Chapter 3
…Want to live as just an ordinary commoner in Luoyang City? Have you even asked about the housing prices there?!

Generally speaking, the more chaotic the times, the cheaper the housing. But no matter how wildly the Yellow Turbans tossed about, Luoyang, as the capital, remained in an unshakable position. On the contrary, gentry families from all directions fled toward the imperial domain to avoid disaster. As a result, housing prices in Luoyang inevitably climbed higher and higher.

As for the environment… well… let’s just say it was barely acceptable.

There was a line at the city gates, though it was hard to see clearly at first, since a cloud of dust had been kicked up from afar.

Along the long dirt road, there were livestock traders driving pigs and sheep, and farmers carrying baskets of vegetables on their shoulders. All of them had to undergo inspection at the gate and, incidentally, hand over two five-zhu coins.

This long line was essentially the “slow lane.” Beside it, there was also a “fast lane,” reserved for nobles and wealthy retainers riding horses or in carriages. Occasionally it offered some spectacle—like today, when before she had even spent five minutes waiting, she saw, in the fast lane, an old man riding in a carriage, dressed in a multicolored robe, with a feathered crown atop his head, looking for all the world like a badminton shuttlecock come to life. His expression was arrogant, and flanking him were several younger men on horseback, whose robes were less luxurious and whose feathers fewer than his.

“What’s that? A Yellow Turban?”

She turned her head curiously to ask Zhang Min, but the surrounding farmers had already dropped to the ground in full prostration!

“That’s a wizard!” whispered Zhang Min, himself pressed flat on the ground. “Don’t speak such disrespectful words!”

Well then, she could only follow suit and kowtow as well…

…But honestly, prostrating on the ground at the city gate was no easy task.

…This well-trodden dirt road had been trampled firm by countless animals coming and going every day, and no one ever cleaned it. She should have guessed what the soil would be like.

Why else do you think in every historical drama, whenever the emperor leaves the palace, they have to sprinkle water, sweep clean, and roll out a red carpet?

The “badminton shuttlecock” stared straight ahead and entered the city without a glance, while the farmers around her began whispering in discussion.

“Is that a wizard from Qingzhou?”

“Weren’t all the sorcerers with real magical power in the capital already summoned into the palace by the Grand General?”

“Could it be that His Majesty is…”

“Speak cautiously!”

The salted-fish girl, climbing up from the ground, didn’t notice the worry on Zhang Min’s face.

She never cared about other people’s expressions anyway.

Especially now, she lifted her hands that had just gotten intimate with the dirt and gave them a sniff.

“Is there a place to bathe inside the city?” she asked expectantly. “Like those massive bathhouses that can hold thousands of people?”

Standing on the main avenue of Luoyang, she took a deep breath of the Han capital’s air. From her nose to her throat, and then down through her windpipe into her chest, in an instant she was completely overwhelmed by that blend of manure, garbage, and dust.

Eight hundred years later, historian Sima Guang would criticize the severe pollution of Bianjing, saying, ‘The red dust flies day and night, the traces of carriages and horses remain from ancient to modern times.’ At this moment, Luoyang was no better. In this enormous city, countless merchants from the surrounding capital region hauled in food every day. Once that food was digested in the stomachs of the citizens and expelled, mixed together with piles of household refuse, it produced a stench unique to Luoyang.

Passing through the gatehouse and looking around, there was no sign of the grand, magnificent, awe-inspiring capital she had imagined.

“Even where the Emperor and nobles live, is it like this too?” she asked in a low voice, pointing at the rows upon rows of tiled houses.

“This is the city gate area. His Majesty resides in the Northern Palace, several li away from here,” Zhang Min replied.

“But it smells like this there too?”

The kindly looking uncle finally lost his patience and glared at her.

“…In the palace, eunuchs are responsible for cleaning filth, and in the mansions of the nobility, servants take care of everything. Guangyang Gate is where the common folk live—how could it possibly be compared with the residences of the nobles?”

That being said, compared to the villages and towns outside, Luoyang was indeed majestic… but however majestic, as an ancient capital it was, at most, only a hundred or so square kilometers in area.

In her view, whether the nobles in the north of the city could smell the commoners in the south sleeping among trash depended on two things: which way the wind blew that day, and how good their noses were.

Seeing the disappointment on her face, Zhang Min still tried to comfort her:

“When we reach the marketplace, you will see the lively part.”

At the city gate, guards stood watch. Passersby dared not linger, so the place felt rather desolate.

But after crossing one street, the scene before their eyes immediately changed.

…Even without her Intelligence stat of 20, she could still recognize this was a big market.

Cattle sellers, pig and sheep sellers, potters, sellers of bamboo baskets and hampers, horse traders offering saddles, bridles, and whips all as a package, and vendors selling grain, rice, and vegetables—all of them crowded noisily into a wide square.

Completely different from the ornate, multi-tiered commercial streets with tiled roofs and painted beams she had imagined.

…But this was, indeed, a kind of shichan (marketplace).

Aside from livestock and daily goods, the prime spot of the market was occupied by a group of people: several burly men stood on the outer edge, while inside stood more than a dozen men, women, and children, tied with straw ropes, raggedly dressed, standing there for anyone to stop and look.

When she cast her gaze in that direction, Zhang Min glanced over too.

“Brother, are you thinking of buying a servant to take home?”

Those burly men seemed to notice their eyes. One of them cracked a whip in the air with a sharp crack, then shouted loudly to attract attention.

More and more people stopped to size up the slaves. Some began asking about prices, others went up to slap or prod them, even prying open a slave’s jaw to check whether their teeth were intact.

…The scene looked unspeakably strange and cruel.

But Zhang Min clearly had no idea what she was thinking, and instead tried to persuade her in a low voice.

“These slaves are all families of the Yellow Turbans, savage by nature and hard to tame. If my worthy brother wishes to establish a household, your foolish elder…”

“No.” she suddenly cut him off.

She neither needed a “slave” to serve her, nor did she believe that these common folk—faces full of misery—were savage by nature.

This time, Zhang Min caught her hesitation. He smiled knowingly.

“My worthy brother has slain many Yellow Turban bandits before; naturally, you understand the truth of the matter.”

On her hands still lingered the stench of the dirt road by the city gate—God knows how many cattle, horses, pigs, and sheep had used that stretch as their latrine.

But even that reek of manure could not mask the heavy scent of blood clinging to her body.

…A stench that could not be washed away, could not be scrubbed off, could not be erased.

Still, as the silver-haired Juanzi-chan once said: people can’t live exactly the way they want. At unexpected times, they’ll stumble into mud. The only thing one can do is keep walking beneath the sun; and who knows—perhaps one day, when the mud dries, it will fall off on its own.

“Let’s go.” she repeated, “I still want to wash my hands.”

Luoyang city was divided into north and south; so too was the Han imperial palace. But in general, nobles and state offices were all concentrated in the north of the city. The officials’ residences were in the north, and naturally the grand and luxurious guesthouses were also in the north.

But that didn’t mean the inns in the southern commoners’ district were cheap, convenient, or hospitable.

Even though this particular inn was located in a poor neighborhood, the innkeeper still wore the expression of a state-owned clerk. And if you wanted hot water, you had to pay extra! Don’t foolishly ask why! Boiling water requires firewood, and there isn’t nearly enough dry wood to scavenge within Luoyang’s walls!

So, buying firewood costs money! And naturally, so does hot water! A bucket of hot water costs two coins, drawn from the inn’s own well, with that authentic Luoyang salty-brine taste.

If you wanted to drink water that didn’t taste so strong, there were three options.

The first was to pay for water brought in from outside the city — one dou (about 2 liters) cost ten coins.

The second was to pay for wine instead, also measured by the dou, ranging from ten-coin swill to fifty-coin fine liquor.

The third option was to fast-forward the technology tree by eighteen hundred years, drill a well down to the confined aquifer, and drink deep underground water.

…Considering she hadn’t brought along any drilling equipment, the salted-fish girl hesitated, then chose to buy drinking water.

After sending her to the inn, Zhang Min busied himself with reporting back. Aside from arranging to take her to meet the butcher the next day, he insisted on leaving her a living allowance of one thousand coins before departing.

She did the math: lodging was one hundred coins — conditions were decent enough, at least it was a single room, no need to squeeze into a shared bunk.

Morning and evening hot water, two buckets for four coins, enough to keep basically clean.

One dou of mineral water for ten coins, if rationed carefully, could last her two days.

A simple meal — one plate of vegetables, one plate of meat, one bowl of millet rice — cost about thirty coins. If she clenched her teeth and acted like a stingy miser, she could just buy a stack of flatbreads, eat them with plain boiled water, and stretch thirty coins across several days.

…But while others were downstairs drinking wine and feasting, hiding in her room gnawing on flatbread didn’t feel very good.

…Especially since the flatbread wasn’t even white wheat bread, but coarse wheat cakes — only slightly better than chaff cakes. Bite into one, and sometimes you could still clearly see what exactly the dough-making lady’s hands had been busy with before she plunged them into the flour.

…In the end, she gave up on that ascetic lifestyle and ordered instead a plate of roasted bamboo shoots, a roasted bamboo rat, and a bowl of tofu soup.

Dusk settled over Luoyang, and several bonfires lit up half the night sky.

From afar came the sound of drums, mingled with prayers and chants that sounded like sighs.

The Son of Heaven had been bedridden for quite some time, and in the markets and alleys people were all speculating about which sorcerer truly possessed great magic and could save him from his suffering.

The sorcerers in the city always carried their heads even higher with pride. Even the imperial guards dared not show them the slightest disrespect. And if, when their carriages passed by, some commoner failed to appear properly reverent, that person could very well be executed on the spot.

Yet behind such reverence lay the doubtful gazes of the whole city of Luoyang—ever since Emperor Guangwu, few emperors had lived long. The current emperor had already reigned for twenty years and lived past thirty-two. While among common folk he would still be considered in the prime of life, for a Han emperor he already counted as one of the long-lived elders…

It had been more than a hundred years since Guangwu’s restoration. After epidemics and droughts had battered this dynasty again and again, the common people no longer remembered what a wise ruler looked like, nor did they really care whether the next emperor would be foolish or not. In general, none of them were likely to play the game more recklessly than the present Son of Heaven.

…After all, this emperor could even put the Three Excellencies’ posts up for sale.

…And the price wasn’t cheap: ten million coins for a single seat among the Three Excellencies.

…And the term wasn’t long either, since the emperor always found excuses to dismiss them, only to sell the posts again.

…Even so, there was no shortage of buyers. It was said that if you had the right connections, you could even get a discount. For instance, Cui Lie, “renowned in the northern provinces,” secured the post of Minister over the Masses through the emperor’s wet nurse, paying only five million. It pained the emperor terribly—Cui had practically struck gold!

Having listened to all sorts of gossip and rumors, the salted fish lay sprawled on her bed, the room completely dark without a single lamp.

Although she had the ability to see in the dark as if it were daylight, lighting a little oil lamp at night still created a certain mood—especially a warmth that made her feel she had truly left behind that cold, lightless cave, and entered a human world full of life and smoke.

…But lamp oil cost money too.

By the day’s reckoning, she had already spent 175 coins.

That extra single coin had gone toward buying a piece of rope, so she could hang her flatbreads from the rafters.

In the darkness, the hungry rats made furious noises, but she was undisturbed by them and slept soundly.