Chapter 19

Chen Youtian’s intuition was correct.

The thirty-two pieces of immortal tofu that Sang Luo brought were sold out in less than an hour, along with Chen Youtian’s eggs, which Sang Luo casually introduced to buyers. Three to five people each bought a few, and those were sold out as well.

It was the first time the honest man had witnessed such a bustling sale. One adult accompanied by two children had created an atmosphere as lively as a drum and gong troupe, the excitement rivaling that of a grand opera.

He looked at his empty basket—who was supposed to be watching whom here?

“Uncle Youtian, we still need to buy some things at the market. Can you wait for us? We’ll go back together later,” Sang Luo asked while tidying up.

Chen Youtian nodded. “Alright.”

He didn’t say much. He picked up the carrying pole near Sang Luo and loaded the ceramic basin, bamboo tube, wooden spoon, and his own basket into two water buckets, hoisting the load onto his shoulders.

Sang Luo was left with two backpacks: one containing some traded goods, the other empty.

Chen Youtian glanced at the items in the backpack— a small piece of hemp cloth, several vegetables including radish, sunflower greens, eggplant, and cucumber, and two eggs.

The hemp cloth and eggs were acceptable. The vegetables, however, were all easily grown crops. Seeing them exchanged for goods, Chen Youtian, a seasoned farmer, felt it was a waste.

His lips moved several times, but since he was never much of a talker, he remained silent and stood aside.

By now, Sang Luo and Shen An had also finished packing their backpacks. Shen An handed over all the copper coins he had carefully pocketed in his two coat pockets to Sang Luo.

Women’s clothes, unlike children’s, didn’t have pockets. Sang Luo had no purse, so she divided the coins into two, stuffing them into her sleeve pockets.

Of the thirty-two pieces of immortal tofu, three had been bartered away: one for eggs, one for four kinds of vegetables, and another when Sang Luo saw an elderly woman selling cloth nearby and offered to trade a yard and a half of hemp cloth.

Her handkerchief was too small to use as a filter. Making immortal tofu was time-consuming and laborious. The old woman’s coarse hemp fabric was naturally unsuitable as official tax cloth, but it was appropriate for poor families to make summer clothes or patch worn garments.

It was just right for Sang Luo’s filter cloth.

Of course, one piece of immortal tofu worth two copper coins couldn’t buy a yard and a half of hemp cloth. After checking prices, Sang Luo supplemented seven copper coins to the old woman and added a fairly large corner piece of tofu as a bonus, finally settling the deal.

The other twenty-nine pieces of immortal tofu were sold for copper coins, totaling fifty-eight coins. A few small pieces at the end were sold for one coin each to a young woman with children. Deducting the seven coins given for the hemp cloth, Sang Luo’s sleeves now held a hefty sum of fifty-two copper coins.

Yes, a hefty sum indeed.

One copper coin was light, but fifty or so coins together...

When Sang Luo took the coins from Shen An, she weighed them roughly; by modern standards, it would be nearly four taels.

Imagine carrying half a box of milk in your sleeve—that weight was definitely unpleasant.

This was the undeniable importance of having a proper coin purse.

Of course, besides cutting a square filter cloth, the yard and a half of hemp would leave a small leftover piece. But the cloth was too coarse, and the coins too heavy for it to serve as a purse.

Sang Luo thought that when she went to the county town, she would visit the fabric shop to see if she could buy some cheap cloth remnants to sew herself a coin pouch.

For now, the most urgent thing was to buy two ceramic basins. This business would be ongoing, and she couldn’t keep borrowing Chen’s family’s items forever. A time or two was fine, but if it went on too long and Chen’s family found life inconvenient, that would be thoughtless of her.

Sang Luo glanced around; Chen Youtian noticed and asked what she was looking for.

“I want to find ceramic basins and buy some rice,” Sang Luo replied.

Chen Youtian understood. “You don’t need to look at the stall. The government collected taxes early this year, and the rice hasn’t been harvested yet. Everyone is tightening their belts and won’t sell grain. You’ll have to buy at the grocery store at the entrance of Sanli Village. They have ceramic basins there as well.”

Mentioning this, Chen Youtian’s mood visibly darkened. He carried his load ahead, leading Sang Luo and the others toward the grocery store.

In the original’s memory, such grocery stores didn’t exist in small villages. Only larger villages like Sanli had them, selling miscellaneous durable goods to accommodate those who might urgently need something on a non-market day, sparing them a trip to the county town.

When they reached the grocery store, they found it indeed stocked with all sorts of things. Asked about the grain price, the shopkeeper said, “Rice is seventy copper coins per dou.”

Yes, rice. At this time, the county town had rice for sale, but most rural folk bought unmilled grain to mill at home since it was more economical.

Usually, one dou of grain yields about seventy percent or slightly more in rice. The county granary’s price difference between rice and grain was minimal, only accounting for labor costs.

At first glance, it seemed no different. Milling rice was laborious, wasn’t it?

But who in the countryside minded the effort? The price difference was mostly labor costs, but the real difference was that milling produced about thirty percent bran.

To farmers, bran was also food—during scarcity, it was human food; in better times, it was excellent feed for chickens, ducks, and pigs.

Bran was treasure!

Chen Youtian focused intently on the seventy copper coins per dou price.

“How come the price went up again? Wasn’t it sixty coins recently?”

The shopkeeper looked at him. “You must’ve not been paying attention to grain prices for months. The price has risen twice already.”

“This year the government collected taxes early, and food is tight. Plus, several northern prefectures suffered floods, so many grain merchants who usually sourced from the south are busy buying elsewhere, and many refugees are fleeing south. The grain shortage is severe. I’m pricing according to the county granary. If you don’t believe me, ask the county; it’ll be the same price.”

Chen Youtian was stunned, speechless.

Sang Luo pursed her lips. In the original memory, traveling from the north as a refugee, the grain price here was already low. In the disaster-stricken northern prefectures, a dou of rice had sold for several hundred copper coins.

Having been raised in a sheltered environment, the original self didn’t know the normal grain price well. So Sang Luo, relying on that memory, initially thought that sixty-five coins per dou was the usual price in Qiyang County. Indeed, when she first arrived as a refugee, the price was sixty-five coins per dou.

Her pricing for immortal tofu was also based on that.

Therefore, hearing that the shopkeeper quoted seventy coins per dou, her reaction was less severe than Chen Youtian’s. But seeing Chen Youtian’s alarm, and overhearing their conversation, Sang Luo realized that seventy coins per dou was also a high price in the south.

Her heart sank.

With her original self’s memory, it was not difficult to infer that life for the common people in this era was harsh—war, famine, heavy duties and taxes—survival was paramount; there was no time to think of anything else, nor the courage to do so.

Only now, with grain prices nakedly before her eyes, was there no avoiding the reality.

But what could be done?

She couldn’t manipulate fate or supernatural forces to transport herself somewhere better, nor did she have the ability to overthrow the ruling powers to establish a peaceful reign.

All she could do was work a bit harder, strive to survive as well as possible—nothing more.

The shopkeeper, seeing Chen Youtian silent, asked, “Still buying?”

Sang Luo answered, “Yes, but first, I want to look at the ceramic basins.”

Author’s note:

This is an alternate history dynasty, but the grain prices here are referenced from historical records. During times of chaos or famine, grain prices could reach thousands of copper coins per dou.

Grain prices varied between dynasties, affected by harvests, the state of the world, and the value of currency.

Here, the dynasty is in decline, with northern natural disasters, though the overall order has not yet broken down—especially in the southern region where the heroine is. The prices were set considering these factors.