Chapter 72: Over One Hundred Percent Profit!

With the trusted officer under Lord Ma’s command leading the way, Li Yuanjing arrived at the county yamen without any trouble, his passage smooth and uneventful. Perhaps it was the display of Li Yuanjing’s “talent” earlier that had truly impressed Zhao Bingchun, for Li had barely waited at the yamen before word came that the county magistrate wished to see him.

“Student Li Yuanjing pays his respects to the Honorable Magistrate.”

Soon enough, in the side hall off the guest chamber, Li Yuanjing met Zhao Bingchun and bowed deeply before him. Notably, Zhao Bingchun was receiving Li Yuanjing—a scholar yet to attain official rank—in this guest chamber, a gesture that plainly revealed the importance he attached to Li.

It must be noted: according to imperial custom, the main hall of the county yamen’s guest quarters was reserved for audiences with superiors.

“Heh heh, Yuanjing, there’s no need for such formality between us! Come, sit, sit. Someone—bring tea, the finest!”

Zhao Bingchun smiled at Li Yuanjing as though he were admiring a rare beauty, his gaze brimming with satisfaction. The look gave Li Yuanjing a faint sense of unease, and goosebumps prickled along his arms. Inwardly, he wondered:

“Could this old official perhaps have a fondness for young men?”

Such predilections were hardly rare in the current dynasty—among the scholarly class, they had even become something of a trend, similar to certain customs in later times, where a successful man was expected to flaunt a concubine on business trips, rather than his primary wife; otherwise, his abilities would be called into question.

However, Zhao Bingchun’s next words quickly dispelled such suspicions and restored the air of cultured refinement between them.

He explained that Mr. Murong had been greatly pleased with Li Yuanjing’s poem “If Only Life Were but a First Meeting,” and now, with Young Master Murong arriving in the capital, the poem’s influence had exploded, not unlike a popular song sweeping the land in later generations.

Zhao Bingchun chuckled, “Yuanjing, you are the pride of our Fengcheng—never underestimate yourself! Just yesterday, Young Master Murong sent me a letter, asking if you had penned any new works of late.”

At last, Li Yuanjing understood Zhao Bingchun’s sudden warmth—Murong Kai had sent another letter requesting poetry. Realizing this, Li Yuanjing immediately found an opening and bowed deeply.

“Honorable Magistrate, I am ashamed. These days, I have encountered… some grave troubles—my very life has been threatened. Let alone writing poetry, I can scarcely keep up with my studies…”

“What?” Zhao Bingchun’s face, a moment ago filled with ease, now darkened instantly. “Such a thing? Yuanjing, as long as I am here, you have nothing to fear. Tell me everything in detail and I will see justice done!”

It was, after all, a matter of mutual benefit and exchange. Since Zhao Bingchun had spoken so, Li Yuanjing did not hesitate; he recounted in detail the matter of the Third Master and Philanthropist Xue.

“This damnable scoundrel!” Zhao Bingchun slammed his teacup down, his expression so dark it seemed rain might fall, even cursing aloud in his rage. He had thought his warning would suffice, and with his imminent promotion, surely Xue would have shown him some respect—but evidently, Philanthropist Xue hadn’t given him the slightest consideration.

Zhao Bingchun paced back and forth, brooding for some time, only to grow somewhat dispirited. Even though Xue was openly defying him, perhaps even making a mockery of him, he found himself at a loss for any effective way to deal with the man.

Such was the way of the empire: officials might come and go, but the bureaucratic machinery beneath—the clerks, the true cogs—were permanent fixtures. Especially the pivotal posts: the county assistant, the county constable, the chief clerk. These three controlled the people, the militia, and the finances. Outwardly, they seemed to obey Zhao Bingchun’s orders, but should a conflict with a local power like Xue arise… Zhao Bingchun had no true confidence in prevailing.

“Yuanjing, you needn’t worry over this matter! I will see justice done for you. For now, return and rest, stay in town a few days, focus on your studies, and perhaps compose a poem or two.”

After a long consideration, Zhao Bingchun smiled at Li Yuanjing.

Li Yuanjing had been watching Zhao Bingchun’s face closely and, upon hearing these words, felt a pang of unease—a premonition that things might not go well for him.

Nevertheless, with Zhao Bingchun’s words spoken, Li Yuanjing did not act rashly. He respectfully gifted the magistrate ten taels of silver as a “token of appreciation” and then took his leave.

…

Upon leaving the yamen, the chill wind cleared Li Yuanjing’s thoughts. Suddenly, he realized he had acted somewhat recklessly.

It was not wrong to seek Zhao Bingchun’s backing. Yet, Li Yuanjing had overlooked a crucial point: he wished to use Zhao Bingchun’s power, but the crafty magistrate equally wished to use his.

The higher the official, the greater the weight they could wield. Despite Li Yuanjing’s “talent” and his friendship with Murong Kai, the capital was distant, and Murong’s influence far away. If Zhao Bingchun chose to placate him with empty promises while pocketing his gifts, what could Li Yuanjing possibly do in response?

…

Returning to the small inn, Li Yuanjing remained in a somber mood. But just then, Zhang Kun rushed to him, visibly excited.

“Master, our entire batch of goods has been sold! What’s more, the price was a whole wen higher than the market rate—nearly thirteen taels of silver in all!”

“What?” Li Yuanjing started in surprise. “The linen has already sold? And for thirteen taels?”

Zhang Kun nodded vigorously. “Yes, Master! But it was Miss Chen Chuxue who sold them all. She’s waiting in her room for you now—if you have any questions, she’ll explain everything.”

Li Yuanjing hurried to Chen Chuxue’s room, forgetting even his hunger. Though he hadn’t placed much hope in the linen woven by the women workers, as a responsible owner, he’d kept close track of every expense: raw materials, wages, food for the women—altogether, the cost per batch was just over five taels, at most six.

Yet now the goods had sold for thirteen taels! What did that mean? That was a hundred percent profit—more than double, even!

“Your servant Chen Chuxue greets the master. You must be tired and hungry; I’ve just asked the innkeeper to prepare some dishes—they should be ready any moment.”

As he entered, Chen Chuxue wafted a delicate fragrance as she bowed gracefully to him.

Li Yuanjing was momentarily stunned, his earlier restlessness beginning to subside. He’d always found something unique about Chen Chuxue, but had thought it was only her graceful figure and her pleasant scent. He never imagined this young woman had such ability.

After a moment, Li Yuanjing laughed, settling himself grandly across from her. “Miss Chen, it seems I must truly look at you in a new light.”

Chen Chuxue laughed softly, her eyes curving into lovely crescents—her mood was clearly excellent. “Master, with your keen mind, I’m sure you’ve already calculated our profit on this shipment?”

“By my rough estimate,” she continued, “the cost was about six and a half taels, and we sold for nearly thirteen—just about a hundred percent profit.”

“But do you know, Master, what the usual profit margin is for ordinary weaving workshops selling the same goods?”

Li Yuanjing’s brows furrowed as he realized she had touched on the heart of the matter. His voice grew hoarse as he asked, “How much?”

…

Brothers, I beg for your support—many thanks, bowing low in gratitude.