Good goods aren’t afraid of arriving late.
As usual, Lu Yang took people with him on a tour of the prefecture city. He also visited the dock agent, bringing along Ya Zi for guidance.
They discussed rents—shop rents, residence rents, dock stall rents. What the going rates were, which locations were expensive, which were cheaper, and whether there were any tricks to the system. He needed to know about residences and shops alike.
Lu Yang wanted to inquire about a house near the academy for his younger brother, beneficial for the child’s education. But his main focus was the dock stalls, aiming for one of the top five prime spots in the city.
He asked in detail. Dock stalls were divided into two types: small stalls in front of shops, and the shops themselves.
Shops with stalls behind them rarely did business; staff had to roam the docks to attract customers. These were cheap—five taels of silver per month. Small stalls were pricier, seven taels monthly.
Annual rent bundled the shop and stall for one hundred taels. Separately, annual rent was off the table. The docks had rigid rules: if a place wasn’t available, it wasn’t.
Buying a stall outright was costly. Small stalls were considered part of a shop and had no separate deed. Both shops and stalls rented annually for one hundred taels; buying one would cost ten times that, starting at a thousand taels.
Many previous shop owners at the docks were idle rich, living off rent. Some rigged games, borrowed, or gambled, and shop ownership often changed hands. Today, these locations were secure, and the owners were well-known in the city. If you offered to buy, they’d happily sell—but whether you could hold onto it was another matter. Often, a shop would return to the original owner before the buyer even got fully settled.
Lu Yang squinted and smiled: “If that’s the case, haggling should be welcomed—they’d practically be picking up silver off the street.”
Ya Zi chuckled, didn’t answer, and switched to another rental option—daily rent.
“For you gentlemen, since you’re not local, you might consider daily rent. If your stock is small or moves quickly, one or two days may suffice. Daily rent is two taels per day, so two days is four taels—half of the seven-tael monthly rate.”
If a stall was in high demand, daily rent could exceed seven taels. For large quantities without certainty of how fast they’d sell, monthly rent was safer. But once paid, no refunds.
Ya Zi reminded them: “Some paid seven taels for a month, only used the stall for four days, tried to refund for daily rate. The owner calculated two taels per day; he couldn’t get money back, even had to add another tael. Happens every month—worth thinking about.”
Lu Yang nodded, rewarded him with silver.
When asked if he wanted to rent, Lu Yang laughed: “Not today. We’re testing the waters, using a friend’s stall. Next time, I’ll come to you.”
Ya Zi, having heard this many times, didn’t call him out, accepted the silver, offered blessings, and left.
After finishing there, they rested for one more night before June 21st, when they wheeled a cartload of goods to the docks.
The Wu Ping family had rented their shop and stall annually—costly, but worry-free. Goods were temporarily stored in the backyard; they displayed some in baskets as samples.
Business at the dock was lively, and the goods on hand were barely enough. Before the market opened, standing by the stall was like waiting for customers, passing the time. Last visit, Lu Yang was an observer; this time, he was the seller.
He liked observing. Dock vendors thrived on atmosphere: if a wealthy customer bought a large quantity, they’d announce it loudly, attracting attention.
Though the crowd was mixed and chaotic, many petty thieves mingled; travelers needed to protect their purses. Yet merchants weren’t shy about showing wealth.
The assistant stayed with Lu Yang at the stall: “These stall owners aren’t easy to provoke. They want lasting business and won’t ruin the dock’s reputation. Many merchants ship goods directly after purchase, safe for the journey. Water bandits? The canal is vast. Encountering one is bad luck—won’t happen with warning from the dock.”
Lu Yang noted the lesson.
These days wandering the prefecture city were also a form of preparation.
The ‘Deng Gao Lou’ had launched a selection of mountain delicacies, being the city’s largest restaurant—surely visited by dock merchants.
Lu Yang considered the options carefully, not rushing to hire middlemen. He let Li Feng and San Miao explore the streets while he sought an old acquaintance—the herbalist.
Li Feng had brought many books to sell. Walking the streets, he had already sold fifty copies; at the docks, he didn’t even need to find customers—every stall he approached bought.
The docks also had many hidden courtesans. Merchants, finished with business, often retreated to their pleasures. Books sold well; Li Feng still wanted more.
San Miao looked on enviously: “It’s like picking up money. If I made a few pairs of straw shoes, I could sell them here too.”
Li Feng nodded: “Exactly. Other mountain goods are hard to sell. Dried fruits could work—dock workers live on water, mostly buying rice, vegetables, meat, eggs—not much fruit. Dried fruit is expensive, but quality buyers will pay.”
San Miao agreed: “Dried soap pods could sell too.”
They harvested soap pods yearly, keeping some, selling the rest to the county.
Li Feng shook his head: “Profit is thin, laborious, not worth it.” Soap pod trees had thorns—tough work.
San Miao scratched his head awkwardly: “Looks like I’m not cut out for business.” Straw shoes and soap pods wouldn’t cover costs.
Li Feng added: “Leather can sell.” Their hides came from hunted animals, not as plentiful as the plains.
If livestock farming succeeded, meat didn’t keep well, but leather was a big business. Even rabbit hides could make padded jackets—lighter than sheep, comfortable to wear.
Wang Meng added: “Feathers could make dusters too.”
San Miao laughed heartily. Li Feng nudged Wang Meng: “Think, don’t talk back.” Wang Meng laughed along.
They strolled happily, then noticed Lu Yang chatting animatedly at another stall. Approaching, they realized he had silently accomplished something significant.
Last time at the herbalist’s, Lu Yang had bought ginseng with damaged roots. They had spoken at length; the herbalist mentioned he collected herbs from the mountains.
If he sourced herbs from the mountains, why not from their Fentou Mountain?
Lu Yang told outsiders only “West Mountain,” not the real name. He wasn’t greedy; with land divided in the village, most people farmed the slopes. Taking too much would cause issues.
He asked the herbalist to list several rare mountain herbs they had, requesting samples for inspection. Once found, he’d bring them from home.
All future dock business would be local; familiarity meant he wouldn’t deceive anyone. The herbalist provided several herbs, with samples for Lu Yang to examine.
