Chapter 29: Going Down the Mountain

On the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, early in the morning, Kanghe got up to light the fire and prepare food, feeling that the house was colder than usual.

The windowpane seemed unusually bright, almost dazzlingly so.

He opened the door a crack, and a cold wind rushed in.

Outside, the courtyard was blanketed in white, with a layer of snow as thick as a finger covering the ground.

The wind had blown fiercely the previous night, and he had expected snow, but he hadn’t anticipated it would be this heavy.

Overnight, the green hills had turned white.

Kanghe took some green vegetable leaves to feed the three rabbits in the shed.

The snow made it cold, and the rabbits, less lively than usual, huddled together for warmth.

Worried they might freeze, he grabbed two pieces of felt and wrapped them around the shed.

Fanjing circled the wooden cabin and returned, saying to Kanghe, “Pack up, we’re heading down the mountain.”

Kanghe nodded.

This had been planned beforehand.

However, it would be impossible to bring everything down in one trip.

The cabin held over a hundred pounds of yam roots and several hundred pounds of other roots, far too much for just the two of them to carry in one go.

Besides, Fanjing had some live game as well.

After discussing, the two decided to first take the live animals to the county to sell, then return to the village to fetch family members to help bring the mountain goods back home.

This time, Fanjing had gathered quite a haul: a pair each of wild pigeons and ducks, one piglet, one roe deer, one brightly feathered pheasant, and, aside from the three rabbits kept for breeding, two injured rabbits.

They’d also trapped a pair of bamboo rats and a greedy white fox.

The two set off down the mountain with all the live animals, trudging through the snow, their shoes nearly soaked through.

The snow at the foot of the mountain wasn’t as heavy, but a thin layer had formed, quickly melting and turning the path muddy from footsteps.

By the time they reached the county, it was already late.

But with the New Year approaching, the town was livelier than usual.

Even in the afternoon, there were still plenty of people in the streets.

Lanterns and decorations lined the roads, and children were already setting off firecrackers in the alleys.

Kanghe noticed that many market stalls were still open, offering an abundance of vegetables and fruits, looking as though they planned to stay all day.

In the past, farmers from the countryside would sell their produce by noon and leave, as the market would disperse after midday, and buyers would dwindle, making it hard to sell.

But with the New Year, every household was stocking up on goods, preparing for guests and feasts, so the demand for food was higher.

Kanghe pulled Fanjing aside and said, “The streets are so lively, and people are more willing to spend during the festival. Let’s set up a stall for a bit. Selling the animals individually will fetch a better price than selling them all to a restaurant. We’ll make a bit more money if we can, and if we don’t sell, we can always take them to a restaurant.”

Fanjing hadn’t set up a stall in years and wasn’t good at hawking.

In the past, he’d relied on curious passersby stopping to look, but he wasn’t skilled at engaging customers, and sometimes his goods went unsold.

Once, by sheer luck, a wealthy official named Li, returning from drinking, bought his goods and told him to deliver directly to his restaurant in the future.

Though restaurant prices were lower, it saved time and hassle, so Fanjing had stopped setting up stalls.

Since they weren’t returning to the mountain today and the trip back to the village wouldn’t take long, Fanjing agreed to Kanghe’s idea.

Kanghe quickly found an empty spot, set down the animals, and rented a scale from a nearby general store.

Mountain game was usually sold by the piece, but having a scale to weigh the goods reassured buyers and helped with sales.

The stall was simple—just two baskets placed on the ground, with the rabbits, chickens, and ducks tied up so they couldn’t escape.

Kanghe began shouting to attract customers: “Gentlemen, ladies, come take a look! Freshly hunted game from the mountains—tasty and nourishing. Eat well, and you’ll strike it rich next year!”

A man wearing a crimson gauze cap and a deep red robe laughed and asked, “You little mountain man, how does eating your mountain game make us rich?”

Kanghe glanced at the man and replied, “Mountain animals roam wild all year, not raised by humans, so they’re lean and healthy. Eating them strengthens your body, and with good health, how can you not succeed in study or wealth?”

The man laughed heartily, holding his sleeve.

“That’s not a bad way to put it. How much for your game?”

“Depends on what you fancy, sir. Each item has its own price.”

The man’s eyes scanned the goods and pointed at the pheasant.

Kanghe exchanged a glance with Fanjing, who gave him a subtle thumbs-up.

“Sir, this pheasant is yours for one string of cash,” Kanghe said smoothly.

“I’ll throw in a pound of mountain bamboo shoots to stew with it.”

Fanjing’s brow twitched at the price—it was steep.

But to his surprise, the man agreed immediately.

Sixty cash had been inflated to a hundred, no small sum.

“Sir, you’re a man of wealth, likely with servants handling household matters. You may not know that pork and mutton prices have risen for the New Year. You frequent restaurants and surely know the price of a plate of stir-fried pheasant there. That dish uses just a few bites of meat, but one pheasant could make dozens of plates!”

Kanghe continued, “Take this pheasant home, and your household will praise your savvy spending. No one will say you overpaid.”

The man, flattered by Kanghe’s words, said, “You’re quite the talker, little mountain man. Fine, add another pound of bamboo shoots for me to take home.”

“No problem, sir, you’re generous!” Kanghe tied up the pheasant, packed it into a sack bought from the general store, and added two pounds of winter bamboo shoots.

“Take care, sir,” Kanghe said as the man left.

Fanjing watched in amazement as Kanghe sold a sixty-cash pheasant for a hundred.

When the man was gone, he said, “You sure know how to sweet-talk.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” Kanghe replied.

“New Year’s prices are up—even street-side noodle cakes cost an extra cash per bowl. Our rare goods deserve a higher price. Those who want mountain game aren’t poor; they’ve got money to spend if it’s worth it.”

He’d seen restaurant patrons toss a silver coin as a tip when pleased.

Wealthy folks valued enjoyment and prestige, and they’d pay for it.

“That man bought happily, and we sold happily. How’s that sweet-talking?” Kanghe said.

Fanjing knew Kanghe was right. Mountain hunters sometimes got good prices, sometimes low ones.

Selling well wasn’t just about honesty—it required a silver tongue.

Since Fanjing wasn’t skilled at haggling, he left the stall to Kanghe, who bought a bowl of hot tea soup to sip.

Just then, a big spender arrived.

A soft-topped sedan stopped at the stall, and a delicate hand wearing a white jade bracelet lifted the cloud-patterned silk curtain, releasing a woody incense.

Kanghe looked up to see a youthful face peer out.

“Is that fox in the cage for sale?”

A maid in the sedan lifted the curtain higher.

“Young master, take your time; the goods aren’t going anywhere.”

“Everything’s for sale,” Kanghe said, showing off the fox the young man had pointed to.

“Hunted in the mountains, unharmed, and full of spirit.”

“Its fur is glossy, though not as fine as those in the Treasure Pavilion. Still, it’s fresh enough,” the young man said.

“In a few days, my cousins will visit, and this fox will be fun for them to see.”

He glanced at Kanghe’s baskets.

“Is that a roe deer in there?”

Kanghe moved the basket closer.

“A small roe deer, about thirty pounds.”

The young man said, “It’s cold, and it might snow tomorrow with this wind. Have the cook butcher it, and I’ll invite some friends to grill meat and enjoy the snow in the garden. Isn’t that delightful?”

The maid smiled.

“Sounds perfect—more fun than eating at a restaurant.”

Hearing this, Kanghe said, “Young master, if you’re hosting a barbecue, why not buy the rabbits, ducks, and pigeons too? You don’t have to take them all, just one of each. A variety of game will make a grand feast, more impressive than just roe deer. Plus, with different tastes, everyone will find something they like.”

“That makes sense,” the young man said.

“My cousin Liulang doesn’t eat liver.”

“Take all these goods. I didn’t bring any servants, and the sedan can’t carry them. Can you deliver to the seventh house in Xishui Lane?”

Kanghe replied, “No trouble at all, young master. I’ll ensure everything arrives at your mansion exactly as you see it here.”

The maid pulled a silver coin from an embroidered purse and handed it to Kanghe.

“You mountain man, with that tongue of yours, you’ve convinced our young master to buy all this.”

“It’s not just my talk—it’s the young master’s good eye for quality goods,” Kanghe said.

The maid smiled.

“This is a tip from our young master. When you deliver, someone will settle the bill.”

“Thank you, sister,” Kanghe said, feeling the weighty silver coin, at least one tael.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

As Fanjing returned with his tea bowl, the sedan left.

Kanghe handed him the silver coin.

“All our goods have a buyer.”

“The sedan guy bought everything?” Fanjing asked.

Kanghe nodded.

Fanjing pinched the silver, frowning slightly.

“Sold too cheap.”

Kanghe laughed.

“That’s just the tip. They’ll pay the rest when we deliver.”

Fanjing was impressed.

He knew wealthy city folk often tipped, as his sister Xiangxiu, who worked in a big household, often brought home rewards.

But this was his first time experiencing it.

He wondered how Kanghe had managed to charm such a generous buyer.

“I didn’t say much,” Kanghe said.

“He already wanted the game. A few convenient words, and he tipped. We just got lucky today, meeting a big spender.”

They packed up and headed to the address given by the young man, arriving at a grand mansion with a plaque reading “Song Residence.”

They delivered the goods through the side gate.

The Song household was courteous, offering tea, but the steward in charge of purchasing was less generous than the young master.

She knew market prices inside out and wasn’t easily swayed.

“After weighing, these goods are worth three guan.”

Before coming, Kanghe had asked Fanjing about their goods’ value.

At market retail prices, they could fetch three guan and two hundred cash, or up to three guan and five hundred with holiday markups.

But selling to Official Li’s restaurant would only yield two guan and five hundred.

Restaurants paid a fixed price year-round—good for autumn when game was plentiful, but no holiday premiums in winter.

Savvy hunters sold elsewhere in winter, but Fanjing, not one for haggling, stuck with Li’s.

Kanghe wasn’t thrilled with the steward’s offer, which seemed to lowball them like a restaurant price.

The tip was one thing, but being shorted on the goods was another.

He suspected they’d report a higher retail price to their master, pocketing the difference.

If this were a regular deal, Kanghe might have let it slide for future business.

But the young master’s purchase seemed a one-time whim, not a promise of repeat orders.

For a single deal, he’d push for the best price.

He smiled and said, “Ma’am, your price is a bit low. Everything’s pricier now, like spring bamboo shoots. If the young master hadn’t insisted, we’d have stayed at the market. It’s lively, and goods sell well. Even if we had leftovers, we have regular buyers.”

The steward glanced at Kanghe, seeing he was a sharp talker, and raised the offer.

“You’ve made the trip, so I’ll add two hundred cash to make it worth your while for the New Year.”

Kanghe, satisfied with the adjusted price plus the tip, agreed.

Pushing too hard wouldn’t look good.

“Ma’am, you’re generous. I’ll take your price and throw in ten pounds of mountain bamboo shoots.”

The steward smiled.

“You’re considerate, young man.”

She called for a servant to weigh the silver and asked if they wanted more tea.

Leaving the Song household, Kanghe and Fanjing were in good spirits.

They stopped at a street stall for hot mutton soup to warm up.

Their haul had earned them over three guan.

Fanjing handed the silver coin to Kanghe.

“Yours.”

Kanghe felt uneasy at the gesture.

“Yours, mine—what’s that about? If you’re like this, just give it all to me.”

Fanjing fell silent.

Truthfully, he’d long considered letting Kanghe manage their money, trusting he wasn’t reckless and had a knack for planning.

But Fanjing was cautious and didn’t easily hand over control.

“We’ll settle it when the banquet’s set.”

Kanghe’s eyes lit up, and he leaned in, whispering, “What, you’ll only feel secure after you’ve had a taste?”

Fanjing didn’t answer.

A taste?

Hadn’t the bee sting been enough?

Later that afternoon, the wind picked up, hinting at more snow or rain.

Kanghe and Fanjing didn’t linger in the county.

They bought a piece of pork, half fat, half lean, from Sister Wu at the meat market and returned to the village.

“My boys, you’re finally back!” Chen Sanfang opened the courtyard gate.

“The mountain’s all white, and there’s snow down here too. You were so late, we thought something happened. Today, Auntie Qi at the village entrance said a hunter named Ge from Hutou Village got mauled by a wild boar and had to be carried down. Your father and I were scared to death, thinking if you didn’t return, we’d go up tomorrow to check.”

Kanghe reassured her, “We saw the snow and came down. We went to the county to sell goods first, so we’re late. Sorry for worrying you and Father.”

“All’s well, then. Get to the kitchen—Zhen’er’s got the fire going and was about to cook rice. It’s freezing; your faces are red!” It had been a month since they’d seen Fanjing and Kanghe, and the family was overjoyed to have them back safely.

Kanghe rubbed his hands and pulled the pork from the basket.

“Let’s have meat tonight. Fanjing’s game sold well, so we spent twenty cash on good meat for a treat.”

Chen Sanfang unwrapped the paper, delighted at the balanced fat and lean.

Clever ran over to look.

In the twelfth month, many village families slaughtered pigs and shared pork soup, so they’d had some meat.

But poor households made thin soup with intestines, lungs, pig’s blood, and pickled vegetables.

Generous families might fry some meat; stingy ones served only cold vegetables.

At feasts, guests couldn’t greedily take meat and had to urge each other to eat, leaving little for anyone.

A slab of good meat at home, enough for a greasy, satisfying meal, was far better.

“You two are so generous, buying such fine meat despite New Year’s price hikes,” Chen Sanfang said, beaming as she inspected the pork.

Kanghe pulled out two paper-wrapped pieces of brown sugar, each a finger long and three fingers wide, and gave one to each of the two girls.

“Your big brother bought meat, so your brother-in-law got you sugar.”

The girls were thrilled, especially since it was their favorite brown sugar.

They thanked Kanghe and tucked the treats away.

Chen Sanfang laughed.

“You’re spoiling those girls.”

Kanghe grinned.

“After this meal, we’ll need the whole family to pitch in tomorrow.”

“For what?” Father Fan, who’d just returned from pulling radishes in the field, overheard the lively kitchen chatter and hurried over.

Kanghe called out “Father” and explained to Chen Sanfang and Father Fan, “Fanjing and I have a lot of mountain goods stored in the cabin.

We can’t bring them all down in one or two trips, so we came back to get the family to help.”

“No problem, we’re free these days. Let’s bring it all home,” Chen Sanfang said eagerly.

“Your mother’s right,” Father Fan agreed, asking, “What kind of goods?”

Kanghe patiently listed everything, including the yam roots they’d brought to their grandparents last time.

“That powder’s a hassle to process, but with no other work, we can all do it together.”

Chen and Father Fan, excited about the profitable venture, were happy to take on the task.

Fanjing sat by the stove, silent but softened by the firelight as he listened to Kanghe chat warmly with the family.

That night, the family ate heartily.

After tidying up, they sat in the main room with the door closed, soaking their feet.

Chen laughed that the pot had so much oil tonight, even the foot-washing water seemed greasy.

“If every day were like this, how wonderful.”

Fanjing spoke up, “Have you picked a date for the banquet?”

“We had the village head check already,” Chen said.

“A couple of days after you went up the mountain, your father brought tea and a jug of lamb wine to his house and picked two dates: the twenty-sixth of the twelfth month or the nineteenth of the first month. We figured the twenty-sixth was too soon, so we settled on the first month.”

Fanjing had no objections, as he wouldn’t be going up the mountain in the first month anyway.

He pulled out a silver coin, just under two taels but at least one and a half.

“Use this to prepare.”

Chen Sanfang and Father Fan were stunned that Fanjing offered so much.

They’d expected him to contribute a little, with them covering the rest, but this covered everything, especially since they’d slaughter their own pig.

Chen quickly took the silver.

“Your father and I planned already. We expect twelve tables of guests. We’ve reserved eight chickens, eight ducks, ten pond fish—all at good prices. We’ll slaughter our two-hundred-pound pig too. Vegetables are easy; every household has them. The wine’s ordered from the county winery—ten-cash-a-jug stuff. Your father’s been hauling it back, and it’s stored on the inner corridor.”

The couple had been planning under lamplight, not waiting for Fanjing to return with money.

If they’d waited, chickens and ducks would be pricier and harder to get with so many buyers.

They’d even booked the village cook, Liao.

Fanjing and Kanghe were impressed that the family had arranged the banquet so thoroughly, leaving them little to worry about except to play the roles of groom and bridegroom.

After the evening talk, they retired to their rooms.

Chen Sanfang sent Kanghe and Fanjing to the new house to sleep, saying the bed was ready and they shouldn’t squeeze into the old one.

Fanjing asked Kanghe which room he wanted, and Kanghe teased, “What, you still want to sleep with me?”

Fanjing didn’t reply and headed to the new house.

Kanghe hurriedly followed.

The new house looked much the same, except for a large wooden bed with new curtains and thick red bedding.

Kanghe, carrying an oil lamp, laughed as he touched the red sheets, far more comfortable than the mountain bed.

He patted the bed, inviting Fanjing to try it, but when he looked up, Fanjing had stripped off his outer clothes.

Under the lamplight, Fanjing’s lean, tall frame stood out.

Kanghe couldn’t resist grabbing his hand, pulling him with force.

Fanjing stumbled and fell onto Kanghe, pinning him to the bed.