Du Heng and Xiaoman closed their stall earlier than other vendors. They still had over an hour’s journey home—not like the locals who could return in a short time. Though they packed up early, most of their prepared ingredients had sold out.
Winter days were short, and by the time they reached home, dusk had already settled.
Tiger, the dog, had been alert at the gate. He wagged his tail furiously and tried to jump out to greet them but wasn’t quite high enough. Upon seeing the old ox, he barked excitedly.
Du Heng opened the gate, and Tiger leapt onto him.
“Alright, I see you. Let’s go inside.”
Tiger circled, jumping and barking. Du Heng finally patted his head to calm him.
He first went to the kitchen to stoke the fire, then, with Xiaoman, unloaded the cart. The house immediately felt alive again with activity.
Worried Xiaoman had gotten cold from being out all day, Du Heng heated water for him to soak his feet—the fastest way to chase away the chill.
Since having the child, Xiaoman had prioritized his own health more.
Du Heng fed the animals with a bucket of food, then sat by the stove to warm his own feet while preparing dinner. At leisure, he counted the bag of copper coins they had earned.
The coins were heavy in number, but no one complained about their weight.
“There’s over one thousand eight hundred wen here!”
Seeing Du Heng come out of the pigsty, Qin Xiaoman couldn’t wait to announce the day’s earnings.
Du Heng set down the bucket and washed his hands in hot water. “Then calculate how many portions we sold today.”
He could have done the math in his head, but he waited patiently for Xiaoman’s count. Xiaoman counted on his fingers, muttering under his breath for a while. “Over a hundred portions?”
Du Heng chuckled lightly. “So early and already getting forgetful—people say pregnancy makes one dull for three years. How come you’re starting already?”
Xiaoman pouted. He wasn’t particularly clever to begin with; a little more absent-mindedness wouldn’t hurt… except that if it rained, he might not even know to go home.
“One hundred twenty portions. Calculating costs first, each portion earns about five wen. Ignoring costs, that’s six hundred wen.”
Du Heng relayed the result. “Today’s business was indeed good.”
Xiaoman smiled and gently patted his belly. “If we could earn this much every day, the little one will have a good start in life.”
Du Heng sat beside him, placing his hand over Xiaoman’s. “At least the child won’t go hungry.”
They shared a moment of warmth, ate dinner together, and then prepared ingredients for the next day. Du Heng planned to run the stall only on market days, not every day—the round trip took time, and preparing ingredients for the next day could easily stretch into the late hours.
This was why most rural families rarely went into town for business. If the town were closer, it would be feasible, but the distance made it tiring. If business stayed as good as today, they could make a small few taels of silver per month with trips every two or three days.
Yet Du Heng knew better than to think too far ahead. Earnings were measured day by day; tomorrow could bring unforeseen changes that stopped the stall entirely.
The next day, Du Heng prepared ingredients at home and stopped by Qin Xiong’s place to reserve the offal from the pig he had recently slaughtered. Xiaoman went to hire someone to plow the fields and gather firewood—winter was slow, and villagers were happy to take on the work.
“Why’s that? Du Heng not feeling well? Hiring help for plowing?”
The villagers, with idle curiosity, asked directly. They knew the Qin family’s work was easy; plowing for them meant more time to collect branches from the hills. Though post-harvest, every family had crop residue for firewood, it was inferior to proper wood and couldn’t be used for making charcoal.
“Next spring there’s a provincial exam. Someone’s got to prepare, can’t leave it to chance,” Xiaoman replied openly.
Though Du Heng had asked for discretion, the news had long spread; the villagers already had their suspicions.
“And you, Xiaoman? Why hire help all of a sudden?”
“I have a child now. Need to rest and take care of myself.”
“Oh! Really?”
The village women buzzed with surprise. While marriage and pregnancy were not unusual, Xiaoman had always been active and energetic around the village—it was hard to associate him with having a child.
The cold drove Xiaoman back home after a few words, but the villagers kept talking:
“Autumn harvest done, hiring help for plowing… clearly they’re backing Du Heng’s studies.”
“The exams aren’t easy. Many try, few succeed. So much money spent, often wasted.”
“The young couple is lucky. I’ve passed by the Qin household these days, and there’s been the smell of cooking meat every day—feels like a festival.”
“Seems young Xiaoman is blessed indeed.”
The chatter swung between Du Heng’s studies and Xiaoman’s new child, keeping the fields lively for a while.
When market day came, the couple set off with the ox cart early, avoiding attention from the village.
After a trial run, they hadn’t gone again the next day, so repeat customers hadn’t been established. But once the stall was set up, previous buyers recognized them immediately. Some came to buy offal for drinking at taverns, bringing boxes to keep it warm, asking Du Heng to pour extra brine.
Business was similar to the first visit: busy in the morning, slow around midday.
Du Heng had brought a book with him and was flipping through it at the low table when sudden commotion arose. Street vendors around shouted and drew attention.
Three young scholars from the street approached. Du Heng recognized their bluish robes—they were from the Bai Rong Academy. He lifted the lid of the brine pot to introduce the food, but the shortest scholar immediately covered his mouth.
“The smell of offal… eating pig offal is shameful. Better to go elsewhere.”
The one holding the embroidered handwarmer countered, “I think it smells fine, and it’s hot. In this weather, it warms the body.”
“Warm the body? Better to have lamb soup—I know a place where the lamb soup is excellent,” said the shortest scholar, turning to his companions. “Brother Mu, Brother Cheng, today’s on me. How about it?”
The scholar holding the handwarmer neither refused nor accepted. The one carrying the book box turned to him: “Brother Mu, what do you think?”
The scholar with the book box waved his hand. “You two go ahead. I’ll eat lightly and return to the academy; Master Fan wants to see me later.”
“Very well, then we shall go,” said the other.
Mu Ti acknowledged with a nod, carrying his book box to a low table and sitting down.
The scholar who had suggested the lamb soup, seeing Mu Ti decline, showed a flicker of disappointment, then politely guided the handwarmer-holding scholar toward the food stall.
“Keep it simple,” the seated scholar told Du Heng, then turned to an older vendor nearby. “Sir, a bowl of noodles, please.”
Du Heng quickly prepared a plate piled with braised dishes, ladled some broth over it, and noticed the scholar flipping through a book left on the table. “Pardon me, sir. This book was just here. I’ll collect it so it doesn’t get in your way.”
“This is your book? Preparing for next spring’s provincial exam?”
Du Heng set down the food and nodded. “Indeed, young sir, your eyes are sharp.”
Mu Ti looked slightly surprised, then smiled gently, closing the book and handing it back. “I see this is the poetry for the provincial exam—so that explains it.”
The provincial exam merely tested whether students possessed basic knowledge; the content was simple. Once a scholar passed it, they rarely studied elementary poetry again, focusing instead on essays and argumentation.
Seeing Du Heng openly admit to being a scholar moved Mu Ti slightly. Most scholars of today prided themselves on refinement: refusing manual labor, disdainful of common foods, and from poor families, embarrassed to return home to help after autumn harvest—even when the academy took a break.
Few, like Du Heng, ran a small food stall while continuing their studies. Mu Ti admired someone diligent amid hardship. Du Heng was young, handsome, and earnest; it naturally invited conversation.
But as the academy session was ending and the young couple busy serving customers, Mu Ti did not linger too long.
Students from Bai Rong Academy typically came from wealthy families and rarely ate at small street stalls, though some occasionally craved simpler fare. Stall vendors knew academy students were mostly well-off, potentially future officials; so even if business was rare, they were courteous in service.
Mu Ti watched the young couple warmly and generously serve passing students, noting how even indifferent scholars were politely attended to. He stayed until the rush of students leaving the academy faded.
The scholar first boiled water in a small personal stove, warming the handwarmer’s water. He rubbed his hands, and seeing no one watching, offered warmth to his companion as well. They whispered and laughed quietly, faces lighting up with joy.
A new customer arrived, interrupting their private moment. After a while, the young scholar poured himself a cup of hot water and sat in the empty spot nearby, rubbing the handwarmer, eyes full of curiosity. “Is your husband from Bai Rong Academy?”
Mu Ti thanked him politely and confirmed, “Yes.”
Qin Xiaoman’s eyes sparkled. “My husband is a scholar too. He’ll take the exam next year—do you think he can pass?”
“A diligent person will succeed,” Mu Ti replied sincerely.
“You make a living selling food?”
Xiaoman shook his head. “We’re a rural family. Studying costs money, and I have a child now. My husband said it’s better to earn some extra in the off-season, so we’re not short on hand.”
Mu Ti raised an eyebrow. “And when does your husband find time to study?”
“Rising early to study, reading while preparing pig feed, and reviewing books when business is slow in town. He may not have as much time as other scholars, but he works hard.”
Xiaoman’s pride shone through her words.
Mu Ti glanced deeply at Du Heng’s back. “Truly diligent.”
He reached for his book box to open it, when suddenly a commotion arose. A nearby vendor shouted to Xiaoman, “Master, quickly have your husband pack up—the ruffian Peng and his men are coming!”
Xiaoman, unfamiliar with Peng, noticed the panicked vendors around him and immediately stood alert. “What’s he here for?”
The older vendor, gathering his own items, replied, “He’s here to collect protection money—one day’s earnings. Pack up and hide, quickly!”
Xiaoman panicked and called for Du Heng. Their cart had only a few items; the table and stools could be lifted onto the ox cart swiftly.
“Apologies, sir, we must close the stall for now.”
Mu Ti had never witnessed such a scene. Though unsure what was happening, he saw the young couple load all their stall items back onto the cart and quickly jump on.
Vendors around shouted warnings: “Hurry, get out!”
The commotion escalated. Mu Ti, still standing there, watched the couple drive away and realized belatedly: “Little brother, I haven’t paid yet!”
Before he could finish, several burly men appeared, having flanked the stall from both sides. The slowest vendors couldn’t escape.
“How dare you run? Who gave you the nerve?”
“Back! All of you, back!”
“Sir, we had no business here—we were just closing the stall, didn’t mean to run!”
The vendors shrank back, too intimidated to resist, offering only timid words to appease the ruffians. Du Heng and Qin Xiaoman’s ox cart was forced to retreat.
“Stop your chatter and hand over all the money!” one of the men barked.
Mu Ti stepped forward, stopping the trembling vendor about to pay, and asked the leader, “Are you Peng, the ruffian?”
“Who are you, kid? Mind your own business. I’m not striking a scholar today,” the man sneered, glancing at Mu Ti’s attire marking him as from Bai Rong Academy, and refrained from hitting him.
“Whether I’m a scholar or not is irrelevant. Do you think the magistrate would allow you to extort money from common folk like this?” Mu Ti said.
“Does it matter to him? Looks like you’re asking for a beating!”
Before Mu Ti could respond, the man impatiently shoved him. Mu Ti nearly fell, his book box spilling its contents, and a token rolled out onto the ground.
“What’s this?” one of Peng’s men exclaimed, about to kick it aside. He looked down and saw the inscription, his face going pale.
He hurried to restrain the furious Peng. “Boss… this… this is Master Mu’s son!”
“What Master Mu’s son?”
“The young master from Governor Mu’s household!”
Peng’s expression changed instantly. By the time he realized, Mu Ti had already picked up his books, his face flushed with anger, and snatched back his token.
“Extorting the people and bullying them in public—shameful!”
Mu Ti pointed sharply, and the men, terrified, dared not attempt any collection, praying for their own safety.
“I didn’t know it was Master Mu’s son. Truly, it was like water rushing over the Dragon King’s temple. Please, young master, I didn’t intend harm. Don’t take it to heart.”
Peng, now submissive, made a clumsy gesture to help Mu Ti, but was brushed aside.
Mu Ti, firm, said, “If I ever catch you extorting money from the people again, each of you will be captured and thrown into the county jail!”
“Yes, yes, we will obey, Master Mu’s son! We will never come again!”
“Now, get lost!”
The men fled like released prisoners. The vendors along the street, seeing the ruffians leave, breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“Thank you, young master! If not for you, they would have bullied us again today.”
One by one, they came to thank Mu Ti.
“It’s nothing. When I return, I’ll inform the magistrate so the county guards increase patrols here.”
“Thank you, young master, thank you!”
After rounds of gratitude, everyone returned to their stalls. With the endorsement of the young master of the assistant magistrate’s household, they would likely be secure for some time, and all were delighted.
Seeing the crisis resolved, Du Heng and Xiaoman returned their ox cart home.
“Here, you didn’t have a chance to pay earlier,” Mu Ti said, calming his earlier anger, and handed them money. Then he asked, “Does this happen often?”
“We just started the stall. This is the first time. But the older vendors said it’s not uncommon,” Du Heng replied.
“These ruffians are truly detestable. Today I chased them off, but next time we’ll round them all up!”
Du Heng’s brow twitched; he sensed that Mu Ti held some authority.
“If it can be so, it is indeed a blessing for us common folk,” Du Heng said.
Mu Ti sighed. Thugs rarely changed their ways, and it was not unique to Luoxia County—many people preyed on others with impunity.
“By the way, I heard you’re preparing for the provincial exam. Perhaps these books will help you; you can glance through them in your spare time.”
Mu Ti returned to his book box and pulled out a stack of texts.
“The provincial exam is simple, but the content is broad. Beyond the Four Books and Five Classics, it’s good to familiarize yourself with other writings—better to be prepared than not.”
Du Heng did not expect the assistant magistrate’s young master to be so approachable. Though he didn’t know his current rank, he was clearly from a scholarly household; his learning materials were far superior to those available to people like them.
Du Heng gratefully accepted them. “Thank you, young master Mu, for the gift of books.”
“Call me Mu Ti,” he said.
Still concerned, Mu Ti opened the book and explained, “I’ve marked the important parts in red. See this line of poetry? I wrote ‘good’ beside it. And here in this passage…”
Du Heng raised an eyebrow. He wanted to insist he wasn’t illiterate, but Mu Ti’s careful and enthusiastic guidance left him unwilling to interrupt.
“Read it aloud with me. Don’t be shy; books should be read aloud,” Mu Ti encouraged.
“….”
They stood reading and discussing for nearly the length of a ceremonial incense stick. Du Heng noticed that Mu Ti had no intention of stopping. He glanced at Xiaoman, who had already restored the stall to its original state.
“Du Heng, don’t daze off. Look at the phrases marked in blue,” Xiaoman said, a soft laugh accompanying her words.
Mu Ti gestured to him, “Young master Mu Ti, come have some hot water and sit.”
Du Heng exhaled lightly, grateful for Xiaoman’s timely intervention. But Mu Ti simply said, “Alright,” showing no intention of leaving. Du Heng had no choice but to follow him, listening as he explained further.
Only when Bai Rong Academy’s class bell rang did Mu Ti clap his thigh: “Ah! I forgot, Master Fan wants to see me.”
Du Heng stood to see him off. “Du Heng, you have talent. Study diligently.”
With that, Mu Ti departed.
Watching him dash off with his book box, Du Heng waved.
Xiaoman, seeing him finally leave, bounced over, her legs stiff from sitting: “That young master really has a kind heart.”
Du Heng closed the book, lifting it slightly. “These are indeed good texts.”
The day’s scare had passed without incident, and from then until the New Year, Old South Street remained peaceful. Du Heng did not know whether the troublemakers had actually been arrested, but the vendors were certainly no longer harassed.
The young couple continued their business until the end of the year. Along the street, other stalls began selling the same kinds of snacks, and though the flavors varied, outsiders could hardly tell which was better.
As more stalls appeared, Du Heng’s business slowed considerably, especially since the couple only went out to sell once every two days.
On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth lunar month, they ran their stall for half a day, packed up early, and bought some New Year goods to bring home, deciding not to return to the county for more sales.
With joyous events and a good season, Du Heng bought two red lanterns to hang at the main hall, and also pasted the leftover New Year paintings he had sold to Wang Zhuzi on the windows.
Last year, Wang Zhuzi had bought New Year paintings from Du Heng and earned a good price; this year, he came early to ask Du Heng to make more. Having spent the past six months intermittently reading and writing, Du Heng found that his skills in painting the New Year scrolls were even better than last winter when he was just starting out.
With simple decorations, the house already felt festive. Du Heng went into the inner room, where a charcoal brazier kept the space quite warm.
Qin Xiaoman, wearing lighter clothing, was in the bedroom counting their savings. The child was already four months along, and without thick clothing to conceal it, her belly had grown noticeably.
Du Heng could not help but gently touch her belly each time. By four months, the fetus was active, and they delighted in listening to the movements, which could be followed for the length of a ceremonial incense stick. The child seemed quiet and rarely caused trouble.
In the past two months, they had earned a modest sum, and after paying the stall taxes, they still had over five thousand wen left.
Qin Xiaoman was delighted and bought extra items for the New Year—not just for their own meals, but also because during the New Year they would be visiting relatives. Having officially married, this year Du Heng would accompany Qin Xiaoman on the visits.