Back at home, Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman unloaded everything.
Today had been a narrow escape. If a real fight had broken out, the consequences would have been unthinkable.
Holding the basin of vegetables, Du Heng said, “Those people were actually scared off by Second Uncle.”
“When Second Uncle was young, he spent a lot of time hanging around the county. Grandpa thought he was improper and scolded him plenty. Later he worked as a butcher for a few years, and only after getting married did he settle down and start a proper business.”
“Those people also do business at the night market. They inevitably buy meat there, and the butchers in the market quickly get familiar with regulars. What kind of person Second Uncle is—they definitely know.”
Qin Xiaoman said, “If they really laid a hand on us, even if they avoided buying meat from Second Uncle next time, wouldn’t they still end up running into him at the meat market?”
When doing business, friction was common. Before actually throwing punches, people usually brought up whatever backing they had, seeing if they could scare the other side off. Resorting to violence was the last option.
The most intimidating people were executioners, butchers, and hunters. Those in such trades were usually burly men, fierce and knife-wielding. Years of slaughtering animals and taking lives gave them a murderous aura. Many were local toughs with some influence. Ordinary people dared not provoke them, and even hooligans and thugs were wary.
Du Heng let out a sigh. Luckily, there was someone in the family who could scare others off. Otherwise, there was no telling how things might have turned out. “Making a living with a small business really isn’t easy.”
“Just a little hiccup. Don’t take it to heart. If business were easy, there wouldn’t be any farmers left in the fields.”
Without skills, there was no business. With skills, one invited jealousy. A dilemma either way.
Qin Xiaoman unhitched the handcart and patted the big yellow ox. With so many people riding today, marks had been left on the ox’s body from the strain.
He took out two bundles of fodder and even hugged over a big napa cabbage, treating it as a reward and consolation for the hard-working ox.
Turning back, he saw Du Heng still lost in thought. Qin Xiaoman’s brow twitched slightly.
“Were you scared?”
Du Heng shook his head. He was just feeling reflective.
“It’s fine. People who do business value profit. Banding together is common.”
Du Heng nodded.
Seeing that, Qin Xiaoman put the remaining fish heads into a basin and handed it to Du Heng, lifting his chin slightly. “Dinner.”
Du Heng smiled and took it. They had originally planned to save one fish for Qin Xiaoman to cook, but business had been so good that they sold everything.
There were still a few fish heads and fish bones left, though—enough to cook a pot.
He accepted it happily.
Qin Xiaoman then cheerfully ran into the main room with the money pouch. He still had not counted today’s earnings.
When he had first started making money, he had carefully kept track, coin by coin. Later, once things got busy, he had just grabbed handfuls of copper coins and stuffed them into the pouch.
The first thing he wanted to do after closing up was count how much they had made today, but with a whole cart of villagers riding along, it hadn’t been convenient to take it out and show off.
Du Heng smiled and carried the fish heads to the kitchen. He salted them lightly to marinate, planning to cook the fish heads in one pot and use the picked-out bones to make soup.
Ever since he arrived, the household’s salt was visibly being used up faster. A small jar of salt could be emptied in just a couple of days.
He had even heard stallholders say today that the price of salt in the city had gone up another two cash. If it kept rising, many people would soon be unable to afford salt at all. At several dozen cash per jin, salt really was not cheap.
After marinating the fish, he washed his hands at the door. When he returned to the main room, he saw a pile of copper coins heaped on the square table. Qin Xiaoman had his head tilted, counting carefully.
Du Heng sat quietly to the side without speaking. After a while, Qin Xiaoman lifted his head, eyes shining. “One thousand two hundred cash! We made quite a lot today!”
“Subtract the costs—five hundred thirty cash—and another hundred for the pork we got from Second Uncle,” Du Heng said, not giving the answer outright, guiding Qin Xiaoman to calculate it himself. He watched as Qin Xiaoman fell silent for a moment.
“Then we net five hundred seventy cash!” Qin Xiaoman exclaimed again and again. “This business, this business—totally worth those stall owners coming to pick a fight.”
Beaming, he swept the pile of copper coins into the money pouch. Leaving them all spread out on the table was far too eye-catching. He turned to fetch some thin hemp cord and had Du Heng help string the coins together.
One hundred coins per string made one qian of silver. As the two of them worked, both were in high spirits, and the earlier unpleasantness was quickly forgotten.
“Earlier, when we sold spring bamboo shoots, we did make some money, but it all went into the eldest sister-in-law’s wedding,” Qin Xiaoman said. “Earning this much today finally makes up for what we spent before.”
Besides, the iron rack could be used again in the future. All in all, the day had not been spent in vain.
They discussed taking ten jin of the pressed oil to sell, keeping some back for their own use. That way they could make about a thousand cash, covering the cost of pressing the oil and the earlier farming expenses, with a bit left over.
Later on, Du Heng went out to pick some vegetables, planning to make dinner early so they could rest sooner. After a full day of work outside, both of them were tired.
“This life is impossible to live—damn it all! We must go to the authorities and report them, have those villains all thrown into prison!”
“Bullying people for no reason—do they think farmers are easy targets?”
As soon as Du Heng reached the fields, he heard a burst of crying and shouting. He craned his neck to look and saw that it seemed to be coming from the Zhao family’s direction. Several villagers were clustered there, murmuring among themselves.
He distinctly heard Zhao’s wife wailing a few times, while the villagers appeared to be trying to console her.
After a while, he saw people carrying something away. With so many villagers gathered and at some distance, Du Heng could not make it out clearly.
“Zhao Qi got beaten up. Oh my, his face is all swollen and bruised—he can’t even walk.”
Hearing this, Du Heng turned around. A villager coming from the Zhao household saw him looking and mentioned it in passing.
“How did he end up getting beaten?”
The villager said, “I heard he went out to burn incense today and got beaten up by some thugs on the road. When it got late and he still hadn’t come back, Zhao’s wife went looking for him and found him still lying in a pile of hay.”
Du Heng frowned. “That serious?”
“He’s conscious—just scared witless. By the time they brought him back to the village, he’d come to his senses. His family has already carried him to Doctor Cui’s place.”
Du Heng fell silent. Zhao Qi was timid and spineless—a coward. How had he managed to provoke street toughs for no reason?
He found it odd. The villagers thought so too, but no one could get a clear answer when they asked around. All they heard was Zhao’s wife crying.
Still, crying was nothing new. With only that one son, if something truly happened to him, she would probably collapse. Fortunately, Zheng Cai’e was capable—she immediately organized people to take Zhao Qi to see the doctor.
“Ah, what kind of world is this,” the villager sighed.
Du Heng took the vegetables back home and mentioned the matter to Qin Xiaoman while cooking dinner.
Qin Xiaoman was tending the fire under the stove. Hearing this, he looked up. “Zhao Qi got beaten?”
Du Heng nodded. He put the fish heads into the simmering sour soup and glanced at Qin Xiaoman, who smacked his lips thoughtfully. Du Heng said, “Do you want to go take a look at him?”
Qin Xiaoman raised an eyebrow and tossed another piece of firewood into the stove. It was hottest under the stove in summer; his face was flushed from the heat. “You want me to go see him?!”
Du Heng cleared his throat lightly. “I heard the villagers say you two were childhood friends, grew up together. Even if you’ve both got families now, the old ties are still there. If you went to see him, he’d probably be happy.”
Qin Xiaoman was about to retort, but hearing Du Heng’s words—more flavorful than the sour pickles in the pot—even someone as thick-skinned as him could tell the other was deliberately testing him.
“Of course. We grew up together. Zhao Qi might be a coward, but whenever there was something tasty or fun, he always thought of me first, rushing to bring it to me.”
Qin Xiaoman clapped his hands and stood up from the stove. “You’re right. I should take a basket of eggs to see him.”
“Hey—how many eggs do we even have left? They’re all in the rice jar, right?”
Hearing this, Du Heng hurriedly grabbed Qin Xiaoman’s hand. “What are you doing!”
“What do you think? Going to see Zhao Qi.”
Du Heng held on and would not let go. “I was joking, and you actually want to go.”
Qin Xiaoman raised his eyebrows and stopped moving toward the door. “Say something like that again next time, and you’d better think it through.”
Du Heng laughed softly, pulled Qin Xiaoman back to his side, and showed him how to cook the fish.
By mid-June, the weather was already scorching. Even after the sun set, the ground still radiated heat.
With the big dish and soup, Qin Xiaoman ate until sweat poured off him.
He fidgeted, tentatively trying to fish out the gourd of wine the stall owner had given them. When he looked up, he met Du Heng’s gaze. He chuckled, afraid Du Heng would not let him drink, and carried the gourd over to pour Du Heng a cup first.
Du Heng did not say a word of reproach.
Seeing this, Qin Xiaoman poured himself some as well. “I’ll just drink a little. These dishes really need wine—otherwise it’s such a waste.”
Du Heng looked at that “little” cup, filled almost to overflowing, and said, “If you like it, it’s fine to drink a bit now and then. Wine has its benefits too—just don’t overdo it.”
Qin Xiaoman nodded eagerly.
He gulped down a mouthful and immediately tasted that it was the kind of wine worth more than ten cash.
The wine served at banquets was always thin—when there were many guests, it was diluted even more.
Du Heng did not crave wine, but he still raised his cup and took a sip in accompaniment. “It is better.”
He saw that Xiaoman had taken off his outer robe, wearing only a loose cloth garment underneath, made especially for summer. The sleeves were half the usual length, reaching only to the bend of the arm.
Such clothes were worn at home with no outsiders present or when sleeping, much cooler than ordinary garments.
Xiaoman puffed out his cheeks, eating and drinking happily.
Du Heng set down his chopsticks. “The sorghum in the fields is about to ripen. Since you love drinking so much, let’s use this year’s sorghum harvest to make wine.”
Qin Xiaoman’s eyes went wide. “You mean it?”
Du Heng nodded. Since there would be spending on wine anyway, making it at home could save some money.
“You know how to brew wine?!”
“I can’t guarantee it’ll turn out.”
At that, Qin Xiaoman immediately circled around to Du Heng’s side and started massaging his back in a flattering way. “You definitely can, my dear husband! Let’s brew wine as soon as the sorghum is harvested, alright? I knew it—you’re the one who dotes on me the most.”
If they brewed their own wine at home, he could drink whenever he wanted, without having to keep thinking about going to the county town to buy it.
How could he not be happy?
Du Heng, praised again and again with that “my dear husband,” felt a little lightheaded, his face faintly warm. He caught the hands kneading and pounding all over his shoulders. “Stop fooling around. I’ll try brewing it.”
“If you say that, then I’m taking it as settled!”
Du Heng nodded. Just as he was about to speak, he suddenly felt something soft brush his cheek.
He paused slightly. Qin Xiaoman grinned and went back to his seat. Du Heng pressed his lips together and raised a hand to touch the spot that had just been nibbled.
This was the first summer Du Heng had experienced since coming here, and the heat exceeded his expectations. It wasn’t that the weather itself was especially brutal; it was that the living conditions were simply backward.
Keeping cool depended entirely on hand fans. Clothing covered arms and legs, leaving little exposed, so one felt wrapped up in stifling heat all the time.
The small farmhouse was damp, livestock were kept at home, and mosquitoes were especially numerous.
At night, his ears were filled with constant buzzing. Every so often there would be a sharp smack against skin, and the mosquitoes were as big as flies—one bite and they were full of blood.
By morning, his arms and legs were covered with bumps of varying sizes, lined up in rows, itchy and miserable.
Du Heng had thin, delicate skin. Being good-looking already attracted attention—and it attracted mosquitoes too.
At night, he would light a lamp by the window and open a book, planning to sit the lower examination next year. But the mosquitoes kept him from sleeping soundly, and he could not focus on his reading either.
He let out a faint sigh. He had originally planned to try for the xiucai qualifying examination next year.
In the evenings he read for one hour at a time, so the oil lamp would not burn too much and his eyes would not be overstrained.
The lamplight was dim, and his eyes tired easily.
Yet with the mosquitoes constantly harassing him, in an hour of reading he could manage only a dozen or so pages.
After finishing his reading, not very satisfied, he prepared to go to bed. He thought Qin Xiaoman must already be fast asleep. Instead, the ger had made no sound all along, crouched inside the bed curtain, staring intently at the mosquitoes, swatting them one by one and tossing them outside the curtain.
Amid the buzzing, he had carved out a pocket of quiet.
Du Heng’s lips curved upward. He climbed into bed and could not help but get affectionate with him for a while.
They had bathed before entering the bedroom, but in the heat of the first half of the night, even without much exertion, they were soon sticky all over.
In the middle of the night, he went to rinse off again. With the thought of waking early the next day to read some more, he feared that plan would once again fall through.