On his way home, He Zifeng encountered Gouzi’s father. Though they lived in the same village, they had barely interacted before. Gouzi’s father was a live-in son-in-law who worked outside the village and returned home only once or twice a month.
As they approached each other, Gouzi’s father spoke up, “My son says you’ve been playing with him often. I’m busy with work and don’t have much time for him. Thank you for that.”
Gouzi, now seven, was at the age when even cats and dogs avoided him. His father’s status as a live-in son-in-law also made him a target for teasing. But after He Zifeng had taken Gouzi to pick fruit in the mountains, the boy had developed an admiration for him and frequently visited the He family. Qiu Yu had hosted him for meals, and He Zifeng had even given him wen for errands, which Gouzi had excitedly recounted at home.
He Zifeng replied, “Gouzi’s a bright and clever boy. Our family likes him a lot.”
Gouzi’s father had also heard about He Zifeng’s recent actions. Many younger villagers admired his decisiveness, though a few elders frowned upon his filing a complaint with the authorities.
But Gouzi’s father felt differently. He had seen many people during his years as a traveling peddler—people who endured relentless oppression from their families yet still obeyed blindly. Their foolishness left him speechless.
He Zifeng had lived such a life before, but his recent resolve had earned Gouzi’s father’s respect.
Changing the subject, Gouzi’s father said, “I’ve been making some money at the markets these years, and I recently got a lead: a deal on fabric scraps at three wen per pound, about 400 pounds in total. Once it’s in our hands, we can sell it however we like. At the very least, we can make two wen of profit per pound. Want to join in?”
As a small-time trader, Gouzi’s father dealt in all sorts of goods. Recently, he had invested in 100 pounds of liquor from a neighboring county, putting all his savings into it. The current deal involved surplus fabric from a cloth shop, which included not just scraps but also slightly misprinted or stained bolts of silk and brocade.
Such opportunities were rare, secured only through connections. The seller required him to purchase the entire lot of 400 pounds. Lacking sufficient funds, he had already paid a 500-coin deposit but was still short on the remainder.
He Zifeng’s rapport with Gouzi made him a promising partner, so Gouzi’s father decided to approach him.
He Zifeng was intrigued. “Is this real?”
“It’s real,” Gouzi’s father confirmed. With his deposit on the line, he needed a partner and figured He Zifeng was a good choice.
“Alright, I’ll buy 150 pounds,” He Zifeng decided.
That amounted to 450 wen, leaving Gouzi’s father with a manageable shortfall. Relieved, he suggested, “Let’s go get the goods today. This stuff sells easily, and you’ll make your money back. How much profit you make beyond that depends on your skills.” He added this disclaimer to avoid future disputes, knowing business had no guarantees.
“I understand,” He Zifeng said, appreciating his candor. “Thank you for including me.”
Pleased by his straightforwardness, Gouzi’s father felt reassured.
He Zifeng returned home to get the money from Qiu Yu. With the recent land purchase, their remaining funds came from the mountain fern sale—496 wen in total.
“Take it all,” Qiu Yu said, entrusting him with the entire amount.
They went to the county’s cloth shop, where a clerk led them to a room full of fabric. The inventory ranged from large bolts of silk to small scraps. This surplus had been cleared from the storeroom, and the clerk, eager to earn some side money, had contacted Gouzi’s father.
Gouzi’s father stored the fabric in his small warehouse in the county, dividing it with He Zifeng. “I’ll handle the front county market. You can find a spot in the middle area,” he suggested, wanting to avoid competition between them.
He Zifeng agreed.
They quickly divided the fabric, and Gouzi’s father hired a cart for 20 wen to transport He Zifeng’s share. After bargaining, they settled on 18 wen, though the cart would only carry the goods, not passengers.
Taking the small path home, He Zifeng avoided the village center, arriving just as families were finishing dinner. He paid the carter, leaving only 28 wen in his pouch.
Qiu Yu eagerly helped unload the bundles into their courtyard.
“Gouzi’s father is a good man,” He Zifeng said. “He’s really helping us make money.”
Qiu Yu nodded and began sorting through the fabric.
The variety was astonishing—coarse cloth, fine cloth, silks, brocade, and various scraps. Even the smallest silk pieces were large enough to make handkerchiefs. Many of the larger bolts had minor flaws, such as printing errors or small stains, but to the villagers, these were treasures.
Excitement lit up Qiu Yu’s eyes. “If the other women see this, they’ll be thrilled,” he said.
He Zifeng had previously bought fine fabric for 300 wen, yet here were several bolts of similar quality at a fraction of the price. Villagers would surely compete for these larger pieces, while skilled hands could turn even the smallest scraps into valuable items.
“I’ll sort them by size and material first,” Qiu Yu suggested.
“We’ll do it together,” He Zifeng said, joining him.
Still flustered from the previous night’s events, Qiu Yu blushed as their eyes met. “Go fetch a bucket of water and clean the dusty ones,” he instructed. With several days until the next market, they had time to prepare the goods.
“Alright,” He Zifeng replied, following his lead.
The two worked diligently, Qiu Yu occasionally setting aside particularly appealing fabrics. “This dark blue would make a great winter coat for you.”
“This one’s for Ranran.”
“The sky-blue cotton is beautiful!”
“Is this one embroidered?” Qiu Yu’s delight was infectious, like a child discovering treasures in a pile. “I’ll join you at the market this time,” he added.
“Sure,” He Zifeng agreed readily.
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