Chapter Fifty-Five: Selling Radishes

Mid-October in Fangzhou had already grown chilly, and only the last patch of autumn cabbages remained unharvested in the hollow at the foot of the mountain. These hardy vegetables could withstand the frost, so even if they were gathered later, it mattered little. With a few idle days ahead, the old patriarch himself organized the villagers to collect branches up in the hills, leaving the hollow below suddenly quiet and deserted.

Only Wu Ning, Wu Li, Sixth Aunt, and Fifth Aunt stayed behind to tend the guesthouse; during the day, not another soul could be seen. At this moment, with Li Wenbo keeping an eye on the front yard, Wu Ning and Wu Li slipped into the backyard cellar to haul out the radishes stored there.

With the cabbage harvest imminent, space needed to be cleared in the cellar. Wu Li, however, still hadn't gotten over Wu Ning's mortification from the other day. “Was that man truly Chen Boyu?” he asked, unable to let it go.

“Serves you right for copying blindly and running into the real article!” Wu Ning replied, climbing out of the cellar with an armful of radishes, eyes blazing, refusing to admit defeat. “So what if I did? What's the worst that could happen?”

Wu Li smirked. “He's an official—a scholar of the highest rank. Sorting you out would be child's play for him.”

“Enough! Get on with your work. Your mother is at home, heavily pregnant and watching everything.”

Fifth Aunt was due any day now, yet Old Wu Eight seemed entirely unconcerned. “There's still over a month to go!” Wu Li retorted. “What's the rush? My mother isn't worried.”

Wu Ning had no answer for his stubbornness, only shaking his head. “Just hurry up and move the radishes!”

“But where are you going to put them after?”

The Fourth Uncle’s family had seven or eight acres of vegetable fields, and with everyone’s winter stores piled into this single cellar, there were several thousand catties in all. From Wu Ning’s tone, once the cabbages came in, he intended to cram even more into the cellar.

Old Wu Eight simply couldn’t understand—this many vegetables would last them ten years, easily! But Wu Ning only said, “This afternoon, we’ll load up a cart and see if we can sell them in town.”

Wu Li grinned, tossed aside an armful of radishes, picked up a particularly plump one, rubbed it on his jacket, and took a big bite. “Who knows, maybe they’ll sell well after all.”

These autumn radishes had been stored in the cellar for more than two months, yet they were still as fresh and juicy as if just pulled from the earth. After such long storage, they’d lost their bite and harshness, leaving only sweetness behind.

...

Nearing noon, Wu Li hitched up the cart. The brothers, unsure what the market for radishes would be, loaded just a small cart—a little over two hundred catties—and headed into town.

The vegetable market and cattle and horse fair were both situated at the west gate, but as the market didn’t open until after noon, Wu Ning was in no hurry. He and Wu Li drove their old ox-cart leisurely toward the city.

One had to admit, life in the Tang dynasty moved at a slow pace. Under the urban ward market system, civilians and merchants alike were segregated into designated wards, and, with strict separation of commerce and residence, there was little business in residential wards besides a few soup and noodle stalls. All commercial activity centered on the eastern and western markets, which, unlike later times, did not open for business in the early morning, but only after noon.

In other words, if you wanted to buy a piece of meat or a measure of grain in the morning, you’d be hard-pressed to find a single open shop. So the merchants of the Tang dynasty were “half-day workers”—opening after noon, closing at dusk, with only restaurants, brothels, and teahouses keeping longer hours.

Such a pace of life could hardly be called anything but slow.

By the time the brothers reached the west market, the vegetable stalls were just opening. Wu Ning, unhurried, left Wu Li to watch the cart while he took a turn about the market.

It was already early winter, and the variety of vegetables was limited. Fresh cabbages, newly harvested, were so cheap they nearly cluttered the streets, while summer vegetables like okra, spinach, and water caltrop were both scarce and exorbitantly priced. Fresh cabbage sold three catties for a single coin, with smaller heads going for five catties a coin. Okra fetched five coins a catty, spinach eight—a price higher than pork.

Radishes were plentiful and not expensive, only two coins per catty. But Wu Ning didn’t need to touch them to know—one glance told him they were withered, shriveled things, stored for months, nothing like the quality of his own.

Returning to Wu Li, they found a prominent spot, unhitched the ox, and set up their cart as a makeshift stall.

As Wu Ning expected, his radishes—so fresh, so crisp—were unique in the entire west market, bound to find buyers. Yet, as several customers eyed them approvingly and asked the price...

“Four coins per catty?”

Heads shook in dismay; all departed, glancing back regretfully.

“Hey, Ninth Brother, isn’t that too expensive?” Wu Li murmured uneasily.

Truth be told, radishes, like cabbages, weren’t rare. Two months ago, they went for a pittance, just like cabbage now—one coin bought a heap. In Wu Li’s view, two coins was already a high price. With their freshness and appearance, they’d surely sell better than the withered ones.

Yet Wu Ning insisted on four coins per catty, and as a result, the wilted radishes were selling faster.

“What are you worried about?” Wu Ning reassured him. “Trust me—let’s see how things go first.”

He had never intended to sell to every casual buyer. He didn’t see this as just ordinary produce. With such quality, ordinary folk wouldn’t splurge, but there were always wealthy households, restaurants, and taverns seeking the best. Otherwise, who would buy those five- and eight-coin vegetables at the market?

He sliced open a glistening, juicy radish and set it out for all to see. “Be patient. We’ll wait.”

...

They waited half the day, and as before, there were many inquiries but few actual sales. Occasionally, a servant from a grand household would buy two or three catties, but only after asking if the brothers would return the next day—needing their masters’ approval for a larger purchase.

Wu Ning understood: for radishes at four coins a catty, no servant would dare buy much without permission. So business trickled along, and by closing time, they’d sold about a hundred catties. Wu Ning was already considering hauling the rest back home.

Just then, a familiar old man appeared at their stall.

“Ah!” Wu Ning’s eyes brightened. “Isn’t this Steward Qin from the Qin household? What brings you out shopping yourself?”

Steward Qin started, then recognized him. “You’re... the Ninth Son from Xuncui Residence, aren’t you?” He’d delivered money for his master there once before.

“That’s me,” Wu Ning replied, thinking he’d nearly forgotten about the grand restaurants not having bought their supplies yet. He was quick to promote, “These radishes are excellent, Steward Qin—take a look?”

Steward Qin frowned. Ever since Wu Ning had extracted five hundred strings of cash from his master, he’d had little fondness for the lad. Why would he buy his radishes?

“No, not buying,” he replied curtly, turning to go.

But as he turned, the evening sun glinted off the freshly cut radish, sparkling with dewiness. Steward Qin paused, turned back, and picked up the half radish for a closer look.

“Not bad,” he admitted.

“Naturally!” Wu Ning hurriedly sliced off a piece. “Try it, Steward Qin—just as fresh as if pulled from the field.”

Steward Qin took a small bite—crisp, juicy, not at all mealy or wilted. Indeed, it was very good.

Business was business, after all. The Ninth Son might be a rascal, but his radishes were impeccable. Pointing at the half cart, he asked, “If I take them all, what’s your price?”

“Easily arranged,” Wu Ning replied with a broad smile. “Since it’s for the Qin household, there’ll be a discount.” He held up four fingers. “Four coins per catty.”

Wu Li rolled his eyes—four coins and you call that a discount? Shameless!

Steward Qin’s eyes widened. “Four coins? In all my years, I’ve never paid that much for radishes!”

Wu Ning smiled calmly. “But in all your years, have you ever bought radishes this fresh in early winter?”

“You—!” Steward Qin was so vexed he nearly choked. He cursed inwardly—if I can’t out-argue you, I can simply walk away! But just as he tried to leave, someone beside him interjected, “Little brother, how much for your radishes?”

Steward Qin froze. Normally, he wouldn’t care who bought what, but this was no ordinary passerby—it was Manager Wang from the Cui Xin Restaurant, the Qin family’s fiercest rival!

Before Wu Ning could answer, Steward Qin declared, “I’ll take the whole cart!” He even shot Manager Wang a hostile glare. “You steal our cooks, and now you want our radishes too? Some people truly have no shame.”

Wu Ning raised an eyebrow. So there’s a story here!

Manager Wang, recognizing Steward Qin, realized he’d run into an old adversary. But he had no interest in sparring with a mere steward. With a faint smile, he replied, “No need to take offense, Steward Qin. Business is business. If someone offers higher wages, naturally people are willing to work for me at Cui Xin Restaurant.”

Wu Ning listened with growing amusement. So he’s from Cui Xin Restaurant—an old acquaintance!

Manager Wang continued, “Just as someone outbid me and took my chef away. What of it?”

Wu Ning nearly spat out a mouthful of blood, left dumbfounded by their bickering.

...

Steward Qin snorted, “There’s honor in business. Resorting to underhanded tricks is nothing to boast about!”

Manager Wang replied coolly, “You say that, but isn’t it your own fault for failing to keep your people? What’s that to do with me?”

“You have no shame!”

“Steward Qin, really!” Manager Wang thought to himself, Why am I even indulging you?

“Hold on a moment!” Wu Ning’s shout drew both their attention.

“Wait—let me get this straight. Your chef was poached by him?” he asked, pointing at Steward Qin.

“Exactly!”

He turned to Manager Wang. “And you stole his chef?”

“Yes,” Manager Wang nodded. “And what of it? My chef was poached by someone else, too!”

“No matter.” Wu Ning shook his head. “Carry on, this has nothing to do with me.”

...