Chapter 17: Kindred Spirits…

Wang Guixiang had been thinking of asking the children to go inquire with He Maozhu, but she didn’t know that at this very moment, He Maozhu himself was just as baffled.

What was he selling? Steamed buns! Even if they were just pickled vegetable buns, with the standard of living in the capital right now, it was hard enough just to stay alive. Families without some extra money at home—who would come and buy?

Even those with some spare cash—given our long-standing tradition of frugality—if they weren’t absolutely craving or wanting to occasionally treat the kids, they still wouldn’t bear to spend that money. After all, these buns, even the cheapest ones, were made with mixed flour, which cost more than coarse grains. And pickled vegetables are especially appetizing—eat too many by accident and the cost adds up. Do the math, and the difference in price could buy another whole meal for the family.

So in this era of insecurity, it really wasn’t favorable to the survival-driven food values of the lower class.

But today, strangely enough, business was booming. Anyone passing by who asked the price would buy at least a few, and what should’ve lasted for two hours had sold down to less than ten buns in under an hour. Even a fellow vendor not far away came over to ask if he could reserve two. How could He Maozhu not be confused?

At this point, he even wondered if, when he went to the Treasury Office this morning, the God of Wealth enshrined there had laid eyes on him and wanted to take him in as a son-in-law!

Just as He Maozhu was hesitating over whether to take another look in the mirror and reassess his own looks, Fang Dahai showed up with He Yusong.

With just a greeting, He Maozhu dismissed any delusions about becoming the God of Wealth’s chosen son-in-law and sobered up instantly.

He Yusong was practically a younger version of He Maozhu—ten years old and already with a careworn, aged face like a little old man. The lack of looks was painfully obvious. If the boy already looked like this, what could a man nearing forty expect? If he wasn’t an “old pickled cucumber,” even he wouldn’t believe it.

When Fang Dahai went on to talk about the grain price hike, well, everything clicked for He Maozhu.

“No wonder everyone was buying buns so easily today! Turns out they all thought they were getting a bargain off me? Ha! Such strong neighborhood ties, not a single one of them bothered to give me a heads-up.”

He Maozhu gave a self-deprecating smirk, then swept his eyes across the street and spotted a scrawny 17- or 18-year-old kid with a hunched neck pulling a handcart. He waved him over, and when the boy approached, He Maozhu took two buns from the steamer basket and said:

“Da Chunzi, run an errand for me later—take this cart back home. I’ll pay you with these two buns. Deal?”

“Of course! My family hasn’t eaten refined grain in almost two months. With these two buns, the four of us can scrape together a whole meal.”

Da Chunzi grinned from ear to ear, but his eyes never left the steamer basket, and he kept swallowing hungrily. Just looking at him—combined with what he’d said—it was obvious to everyone he was angling for more buns.

Fang Dahai could hardly stop himself from laughing, but with He Maozhu right there, he managed to hold it in. But not He Yusong—He Maozhu’s good-hearted, clueless son—who fell for it right away.

“Four people? Two buns? How do you eat that?”

“How else? Half a bun each. My little brother and sister share one, and me and my mom share the other—perfect.”

Perfect? More like playing the sympathy card. Sure enough, He Yusong’s expression changed, and he looked at his father with pleading eyes.

With a son like this, what could He Maozhu do?

He had no choice but to grab another bun, wrap it with the other two in wax paper, and grumble:

“Come on now, you know my son’s soft-hearted and you’re deliberately laying it on thick? That’s low, even for you! And to think Yusong even calls you ‘big brother.’”

Seeing his scheme had worked, the crafty Da Chunzi immediately put on a fawning grin. He cupped his hands toward He Maozhu and said:

“I was just trying to save money, Uncle He. Please don’t hold it against me.”

After saying that, Da Chunzi nimbly pulled three copper coins from his coat, slapped them on the cart, and rubbed his hands together.

“Uncle He, could I trouble you for one more bun?”

“You little rascal. Never mind those three coins, keep them. These four buns are on me today. When you bring the cart back home later, just leave it under the eaves.”

How could he say no? That was four buns! One for each family member—what a treat!

Da Chunzi promptly parked his handcart outside the familiar shop, then spun around and pushed the bun cart into Nanluoguxiang, his steps as light as if he’d taken some miracle tonic.

“Second Uncle, you’re closing up shop already?”

“They’re almost sold out. What’s the point in staying? Let’s go buy grain.”

He Maozhu patted himself down, removed his apron and sleeves, stuffed them into his cloth satchel, and led the two boys toward the grain store.

Seeing this, Fang Dahai quickly sidled up to He Maozhu and said cautiously:

“Second Uncle, Auntie gave me ten silver dollars when we left. Should I give it to you now or…?”

“It’s inconvenient out here on the street. We’ll settle it when we pay at the shop.”

“Got it. I’ll pay first when we get there.”

“Oh, by the way, Dahai, how much did your family buy?”

“Five hundred catties.”

“What? Five hundred catties? How many people in your family? Why buy so much? How long will that even last?”

“Second Uncle, you can’t look at it that way. Think about it—why is the army suddenly collecting so much grain? They must be preparing for war, right? And if there’s a war… we probably won’t have peace for at least a month or two. As long as the fighting doesn’t stop, do you think grain prices will go down?

If you ask me, they’ll keep rising. I just want to make sure we can still afford to eat later. Three months’ worth is only because I didn’t have more money. Otherwise, I’d stock up for six months if I could.”

“That actually makes sense,” even someone like He Yusong—whose brain might as well be a straight pipe with no twists or turns—felt the plan was sound.

But here came the problem.

“You’ve got enough to buy 500 jin of grain, and you’re still saying money’s tight? I knew you were hiding something when we bought the house.”

“Hehe, Second Uncle, I just had a bit of private stash left over. We’re all men—you understand.”

All men, my ass. He Maozhu was completely dumbfounded. So now, a 34-year-old grown man like him was being lumped together with a 14-year-old brat?

Still at Fuxing Rice Shop, only this time, the place was much busier than before. A long line had formed outside, full of people waiting to buy grain.

Even someone as steady as He Maozhu started to feel a bit anxious seeing the crowd.

His eyes shifted, and he leaned down to whisper to Fang Dahai:

“Dahai, squeeze your way in and check if the price is the same as when you bought it earlier.”

He was worried the shopkeeper might’ve jacked up the price. And honestly, it was worth checking. If the price had gone up again in such a short time, he’d have to make other preparations—like storing more supplies in his dimensional space.

“Got it, Second Uncle. Wait here.”

As soon as Fang Dahai finished speaking, he slipped through the crowd like a fish, darting quickly between the gaps in the line.

He Maozhu was too focused on grain prices to notice, but He Yusong—the dopey kid tagging along—saw everything and his eyes lit up. Excited, he tugged on his dad’s sleeve.

“What are you doing? We’re in line, not here to mess around.”

“No, no, Dad—Brother-in-law seems to know martial arts!”

“What martial arts?”

“The Eighteen Falling Moves of Clothes-Touching! Look! He’s already inside!”

Cut it out! This is a rice queue, not a street performance! …Wait a sec, that kid did get in pretty fast. Not bad—he’s slick.

“Looks like he’ll be back in no time.”

“Yeah! That skill—so smooth!”

Father and son were clearly on different wavelengths, yet somehow still managed to have a conversation.

But that wasn’t the important part. What mattered was that Fang Dahai came back with good news: the grain price was the same as it was at noon.

That gave He Maozhu some relief.

He pulled his son back in line and started counting his money with his fingers.

Given the current grain price, his steamed bun stall might be in trouble. Even if he sold out every day, he wasn’t sure if the profits could keep up with rising costs. He had to plan ahead.

For example, he needed to find ways to stock up on more coarse grains for the family. And if grain prices were rising, other food items would probably go up too. He had to get ahead of the curve and start stockpiling whatever he could before others caught on.

He Maozhu muttered quietly to himself while doing the math, but Fang Dahai—who had reincarnated a few times—was no ordinary person. Not only was his brain sharp, but his senses were unusually keen. He caught every word.

Hearing He Maozhu go on about soybeans, mung beans, salted fish, and cured sausages, even an idiot could figure out what he was planning.

That stirred something in Fang Dahai too.

When it came to buying things, he really wasn’t short on money. Between antiques, gold nuggets, and even 2,000 silver dollars still on hand, he could afford to buy food no matter how much prices went up.

But being able to afford something and willing to overpay were two different things. Who wants to just throw money away?

So, inspired by He Maozhu’s train of thought, Fang Dahai began thinking about how to save money while stockpiling food.

And the answer was: hunting.

Truth be told, in the Ming Dynasty’s Jinyiwei circles, Fang Dahai wasn’t exactly a top-tier expert—otherwise he wouldn’t have been kicked out to the borderlands as a covert scout. That kind of high-risk work was always given to expendable nobodies. Real masters were too valuable to be sent on suicide missions.

But exactly because of that harsh environment, Fang Dahai had a solid foundation in the basics. Archery, throwing knives, reconnaissance—he was quite good.

Back on the frontier, the conditions were so tough that he once had to rely on these skills just to get more meat to eat. He’d spent a good while running with hunters and learned plenty from them.

With that kind of experience—and so many mountains around the capital—going out to hunt for meat didn’t seem hard at all. Whether to feed his own family or sell some for extra cash, it was completely doable.

Ding!! A lightbulb went off over Fang Dahai’s head.

Everything just clicked!

Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering what kind of job could bring in money—enough to let the family live comfortably without attracting unwanted attention. And here was the perfect solution.

A hunter never runs out of food—that made perfect sense, right?

In times of skyrocketing grain prices, using his skills to earn a little extra was also perfectly reasonable.

Perfect. Decision made.

Tomorrow, he’d head into the mountains!