Chapter Eleven: Technical Reserves

Zhen Qian spent fifty-six strings of cash in one go to buy seven slaves, which made Wang You, standing to the side, rather anxious. He kept winking at Zhen Qian and surreptitiously tugging at his sleeve.

The contract for the slave transaction was quickly prepared, and Cao Renyi waited for Zhen Qian to pay him. But Zhen Qian showed no intention of bringing up the money, so Cao Renyi finally couldn’t help but say, “Master Zhen, the deal is done—shouldn’t the money...?”

Zhen Qian glared at him, a bit displeased. “Do I look like someone who doesn’t pay his debts?”

Cao Renyi wasn’t really worried that Zhen Qian would renege on the payment, but seeing Zhen Qian not mentioning the money, he couldn’t figure out what Zhen Qian was thinking.

“Please don’t misunderstand, Master Zhen. For the Zhen family, this sum is nothing but a drop in the ocean—how could you shortchange me for such a trifle?”

Zhen Qian ignored Cao Renyi’s chatter and said to Wang You, “Write up a promissory note for Manager Cao. Have him come to the Zhen residence to collect the money one month from today.”

“What! You want to pay on credit?”

Cao Renyi could never have imagined Zhen Qian would pull such a stunt. In more than twenty years of doing business, this was the first time he’d seen such a thing. He was completely stunned. Usually, payments were settled on the spot without delay—didn’t Zhen Qian understand that?

“Master Zhen, this doesn’t seem to follow the rules!”

Zhen Qian paid him no mind and continued to Wang You, “Make a note on the promissory: if any of the slaves sold die from illness within the month, Cao Renyi must refund the entire sum, and will be held accountable for fraudulent dealings!”

Cao Renyi stood there, dumbfounded; this was unheard of. Was he dreaming?

Zhen Qian smiled faintly, unhurried. “Manager Cao, look at these slaves you’re selling—skin and bones, who knows what diseases they might carry. What if they die within two days of my bringing them home? Whose responsibility would that be?”

Except for the Mohe man named Ayena Ye, who was as strong as an ox, the other six—the Song family—were as thin and frail as Zhen Qian said. But this wasn’t a charity; how could Cao Renyi afford to provide good food and lodging for them? There were hardly any sturdy slaves in the entire market, but could he say Zhen Qian was wrong?

“Master Zhen, this is a bit irregular...”

“Rules are made by people. If you disagree, we can call off the deal, but I’ll accuse you of fraud!”

Cao Renyi’s mouth hung open—he was at a loss for words. How had he suddenly become the one accused of fraud? Wasn’t this pure sophistry?

“Is it that hard to understand?” Zhen Qian’s expression grew cold as he held up the slave contract. “You sell slaves whose survival for a single month isn’t even guaranteed—how is that not fraud?”

Cao Renyi was on the verge of tears. Zhen Qian’s argument made sense; if a slave died as soon as they left the market, who could say where the fault lay? Yet, something felt off, though he couldn’t pinpoint the flaw. He could only nod in resignation. “Fine. One month—after that, we’ll settle up and have nothing more to do with each other.”

“Of course. I’m not asking you to guarantee them for life. A month isn’t so long—surely you can wait that long, Manager Cao?”

Cao Renyi stared blankly as Zhen Qian led the seven out. He smacked his own head, unable to fathom why he’d agreed to Zhen Qian’s terms. He glanced despondently at the ceiling, clutching a fifty-six string promissory note, and muttered, “Isn’t this a loss on all fronts?”

Zhen Qian had no intention of bringing the seven newly-purchased slaves to the Zhen residence, since they were his private property. He turned to Wang You. “Are there any houses for rent in the city? I’d like to rent one to settle these people.”

Wang You didn’t understand why Zhen Qian was doing this—the Zhen residence was large enough for a few more people. Why insist on renting elsewhere? He couldn’t guess Zhen Qian’s intentions.

“Master, houses for rent are hard to find in the city right now, but there are plenty available outside the city. Why not settle them there?”

Zhen Qian considered this. He didn’t have much money on hand, and city rents were surely higher. It seemed wise to place them outside the city.

The carriage headed beyond the city walls, and five li from the city, they found a small courtyard with three entrances and three exits. The elderly caretaker explained that the owners were merchants who spent years away, so the house had long been unoccupied. They couldn’t bear to sell it, in case they someday wished to return home, so they rented it out for the time being.

The rent was modest, just five hundred coins a month. The space was four to five hundred square meters, easily enough for ten people. The furnishings were complete, and with a few clean garments, the place was ready for occupancy.

Once the Song family was settled, under the lead of old Song Yi, they knelt before Zhen Qian. There was little genuine gratitude in their gesture—it was simply a formal acknowledgment of master and servant. Zhen Qian didn’t mind; with time, genuine feelings would develop.

“Master, this old servant and his family thank you for saving our lives. May I ask what work you wish us to do?”

The Song family had been craftsmen engraving tomb inscriptions for generations. Zhen Qian had no intention of sending them back to that trade; he had already made up his mind. “Your family can read, can’t they?”

Song Yi nodded. “Yes, Master, the three generations of the Song family are literate, though we’re no scholars—just enough to recognize the characters.”

“That’s enough.” Zhen Qian hadn’t expected to buy scholars, so he was satisfied. “Tell me, are you skilled in stone carving and engraving?”

Song Yi paused, then replied, “Yes. The skills are all related. While I can’t claim to be a master, I’m competent enough. Does Master wish us to carve something?”

“Something like that,” Zhen Qian said, delighted. In the Tang dynasty, woodblock printing was just beginning to take shape; by the Song, it would reach its peak, and Bi Sheng would invent movable type. Technology was continuous—there were no abrupt leaps or breaks. In a sense, he was cheating at history.

Song Yi didn’t mind. Whatever the master required, they would do.

Zhen Qian handed two strings of cash to Song Yi. “Here’s some money. First, buy food and cloth so you can settle in comfortably. Second, keep practicing your engraving—buy some hard wood to substitute for stone, and carve some characters on it. In a while, I’ll come check on your work, and then I’ll have a new assignment for you.”

Song Yi thought Zhen Qian was testing their skills and dared not ask further. He made up his mind to do the task well; otherwise, if Zhen Qian was dissatisfied, life would be hard for the six members of the Song family.

Wang You had no idea what Zhen Qian intended. Buying the six Song family members was odd enough, but now he wanted them to carve letters onto wood—was Zhen Qian planning to open a seal and engraving shop?

“Master, even if you open such a shop, business will be scarce. Please reconsider.”

Wang You felt it his duty as Zhen Qian’s attendant to warn him. After all, Zhen Qian had suffered a head injury in the past; who knew what strange ideas he might have. If he lost a little money, it didn’t matter, but he worried about bringing ridicule on the Zhen family.

Zhen Qian didn’t care to explain. He had no intention of opening a seal shop—such a business required famous artisans, and the Song family’s skills weren’t enough. Besides, such shops weren’t all that profitable; they were more of a private hobby among scholars. Lastly, the real money was in selling the stones themselves, and he had no source for those. So why open such a shop?

Wang You asked, “Then what do you intend to have the Song family do?”

Zhen Qian didn’t hide his plan. “Open a bookstore.”

“A bookstore?” Wang You was stunned, staring at Zhen Qian in confusion. Why did a bookstore need engravers?

Zhen Qian patted Wang You’s head. “There’s much you still don’t understand—you’ll see in due time.”

In the Tang dynasty, although woodblock printing had begun, most books were still copied by hand by impoverished scholars, who made a little money that way.

Naturally, a bookstore wasn’t a path to riches, but it was a decent business. Zhen Qian hadn’t initially intended to open one either, but he saw no reason to let the Song family sit idle. If there was money to be earned, why not?

Wang You could only smile wryly and shake his head, unable to guess what Zhen Qian was plotting. As long as Zhen Qian wasn’t ill, the Zhen family could well afford this expense.

After settling the Song family’s affairs, Zhen Qian approached Ayena Ye, smiling. “Are you homesick, my friend?”

If Zhen Qian had asked anything else, Ayena Ye would have refused to answer, but mention of his homeland brought tears to his eyes. He had been away for nearly three years; who knew what his home had become? How could he not long for it?

“What are you trying to say?”

Ayena Ye looked at Zhen Qian warily. In his mind, there were no good people in the Tang empire—they’d bought and sold him, beat him for no reason, and when he fought back, he was beaten all the more. He’d had enough of this life.

“I asked if you’re homesick—do you want to go home?”

“Yes,” Ayena Ye replied, but instantly regretted it. Would this young man really let him go home?

“Then tell me, do you want your family to live well? Do you want to hold your head high when you return?”

Ayena Ye was at a loss for words. Was this young man mad? Did these questions even need to be asked?

“You Tang people are too cunning. I don’t trust you,” he said.

Zhen Qian burst out laughing, leaving Ayena Ye bewildered. Was he really that funny, or was this man out of his mind? He clenched his fists, thinking if it came to blows, he’d deal with this crazy fellow first.