began to rub it into the old woman’s hair. The liquid had a strong, medicinal scent—bitter at first, but not unpleasant after a moment.
However, Old Madam Qian’s hair was so filthy, never having been properly washed, that it failed to lather the first time. Instead, it just felt greasy.
Madam Qian rinsed her hair with water first, then applied more of the liquid. This time, a white lather formed, but it quickly turned a murky brownish-black as it lifted the deep-seated grime.
Qian Er watched them closely, his eyes darting back and forth.
As Madam Qian continued washing her mother-in-law’s hair, she asked Qian Er to help by pouring more water.
Old Madam Qian gripped the edge of the tin basin. “Ah, that feels wonderful! This stuff is great—it’s killing all those lice!”
Madam Qian, knowing the shampoo ointment was free, didn’t hold back. She washed her mother-in-law’s hair four times, changing the water three times, but it still came out filthy. Only on the fifth rinse did the water finally run clear.
Old Madam Qian’s eyes crinkled shut in bliss.
“What is this? It’s wonderful.” Suddenly remembering something, she called out to her son, “Chuanchuan, don’t throw that water away! I still need to wash my feet and body.”
I know you’re cheap, Qian Er thought. I’m saving it all in the big wooden basin for you.
When Old Madam Qian heard he hadn’t dumped the water, her face wrinkled into a wide smile. “Chuanchuan, this is good stuff. After I’m done, you can use it to wash your hair and body. Then you can let your wife use it.”
Madam Qian immediately declined, insisting that such a fine product should be used by Qian Er.
Qian Er, however, was too horrified to consider it. He hastily made an excuse about having work at the shop, claiming he’d only come to deliver the ointment.
Without even staying for a meal, he slipped away.
***
The next morning, Nie Qinghe arrived early at the shop.
She headed straight to the backyard to check on her older brother and Chen Zijian. As she entered, the two men surprised her with a magnificent sight: two large pots of the standard shampoo ointment, already brewed and ready.
Nie Qinghe had originally planned to brew different shampoo ointments for various purposes—Darkening and Growth Ointment, Anti-Dandruff and Itch-Relief Ointment, Refreshing and Oil-Control Ointment, and Moisturizing and Hair-Care Ointment. But since Nie Dali was still a beginner, they had started with the most basic formulas.
This time, they had brewed one pot with ginger and He Shou Wu, and another with tea seed, mulberry leaves, and Platycladus leaves.
“Elder Brother, did you and Chen Zijian not sleep at all last night?” Nie Qinghe asked in astonishment.
A proud smile spread across Nie Dali’s handsome face. “We did. We took turns sleeping. I’m completely refreshed now—not tired at all.”
At seventeen, a young man could bounce back from any exhaustion with a single nap.
Nie Dali and Chen Zijian were a determined pair. After Nie Qinghe had left the previous evening, they had continued preparing the ingredients—soaking, grinding, and chopping—before finally starting the brew. Fortunately, they had prepared extra materials during their first attempt, so this time they only needed to top off a few items.
With fewer ingredients to process, the work was much easier.
They had taken turns sleeping and watching the pots. By the time Nie Qinghe arrived that morning, they had already finished two batches: one pot of Darkening and Growth Ointment made with ginger and He Shou Wu, and another pot of Anti-Dandruff and Itch-Relief Ointment made with tea seed, mulberry leaves, and Platycladus leaves.
Seeing her older brother’s smug expression, Nie Qinghe deliberately stiffened her face and lectured him sternly.
“Your health is your greatest asset,” she said. “If you ruin it, you won’t just be unable to work and earn money—you’ll end up spending a fortune on medical bills. Remember, health comes first. A person who stays healthy and free of illness is already winning a huge fortune.”
Both men were young and dismissive of such warnings, but Nie Dali listened obediently, nodding vigorously. “Don’t worry, Qinghe. It won’t happen again.”
Nie Qinghe told them to go rest, but they were too energized to sleep. She gave up and simply told them not to do it again.
She had them store the dandruff-relieving and itch-soothing ointment in a large jar, then set aside more than half of the ginger ointment to be processed into a cleansing ointment.
Next, she bought the finest mung bean and pea flours from the grain shop and ground some fresh mint juice. These were added to the brewed shampoo ointment.
The bean flours acted as natural cleansers, removing odors, grease, and grime, while the soappod liquid enhanced the overall cleaning power. However, the bean flours were expensive; adding too much would drive up costs and dilute the soappod liquid’s effectiveness.
Nie Qinghe experimented until she found the perfect ratio, aiming for a thick, pasty consistency that could be easily scooped with a small spoon, rather than the dry, hard lumps of traditional bath beans.
Once she could afford the ingredients, she planned to add pig’s pancreas and other fragrances to create a high-end face soap—a single bar would fetch a whole tael of silver!
Seeing that Nie Dali could manage the workshop well, she entrusted him with the task, instructing him to keep a close eye on the inventory and have Laishun purchase any supplies that ran low.
She filled several palm-sized porcelain bottles with shampoo ointment and two porcelain jars with cleansing ointment, then carried the basket to the front shop.
Laishun had already cleaned her workspace until it was spotless. She praised him with a few kind words and gave him a small bottle of shampoo ointment as a reward. Then, she arranged the remaining products on the curio shelf, organizing the rouge and powder Hua Xiangrong had purchased into a neat display.
She placed three different styles of vanity boxes on the table, each containing wooden combs, hair-combing ridged combs, U-shaped pins, hair nets, and other grooming tools.
Surveying her display, she felt something was missing. After a few gestures, she realized what it was—a set of high-quality makeup brushes.
Buying ready-made makeup brushes was impossible at this time; her only option was to have them custom-made at a brush shop.
Seeing that it was still early and no customers had arrived yet, she headed to a specialized brush shop on the street. There were shops that sold the Four Treasures of the Study, but those were essentially middlemen who bought stock from various places to resell.
If she wanted custom brushes, she had to go to a specialized shop—the kind with its own workshop and master craftsmen.
She explained her request to the manager, a man wearing crystal reading glasses, describing the specific makeup brushes she needed. The manager then brought out Brushmaker Wang to discuss the details.
Nie Qinghe outlined her requirements: a set of twenty brushes, varying in size from large to small, length from long to short, and thickness from coarse to fine. Each would also need a different angle.
She sketched the shapes on a piece of paper using her eyebrow-shaping stone, specifying the dimensions and adding that she wanted three complete sets.
Brushmaker Wang stared at the drawings, utterly bewildered.
“What could you possibly use these for?” he asked, glancing back and forth. “Applying paste for wallpapering? Or spreading ointment?”
Nie Qinghe didn’t bother explaining further. A man who knew nothing of makeup wouldn’t understand, and he’d only think she was being overly precious about her tools.
“They’re for the shop,” she said simply.
The shopkeeper then had her choose the hair and wood. Nie Qinghe selected the finest purple rabbit and weasel hair, pairing them with a durable, wear-resistant chicken-wing wood of a deep, steady hue.
Since I’ve come all the way to ancient times, she thought, I might as well be particular about my tools. Besides, this wood isn’t an antique yet, so it shouldn’t be too expensive.
The shopkeeper, his glasses glinting, gave her a pointed look. “Materials like these aren’t cheap. You could switch to bamboo handles.”
Nie Qinghe asked, “How much for the set?”
The shopkeeper’s abacus clattered as he calculated. “One tael, two mace, and three-fen of silver.”
What?
The shock snapped Nie Qinghe back to reality.
So expensive?
It was a harsh reminder that one never truly knew how poor they were until they started spending. She’d been feeling flush with her recent earnings, but this single set of brushes threatened to bankrupt her.
Because she didn’t share her earnings from makeup and cosmetics with the shop, she paid for her own tools out of pocket. This meant she owned them outright and could take them with her whenever she pleased.
She sifted through the brushes, selecting only the ten most essential ones and discarding the rest. After all, the limited range of cosmetics available at the time meant she didn’t need a massive collection.
“Shopkeeper,” she explained, “you don’t need to pick the finest hairs for my brushes. Just use the leftovers—whatever’s available. Purple rabbit and weasel hair are rare and hard to sort through. Goat hair will be perfectly fine.”
She was voluntarily downgrading.
She knew that master brush-makers could be incredibly fastidious, sometimes selecting only one in ten thousand hairs from a goat’s coat, a rabbit’s pelt, or the tip of a weasel’s tail.
She doesn’t need them. She doesn’t deserve them!
When she explained that she didn’t need such high-grade materials, Brushmaker Wang’s expression softened.
“That makes things much easier,” he said.
He rattled his abacus. “Three mace and two fen per set. How many would you like?”
Nie Qinghe thought for a moment. “Two sets.”
You get what you pay for, she realized. The price had plummeted the moment she lowered her standards.
The craftsmanship for these brushes was far simpler than that of traditional calligraphy brushes. She suspected the old shopkeeper was trying to play her, taking advantage of the fact that these were new items. But she needed them urgently, and this shop was known as the best in the business—even Shopkeeper Liu had praised it.
She didn’t want to risk going elsewhere.
After paying the deposit, she asked when she could collect them.
“One month,” Brushmaker Wang replied.
The master craftsmen of this era were meticulous. Those with a reputation to uphold would rather earn less than rush a job. If he said a month, it meant a month.
Nie Qinghe stared at him, speechless.
Fine, she thought, her frustration simmering down. I guess I have no choice.
As a makeup artist, her performance depended on her tools. Besides a good set of brushes, she also needed a reliable set of blades and small scissors.
She turned and headed next door to Lord Guan’s Scissors Shop.
Lord Guan’s Scissors Shop specialized in all sorts of shears and blades—from large to small, including straight razors and various nail-care tools. However, they didn’t sell kitchen knives or cleavers. Such items were now classified as controlled weapons, and private sales were forbidden.
One had to purchase them from government-sanctioned stores. Even shops that did sell kitchen knives, cleavers, or butchering tools had to be registered with the authorities; they couldn’t simply open a business on their own.
Like Liu’s, the shop also offered sharpening services, with their workshop located in the back.
Nie Qinghe bought two razor-sharp straight razors, the kind men used for shaving, which she could use to trim the stray hairs on the back of her clients’ necks. She also picked up several long blades that she could sharpen to shape eyebrows, and two pairs of long-nosed scissors, also for brow grooming.
Iron was expensive these days. A single straight razor cost twenty wen, each long blade five, and the small scissors twenty-five wen a pair.
Nie Qinghe felt a pang of regret as she paid, but the feeling quickly faded. She knew these tools would allow her to offer eyebrow grooming—a service she could charge for. She would make her money back in no time.
Many women were unwilling to spend money on elaborate hairstyles or makeup, but a well-groomed set of eyebrows could instantly refresh a person’s entire appearance. Many would still be willing to pay for that.
After finishing her shopping, Nie Qinghe returned to the shop and put away her tools.
Seeing the two shopkeepers had arrived, she hurried to their office to ask for two brushes.
Shopkeeper Qian first handed her the cheapest wool brush available—a poor-quality one that cost only ten copper coins. He believed brushes were meant solely for ink and that using them for anything else was a waste.
But Nie Qinghe refused to settle.
How could a woman be careless about her makeup? she thought.
She rummaged through the new stock, carefully selecting two brushes that would suit her needs: one made of weasel hair and another of purple rabbit hair. After trimming the tips, she would be able to use them for eyeliner and eyebrow shaping.
Seeing this, Shopkeeper Qian quickly offered her a slightly better wool brush. “Use this one instead.”
This one cost twenty coins! The two she had already picked were fifty and sixty coins respectively—far too expensive.
Nie Qinghe accepted the third brush as well, thanking Shopkeeper Qian with a sweet smile before taking all three.
Shopkeeper Qian stared, speechless. This woman can’t even read or write, so what does she need brushes for? Isn’t this a complete waste of good tools?
His heart ached at the loss.
Shopkeeper Lin, however, was delighted. He told Qian to stop being so stingy, reminding him that Nie Qinghe wasn’t wasting the brushes—she was using them to make money.
Shopkeeper Qian’s eyelids twitched in frustration, but he finally relented.
He had returned home nearly midnight the previous night, only for his mother to pull him aside and praise the shampoo, urging him to bring back more of the free samples.
He couldn’t just keep taking them for free, he thought.
He could buy some, but after several attempts to ask, he’d lost his nerve. He decided to let Shopkeeper Lin handle the purchase instead.
Back at the shop, Nie Qinghe examined the two brushes she had brought. One was suitable for eyebrows, and the other for eyeliner. After a few careful trims with her small scissors, she was satisfied.
She was still refining the brush tips when Madam Fang and Madam Zhao arrived, their laughter and chatter preceding them into the shop. To an outsider, they seemed the closest of friends.
“Miss Nie, it’s been too long! We’ve missed you so,” Madam Fang exclaimed, her eyes sweeping the room. “Oh my, the shop looks completely different! So much more elegant and comfortable—it’s exactly my taste.”
The two women chattered incessantly, leaving Nie Qinghe little room to speak.
Madam Fang’s sharp eyes immediately spotted the hairnets on the vanity. She picked one up. “I heard the other ladies praising these yesterday. Such a shame I was too busy hosting guests to come by. I simply must have a few.”
Madam Zhao, who had been admiring the small porcelain bottles, immediately joined in. “It’s not too late to buy them now!”
Madam Zhao picked one up, holding it against her head as she smiled. “This is much better than mine.”
She was wearing a hairnet herself, but it was a dull, solid black, woven so tightly it looked stiff and lifeless. Nie Qinghe’s net had a wider mesh and a delicate woven pattern. It would smooth the hair without concealing the intricate shape of the updo. After all, young women with such beautiful hair always wanted to show it off.
Nie Qinghe gave them a brief introduction before asking, “What clothes will you be wearing? What makeup? And will you be going straight to the garden after we’re finished?”
The two women looked at her, bewildered. Do hairstyles really need to be coordinated with clothes?
Nie Qinghe explained simply, mentioning how color, lighting, and shape all affected a person’s overall look. The more they listened, the more mysterious and complex it seemed, only fueling their curiosity.
“For example,” Nie Qinghe explained, “Madam Fang is wearing a loose, flowing gown, so she needs a soft, airy hairstyle. A tight, severe style would look completely out of place. Madam Zhao, your outfit is more fitted and tailored, so your hair and accessories should be neat and polished. Otherwise, the top would look too loose and messy, while the bottom is too constrained.”
The two women listened with rapt interest, urging Nie Qinghe to continue.
Nie Qinghe instructed them to cleanse their faces before proceeding with their makeup.
“But we’ve already washed,” Madam Fang said, tilting her head to show Nie Qinghe. “Look, I’ve even applied the finest official powder.”
The official powder of this era, produced in the Wuyue Region, was favored by women for its stark whiteness. However, it was laced with lead and tin, posing a significant health risk due to its high heavy metal content.
“Madam, if you don’t cleanse thoroughly, the powder just sits on the surface,” Nie Qinghe explained. “It clogs your pores and cakes.”
Indeed, both women’s faces showed varying degrees of caked powder, especially around the corners of their mouths, laugh lines, and the outer corners and lids of their eyes. They hadn’t noticed it in their own blurred reflections in the bronze mirrors, but to an observer, the flaws were glaring.
Their expressions soured. Exchanging a quick glance, they both leaned in close to the mirrors to inspect themselves.
They had noticed the caking on each other’s faces when they met earlier that morning, but each had secretly mocked the other, assuming their own makeup was flawless.
As it turned out… they were the clowns.