Chapter Ten: The Slave Market (Part Two)

“That’s not quite right,” Cao Renyi’s expression stiffened for a moment, but his smile soon returned. “Slaves are of lowly status—how could any of them know how to read or write? There are a few who know martial arts, but most are unruly and hard to manage. May I ask what you intend to do with such people, Master Zhen?”

“Must I explain myself to you?” Zhen Qian’s face darkened. In the marketplace, a buyer’s intentions were as guarded as business secrets among merchants—surely Cao Renyi understood that.

Cao Renyi immediately forced another smile. “Master Zhen, you misunderstand me. Among those with martial skills, there is a wide variety: some are soldiers who survived the battlefield, some are outlaws who rob and pillage, and some serve as household guards. That’s why I asked.”

Zhen Qian realized he had misjudged Cao Renyi. Yet, after hearing his explanation, he also understood more clearly that purchasing slaves was truly no different from selecting goods.

Soon, Cao Renyi laid out the contracts for slaves skilled in martial arts. Among them were even former bandits and horse thieves hunted by the authorities—though only minor accomplices, as the ringleaders had long been executed. Still, none of these interested Zhen Qian much.

“Is this all you have?” Sensing Zhen Qian’s dissatisfaction, disappointment flashed across Cao Renyi’s face. “What type of slave is Master Zhen looking for? If you tell me, perhaps I can offer some advice.”

What kind of slave did he want? Zhen Qian couldn’t define it precisely himself. After a moment’s thought, he said, “First, I’d like slaves who can read and write—not that I expect great scholars, just those who have attended a private school, preferably under forty, the younger the better. Second, young men suitable as guards, with experience in long journeys, skilled in archery and horsemanship, ideally with families. If they’re Hu people, I’d consider them as well…”

Cao Renyi nodded as if suddenly enlightened. Not wanting to lose a potential customer, he immediately began thinking of how to secure the sale. “It’s true that literate slaves are rare—even lowering the standards, it would take a long time to find one, and it’s mostly a matter of luck. But I do have one family that might suit you, Master Zhen.”

Zhen Qian had just reviewed the contracts and hadn’t noticed any literate slaves, so he asked curiously, “Tell me about them.”

Cao Renyi placed a few contracts in front of him. “This family here.”

Zhen Qian frowned slightly. He didn’t believe Cao Renyi would dare deceive him—perhaps he had overlooked something. “Stone masons?” he asked, knowing Cao Renyi had more to say.

Cao Renyi nodded. “You may not know this, Master Zhen, but this Song family of six specializes in carving epitaphs for tombstones. Unfortunately, due to ill fortune, they fell into heavy debt and were sold as slaves. This family happens to meet your requirements for literacy. What do you think?”

A family of stone carvers who carved epitaphs for the dead—Zhen Qian was at a loss for words. Odd as it felt, they did fit the criteria he had just outlined.

“How much for this family of six?”

As he calculated in his mind, Zhen Qian idly flipped through their contract: three generations, three men and three women, the youngest daughter already fifteen or sixteen—were it not for their debts, she would have been married by now.

“Since you’ve asked, Master Zhen, it would be unfair of me to overcharge you. How does fifty strings of cash sound?”

Zhen Qian’s lips curled—not because the price was high, but because it was lower than he’d expected. It seemed Cao Renyi was truly eager to sell.

He wondered what was on Cao Renyi’s mind. Was he just desperate to be rid of them? “What use do I have for a family who carves tombstone epitaphs for the dead?” Zhen Qian asked, unintentionally hitting on Cao Renyi’s sore spot. Who would buy such slaves for their household? It was inauspicious, and even if one wished to use them, there was hardly an occasion. It wasn't as if a family expected to need tombstones every day. That was precisely why this family had not sold—yet, as they were literate, Cao Renyi thought they might suit Zhen Qian’s needs.

Cao Renyi’s face stiffened, clearly uncomfortable at being called out. He didn’t want to withdraw, but neither did he want to admit defeat. Unwilling to lose the sale, he forced a smile. “If you think the price is too high, we can discuss it. How about fifty strings?”

Zhen Qian shook his head. “Come now, Master Cao, be reasonable. I said I wanted literate slaves, but not just any family will do.”

Cao Renyi gritted his teeth. “Forty strings. No lower.”

It was all Zhen Qian could do not to laugh aloud: forty strings for a family of six was a bargain. He decided not to press his luck. “All right, let’s not make things difficult for Master Cao. Forty strings it is. Consider it an act of charity. Have someone transfer the slave contract to my name.”

Cao Renyi felt bitter—selling the Song family for forty strings was a loss, but circumstances left him no choice. Had he not been so eager, he would never have let them go so cheaply.

At the livestock market, there was an official clerk responsible for slave transactions. Soon, both parties had signed the contracts, together with the clerk and all six members of the Song family. The transaction was complete.

Cao Renyi waited for Zhen Qian to pay, but seeing no movement, grew anxious and tried to hide it. “Master Zhen, are you interested in any other slaves? I have songstresses, Silla maids, and Hu beauties. Would you like to see them?”

Zhen Qian had no interest in women at all—not because of any physiological issue or altered preferences, but simply because he had no time for such enjoyment.

“Do you really not have any guards or warriors as I described?”

In Zhendin, the Zhen family was among the most powerful households, and Cao Renyi would not dare offend them. His eyes flashed as he replied, “If it’s guards you want, I do have one—but this fellow is hot-tempered and, being a Mohe tribesman, has injured several masters. If not for the masters begrudging the cost, he would have been beaten to death already. Would you care to see him?”

“A Mohe tribesman?”

The Mohe were a people from the northeast, their lineage tracing back to the Sushen of the Shang and Zhou dynasties, and the Yilou of the Warring States. Many might not know the Mohe by that name, but they later became the Jurchen—the ancestors of the Manchu who founded the Qing dynasty.

The name Mohe means “forest people.” Besides the later Manchu, the Evenki, Xibe, and other indigenous northeastern groups were also their descendants. They lived in woodlands and marshes, subsisting on fishing, hunting, and herding. Their harsh environment bred them into natural warriors, though at present, the Mohe remained divided, still living in tribal societies—it would be three or four centuries before they truly rose to prominence.

Zhen Qian’s interest was immediately piqued. “Such a man? Bring him to me at once!”

Soon, there was a clatter of chains at the door, and two burly men entered, dragging with iron hooks and chains a wild, swarthy fellow who shouted incomprehensibly, struggling even as he was restrained. Cao Renyi was no saint—he had refrained from killing the man only for fear of losing everything.

The man, pushed into the room, radiated an intimidating presence—well over six feet tall and easily two hundred pounds, with a head as big as a basketball, thick neck, eyes like copper bells, and breath like a bull. One glance was enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine; he stood there like a black iron tower, suffocating in his menace.

“This is the one?” Zhen Qian asked.

Cao Renyi’s face twisted with pain. This slave had cost him endless trouble—financial loss was the least of it; he had nearly landed in legal trouble as well. Yet killing him would be a waste. The man had become a hot potato in his hands.

“His name is Ayena Ye. Over two years ago, he injured someone in the Protectorate of Andong and was sold to the Tang. Recently, he hurt a guard at his last owner’s house and was resold. In total, he’s changed hands four times—still hasn’t learned his lesson. If you wish to buy him, be extremely cautious, lest you get hurt yourself, Master Zhen.”

“Can he speak our language?”

Cao Renyi nodded. “He understands and speaks some, but he refuses to interact with Han people. I’d advise caution.”

Inwardly delighted, Zhen Qian maintained a thoughtful, conflicted facade, as though torn between buying or not. “How much are you asking?”

Seeing him inquire about the price, Cao Renyi was eager for the sale but worried about future trouble. With a forced smile, he said, “He’s violent and hard to control. Are you sure you want to buy him?”

“That’s my concern. If the price is right, I’ll consider it.”

Cao Renyi was anxious to be rid of the problem but equally eager to disclaim responsibility. “We can discuss the price, but let me be clear: once he’s sold, whatever happens is none of my concern.”

“Of course,” Zhen Qian replied, not wishing to haggle endlessly. He liked the man—skilled in archery and woodland combat, just what he needed. “Name your price.”

“Twenty strings.”

“What? Twenty strings? You might as well be robbing me!” Zhen Qian exclaimed, leaping up. Though he wanted the man, he didn’t want to be fleeced.

“Eighteen. Not a coin less.”

“Fifteen. Not a penny more, or the deal is off.” Zhen Qian turned to go, but Cao Renyi grabbed his sleeve. “Seventeen!”

“Sixteen. And from now on, whatever happens with him is none of your concern.”

“Deal!” Cao Renyi agreed, though it pained him. If not for the man’s temperament, he could have fetched at least twenty-five. Still, being rid of the trouble was worth the loss, and he would finally be able to sleep soundly.