Chapter 8: No Matter How Much, I Can Carry It

“1,480 wen.”

Meng Liang muttered, “Hmm, 1,480 wen… shouldn’t be too big of a loss.”

“Even if it’s a little loss, it’s okay.”

Just as he said that, he suddenly realized something was wrong.

“What?!”

“One thousand… four hundred eighty wen!”

He could hardly believe his ears. He had calculated all the way here and never expected it would sell for that much.

“You scared me to death!”

Meng Liang finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Really 1,480 wen?”

Meng Ling nodded seriously. “Yes, that’s right!”

She then understood—her father thought they sold it at a loss and got overwhelmed.

The man beside them figured it out too and quickly said, “Little girl, do your words still count?”

He was worried Meng Ling would close up and leave.

Meng Ling smiled and said to the man, “Of course they count!”

“Great! Pick two!”

The uncle happily opened the chicken cage and let Meng Ling choose.

Meng Liang, still confused, asked what they were talking about. Only then did he understand it was a verbal agreement.

“Daya, pick these two,” Meng Liang pointed to the biggest ones.

“Okay, the biggest it is.”

Meng Ling picked the two largest ones for 56 wen. The chickens were tied with straw rope and thrown into the basket.

Meng Liang grinned from ear to ear—he’d never held so much money in his life.

It was still early. They sold two bamboo baskets for a total of 15 wen.

After another hour passed with no more buyers, Meng Liang said, “Daya, let’s buy some grain and head home.”

“Okay.”

After packing up, the two headed to the grain shop.

The shop displayed various grains: white rice, millet, corn… all stacked into little pyramids.

“Shopkeeper, how much is this rice?”

Meng Ling scooped some with a bamboo measuring cup. The rice looked very white—clearly good quality.

The shopkeeper glanced at them. Covered in patches, they didn’t look like people with money, so he didn’t bother being friendly.

“That white rice is 4 wen per jin; the lower-quality one beside it is 3 wen. Which one and how much?”

Meng Ling could tell the shopkeeper looked down on them and assumed they couldn’t afford much.

“Give us 20 jin of the 4-wen rice and 100 jin of the 3-wen rice.”

The shopkeeper’s expression changed immediately. He smiled as he came over—faster than flipping a book.

Pfft!

Meng Ling cursed in her heart.

Then she looked at Meng Liang. “Dad, can you carry all this?”

“Heh! Don’t underestimate your old man. If it’s grain, no matter how much, I can carry it!” Meng Liang patted his chest.

“I’ll carry this much and still walk faster than you!”

Meng Ling was reassured. Otherwise, if he couldn’t carry it, it’d be a hassle. Her small frame couldn’t even handle 50 jin on the way back.

They got the rice, the chickens, and now they had to buy some meat. Oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar were also essentials. It wasn’t easy to make a trip to the county, so they had to stock up.

They left the grain at the store for later pickup.

Then they headed to the butcher’s. When Meng Ling saw the meat, she instinctively swallowed—meat, at last!

They bought 5 jin of fatty pork for 60 wen. Lean pork was 10 wen per jin, but meat couldn’t be preserved, so they didn’t buy too much.

They also bought 5 jin of salt for 75 wen—thankfully the new emperor had lowered the salt tax, or it’d be more expensive.

Three jin of soy sauce cost 21 wen.

Vinegar, 10 wen.

Altogether, they spent 556 wen.

Spending that much all at once made Meng Ling’s heart ache. Farming barely brought income. There was little to sell—sometimes they didn’t even have money for salt.

“Dad, let’s buy some cloth. None of us have had new clothes in ages,” Meng Ling said.

Their clothes were all patched up—barely a good piece on them.

“Sure, let’s buy cloth. Your mom can sew everyone a new set of clothes.”

No one in the family had had new clothes for 3–4 years. This time, everyone must get one.

Meng Liang pointed to some coarse cloth. “Shopkeeper, how much is this?”

“Twelve wen per foot for the coarse cloth, forty for cotton. Which do you want?”

Meng Liang chose two colors of coarse cloth—one in teal and one floral. Ten feet of each. They had now spent 852 wen in total.

Cotton was too expensive—unaffordable.

More than half of the honey money was now gone.

“It wasn’t even warm in my hands before it was all spent…” Meng Ling was pained.

When they left town, they still had 596 wen. They ate some steamed buns, bought a jug of wine—couldn’t carry more anyway.

On the way back, Meng Liang laughed. “Daya, I’ll tell your mom to sew you a nice floral dress. Girls look best in floral clothes.”

Meng Ling didn’t really want to wear a red dress with yellow and white flowers. It might suit her younger sister, but thinking she was just thirteen herself, she let it go.

“Mm, let’s make a floral one for Mom too,” Meng Ling said as they walked.

Meng Liang shook his head. “Ah, your mom’s too old for that. Teal suits her better.”

“She’s still young!” Meng Ling argued.

“No way, people in the village would laugh.”

They chatted all the way home, almost arriving by nightfall.

Passing by their neighbor Aunt Zhang, she saw the father and daughter carrying two big baskets full of goods.

“Oh wow, you went to the county? Bought so much!” Aunt Zhang said.

“Hehe, nothing much, just brought back a basket of cotton,” Meng Liang laughed.

“So heavy for just cotton!”

“It got wet with dew—that’s why it’s heavy,” Meng Liang said as he hurried into their yard, not giving her a chance to peek.

Aunt Zhang watched them leave, full of envy. “When did their family get so rich? Must be worth a lot.”

Inside the yard, Meng Shiqiao and his younger sister were sitting by the door.

“Dad, Sis, you’re finally back!”

Meng Shiqiao ran up and peeked into the baskets.

“Sis, where’s the chicken?”

“Bought it. Would I forget yours? Come help, I can’t carry it anymore.”

He rushed to hold the basket from behind as Meng Ling slowly set it down. Her shoulders finally relaxed.

“Take things to the room one by one,” she said, flopping onto a stool, not wanting to move.

Meng Liang brought the rice in. Shen helped unload the basket.

“Wow, so heavy! You bought grain?”

“Yeah, white rice,” he said as he opened the sack.

Shen Shi beamed. “Oh wow, real white rice—and so much! Over 100 jin?”

“One hundred twenty jin!” Meng Liang smiled, forgetting his tiredness.

“There’s more outside, go help.”

“More?” Shen Shi’s eyes widened. Did they pick up gold on the road or what?

She went out and saw Meng Ling sitting by the door, while Erwa carried things in.

“Daya, where did all the money come from—rice and cloth and everything!”

“Mom, it’s all from selling honey.”

“Honey’s worth that much? Oh no, I ate so much of it yesterday! Should’ve saved some…” she said regretfully.

Meng Liang came out and said, “Too late now. Let’s cook some rice—we’re all hungry. There’s meat in the basket too.”

The moment she heard “meat,” her eyes lit up. They hadn’t had pork in a long time. She quickly went to make dinner.

“Sis, I want chicken legs tonight,” Meng Shiqiao said, spinning two roosters in his hands.

“Put them down!”

“You’ll kill them like that! We’ll eat chicken legs another day. Tonight we eat meat. Help cook, or you lose your chicken leg rights!”

Hearing that, he immediately stopped and locked the chickens away, then rushed to help light the fire.

“Qingqing, come here!”

Meng Ling pulled her sister close. “Did you miss your big sis?”

In a sweet voice, she replied, “I did! And I want chicken legs too!”

Meng Ling shook her a little. “Which do you want more—chicken legs or me?”

She said, “Both!”

“That’s more like it.”

Then Meng Ling pulled out the leftover honey and gave her a piece.

Soon, the smell of meat filled the kitchen. Everyone couldn’t help but swallow their saliva.

“Dinner’s ready!”