Chapter Seven: Money Is a Major Problem

Zhen Qian had prepared these ingredients with the intent to make Yangzhou fried rice, but since such a dish didn’t exist in the Tang Dynasty, he decided to call it Zhen’s fried rice instead.

The two young girls had no idea what “Zhen’s fried rice” meant; the name itself sounded intriguing, yet the idea of a young master who had never stepped foot in a kitchen making it was laughable—whatever he produced was anyone’s guess.

Zhen Qian chuckled, saying nothing; after all, explanations were futile—no matter what he said, the two girls would never believe he could cook.

Yangzhou fried rice traditionally required ham and corn, but neither existed in the Tang Dynasty; he had no choice but to make do.

Xiaozhu watched as Zhen Qian, whose hands once held a brush, now wielded a kitchen knife with equal skill; her face was increasingly filled with astonishment.

Anyone with experience could tell at a glance if someone was bluffing; at least Zhen Qian’s knife work was genuine, more adept than the two girls’, leaving them both dumbfounded, mouths agape, unsure what to say.

After washing the ingredients, he cut the chicken into small cubes, cracked eggs into a bowl, added salt and chopped scallions, stirring thoroughly. The large iron wok was already heated; he poured in vegetable oil, waited for it to warm, then slid in the eggs, followed by peas, diced carrots, and so on… A dazzling array of movements ensued, leaving the two girls utterly shocked as they watched each grain of rice in the wok become fragrant, nearly ready to be served. They swallowed hard, hardly able to believe their eyes.

“Master, are we dreaming?” Xiaozhu, mischievous by nature, pinched Xiaomei’s arm. Xiaomei cried out, glaring at the equally astonished Xiaozhu. “You little rascal, why did you pinch me?”

“Come quickly, taste this Zhen’s fried rice and see how it is!” Zhen Qian tried a mouthful himself. The dish was not difficult to make, but it required careful selection of ingredients, precise preparation, and attention to presentation. Once cooked, each grain was distinct, loose yet tender, with balanced softness and color, a glossy sheen, a variety of ingredients, and a fresh, delicate flavor—aromatic and delicious. If only it had the missing two ingredients, the taste would have been even better.

“It’s delicious!” Xiaozhu couldn’t stop eating after the first bite, her mouth stuffed with rice, a few grains clinging to her lips, her face full of enjoyment.

Xiaomei, usually reserved, couldn’t help but try a few bites after seeing Xiaozhu’s enthusiasm. “Heavens! This Zhen’s fried rice has such a unique flavor. Master, when did you learn such skills?”

Zhen Qian patted both girls on the head, pointing at the small amount of fried rice left in the wok, feigning displeasure. “You two have no sense of rank—if you finish all the Zhen’s fried rice, am I supposed to go hungry?”

Xiaozhu stuck out her tongue. “Master, your fried rice is so good—we couldn’t help ourselves. Why don’t you teach us your skill?”

Zhen Qian had no desire to spend every day in the kitchen; cooking occasionally was fine, but to deal daily with oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar would leave him no time for anything else.

“If you really want to learn, I’ll teach you everything I know!”

Fortunately, both girls had basic cooking skills, so a few pointers were all it took for them to grasp the trick. Before long, two plates of Yangzhou fried rice were presented before Zhen Qian. “Master, taste our cooking!”

He tried a mouthful from each plate; for a first attempt, they had done well, and he had no high expectations. “Xiaozhu’s plate is a bit off in terms of heat, while Xiaomei’s is just right—the flavor is spot on, though the eggs are slightly overcooked. Still, for your first try, this is excellent!”

Having won Zhen Qian’s praise, the faces of the two girls blossomed with joy. Riding the wave of excitement, they fried a few more plates and brought them out for Uncle Wang and the others to taste.

It wasn’t long before the girls returned from outside, grinning as wide as split shoes, clearly having received much praise from Uncle Wang and his group. Most tellingly, their plates were completely empty.

Their stomachs were full, but what to do next was still uncertain—they couldn’t simply idle away at the Zhen residence.

“Become an official!” The thought flashed through Zhen Qian’s mind, but he immediately dismissed it. He had the status, and with the Zhen family’s connections in both the local area and the capital, becoming a minor official wouldn’t be difficult. But he was unfamiliar with Tang society—if he made a mistake in official circles, it wouldn’t be a trivial matter.

If being an official wasn’t viable, then business was the only option. In the Tang Dynasty, commoners were divided into four classes: scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants. Merchants were the lowest, their status barely above that of slaves—this troubled Zhen Qian, and he couldn’t tell the Zhen family about it. For a scholar to engage in commerce would disgrace the family.

He sat down, holding Xiaozhu and Xiaomei’s delicate hands, and asked, “There are three or four hundred people in the Zhen household—daily expenses must be considerable. Where does all this money come from?”

Xiaozhu’s excitement hadn’t faded; she giggled, “Master, why are you suddenly interested in these things? The Zhen family is large, but we never worry about money or grain. Just outside the city, we have hundreds of hectares of farmland, and there are over a dozen shops in Zhengding City. We also sell goods from other places—every year, the income exceeds ten thousand strings of coins!”

“Hundreds of hectares of farmland! Annual income of over ten thousand strings…” Zhen Qian was speechless. One hectare equals a hundred mu; hundreds of hectares means tens of thousands of mu. If each mu yields three shi of grain a year (one shi is about a hundred twenty pounds), that’s thousands of tons of grain annually…

Naturally, the Zhen family couldn’t eat all those thousands of tons of grain, but what shocked Zhen Qian was that they were also involved in business. According to Xiaozhu, this was nothing unusual, though it didn’t match his understanding.

“Isn’t business a lowly occupation? Does the Zhen family actually do business themselves?”

Xiaozhu thought Zhen Qian had forgotten something, and quickly explained, “Of course the Zhen family doesn’t run businesses directly. Still, all the ventures are in the family’s name. Steward Wang is most familiar with these matters—I’ve only heard people talk about it. But everyone knows commerce is lowly; we can’t openly engage in it. All dealings are managed by distant relatives and servants. Master, why are you suddenly asking about this?”

Zhen Qian immediately understood—this was just like later times, when officials couldn’t engage in business, but secretly amassed wealth through their relatives. He hadn’t expected this practice to exist as early as the Tang Dynasty.

If even a powerful family like the Zhens were involved in business, then it shouldn’t be hard for him to do something covertly.

Just as this thought brought a spark of hope to his face, a sudden realization snapped him back to reality—doing business was easy in principle, but he had no initial capital. Was he supposed to make money out of thin air?

Xiaomei had said his monthly allowance was substantial—twenty strings of coins, neither much nor little—but it was hardly enough to start a business.

Business seemed possible, but three thorny problems needed solving. First was the source of funds: business ventures varied in size, and so did the capital required. Small transactions rarely earned much; he couldn’t imagine Zhen Qian making pancakes on the street for a few coins at a time.

Second was what kind of business to do; this would determine not only the capital needed but also the future direction. Zhen Qian had many ideas for making money, but whether they would work was another matter entirely.

Third was the issue of the Zhen family’s restrictions. As the legitimate eldest son of the second branch, his identity was far too sensitive. Would the family allow him to do business? Clearly not—he would have to circumvent the family’s obstacles. The very thought made Zhen Qian’s head ache. It was no easy task.

“Xiaozhu, Xiaomei, how do you think we could get our hands on a large sum of money?”

Zhen Qian didn’t expect the girls to have any great ideas, but they were his closest attendants—if he didn’t ask them, who could he turn to?

Xiaomei replied, “Master, what do you need the money for? I do have fifty or sixty strings saved up. If you’re in urgent need, take it.”

Previously, Zhen Qian had never concerned himself with money—not the current Zhen Qian, of course. He had never wanted for food or clothing; even the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone for study were provided by the family. Money meant little to him. Even his expenses for scholarly pursuits or socializing were paid for by Wang You or billed to the Zhen household.

“That’s too little; we need at least a few hundred strings!”

“So much! Master, what are you planning?” Xiaomei covered her mouth in shock—a few hundred strings was no small sum, equivalent to the entire wealth of a middle-class household in the Tang Dynasty.

Zhen Qian had intended to say a few thousand, but seeing Xiaomei so startled at a few hundred, he didn’t dare ask for more.

“It’s nothing—I just feel like we could use more money, want to earn some for security.”

The girls had no idea why Zhen Qian was suddenly concerned about money, but seeing his troubled face, they worried for him as well.

“Master, all the money in the Zhen household is managed by Lady Xing. Any expenses in the residence must be approved by her. But if you really need funds, you might ask Steward Wang—he might be able to help you raise some money.”

“Steward Wang?” Xiaozhu, of course, meant Wang Qun, who managed all external affairs for the Zhen family. This was indeed a promising avenue.

“Very well! Help me call Steward Wang—I have something to ask him.”

Half an hour later, Wang Qun ascended the small building. Seeing Zhen Qian, he got straight to the point: “Young Master, what makes you suddenly need money?”

The two girls had already explained things to him, and Zhen Qian didn’t bother repeating himself. “Steward Wang, if I wanted to use some money, what could you do to help me raise a sum quickly?”