Chapter 41: A Single Glance from a Judge of Talent

Zhu Di was a bit younger, and having been abandoned by his parents at seven or eight, he was somewhat shy and tongue-tied. Even after several days at the mine, he still couldn't tell people apart.

Zhang Yu, who styled himself the elder brother, had to point each one out to him: "The ones digging and washing the coal are the Fourth clan."

"Those treading the pestles to crush the ore are the First clan."

Treadle pestles were common implements in this era, found in nearly every household. If conditions had allowed, Diwu Lun would have liked to hire craftsmen to build a few water-powered trip-hammer sheds like those seen along the Zhengguo Canal, harnessing the stream's force to pulverize the coal lumps day and night.

Zhang Yu pointed again at the brawny men pulling handcarts, returning with clay from the riverbank: "The ones digging the yellow earth and mixing it with the coal dust are the Fifth clan — that is, the kinsmen of Gentleman Boyu."

Zhu Di nodded, then counted on his fingers and asked: "Then where are the Second and Third?"

While the two brothers were still talking, Diwu Pingdan, who had already been promoted to foreman, called out to them: "Lads, no slacking off — work begins!"

The two hurriedly rose from the straw mats in the resting shed and went over to the pile of coal clay, already mixed with water. It had been spread flat on the ground and scored with a shovel into small squares; each square could be rolled into one coal ball. Once rolled, the balls were placed on long planks to dry in the sun.

Working alongside them were many youths from Diwu village, ranging in age from ten to fifteen or sixteen — all sent by their parents after hearing that the mine provided meals.

The common folk of this age truly suffered too much. Every household's surplus grain was barely enough; during the slack farming season, they would even drive their sons from home to seek a living, just to save a mouthful of food and stave off famine when the old grain ran out before the new harvest. Guanzhong had abundant labor but scarce land and jobs; that merely providing room and board could attract so many people would be utterly unimaginable in later ages.

Zhang Yu and Zhu Di felt there was no work in the world easier than rolling coal balls — just like the mud cakes they had played with as children. Though their hands were stained pitch-black, looking at row after row of finished coal balls still filled their hearts with delight.

The coal boss Diwu Lun was not too harsh on these "child laborers." As long as they worked for a little over two shichen and finished their assigned quota, passing the overseer's inspection, they could rest and eat.

Foreman Diwu Pingdan had sharp eyes. Even while mixing the coal clay, he could turn his head and order the youths trying to creep off early for their meal to remember to wash their hands clean at the stream — don't swallow coal grit and ruin your stomach, or it would affect the afternoon's work.

Zhang Yu and Zhu Di had wandered for two years and could not remember how many months it had been since they last ate steaming hot millet. The Diwu village youths in the same squad all complained: "Zhang Yu is clearly just a junior lad, yet he eats more than the senior lads."

Zhang Yu, however, was not afraid of them. To keep everyone from bullying Zhu Di, he often boasted: "Zhu Di and I were personally picked up by the gentleman himself!"

Compared to their wandering life, the two wild children were content with their present lot. But Diwu Lun, who had come again to inspect the coal pit, only shook his head as he watched them, inwardly ashamed.

"You have merely gone from days when you could not even be slaves, to days when you are slaves. Zhang Yu, Zhu Di — what are you so happy about?"

They exhaust the clay before their doors, yet their roofs bear not a single tile. Fingers that never touch the mud dwell in towering mansions of scale-like tiles. The miners and child laborers were not allowed to burn the coal balls either; instead, they burned firewood or crushed coal gathered nearby. A crowd of them huddled together, warming their hands by the fire, still chatting and laughing — they were truly easy to satisfy.

Diwu Lun did not deceive himself. He admitted that virtually none of the people who came to work the coal mine received any wages; the mine merely provided food and shelter.

Beneath the outer garment of clan kinship lay the most severe exploitation. This so-called minor clan head was, in truth, a slave master, a capitalist.

The clansmen were all honest. Though conditions at the mine were harsh, they worked hard and found joy in it. They were utterly unlike the "troublemakers" in a certain game from his past life, who, in freezing cold with no food or coal and humanity on the brink of extinction, still clamored for an eight-hour workday.

The more they were like this, the more agitated Diwu Lun felt inside.

But he was helpless. In the early stages, only this way could primitive accumulation be achieved — first ensuring everyone could eat their fill. Matters of improving production conditions could only be gradually implemented after the first sum of money was earned.

After work truly began, Diwu Lun managed the coal mine using the squad system, breaking up the existing neighbor relationships within the village. He chose as foremen those he had come to appreciate during the autumn sacrifice, when the ancestral hall was repaired and the meat distributed — men like Diwu Pingdan.

From mining to loading and transport, the entire process had a clear division of labor, with the steward Diwu Ge responsible for overseeing the whole operation.

It was only a pity that the farmers' comprehension was truly too poor. It took several days of chaos before they understood what they were supposed to do and began to grow accustomed to cooperating with people from the other two clans. For now, the efficiency was passable, and one could even boast a little about an "assembly line."

Seeing that everything at the coal pit was proceeding in good order, Diwu Lun, whose time was limited, did not linger. After giving a few instructions, he returned to Chang'an.

Setting out together with him were over a dozen oxcarts from the First clan's household, laden with jet-black coal balls, to be transported to the warehouse beside the North Market Pavilion in Chang'an for storage. He also had to thank Wang Mang's anti-corruption campaign; the low-level petty officials were all anxious and, for the time being, dared not extort or demand favors from Diwu Lun — saving him an expense.

Meanwhile, many county-level officials, the "foxes," had fallen from office one after another, especially in the Capital Commandant's commandery. He heard from Jing Dan that the various bureau clerks below the County Magistrate were nearly half vacant.

In previous years, the firewood and charcoal from the Zhongnan Mountains had mostly passed through these men's hands for transport and sale, by which they multiplied their illicit profits. Now that they had been dealt a heavy blow, the firewood and charcoal supply would likely be affected and would certainly not be transported and sold as smoothly as in past years.

After entering the eleventh month, the weather grew colder by the day. Once a shortage of firewood and charcoal appeared, coal balls would have a chance to compete for the market against these "traditional fuels."

The seventh day of the eleventh month was the day coal ball sales were to begin. It was only a pity that Diwu Lun could not get away. At the Gentlemen's Quarters, studying the "Spring and Autumn" adjudication of cases under the senior clerk, his mind was elsewhere. The moment it ended, he hurriedly rode out of the city. When he arrived at the warehouse, however, he found everyone's expressions grave — Diwu Xian's face was the grimmest of all.

Diwu Lun's heart thumped. He asked: "How much have you sold?"

Diwu Xian swallowed and said: "Only... thirty jin!"

The coal balls from Changling had met a severe blow the moment they hit the market.

All afternoon, the youths of the Fourth clan had shouted themselves hoarse. The handcarts hauling the coal balls had circled a full thirty li around the north of the city, and in the end, only seven or eight people were willing to buy, all just to give it a try.

Diwu Xian poured out his complaint: "Boyu, the moment they hear it is rock coal, even if the price is slightly lower than charcoal, people still dislike it."

After all, coal had been at the bottom of the fuel hierarchy for many years — how could it overturn that in a single day?

Diwu Xian began to entertain crooked ideas: "Why not pass it off as charcoal? That way we could even sell it for a higher price."

"Uncle, though I do not understand the ways of commerce, I do understand that trade must be conducted with honesty."

Diwu Lun shook his head. Their family's coal was of average quality. Although it had been washed once with stream water, it still produced a strong smell when burned — the deception would be exposed the moment it was lit. If the villagers felt cheated, word would spread from one to ten to a hundred, and before the coal balls even took off, their reputation would be ruined.

Diwu Lun was not in a hurry. He first followed Diwu Xian to observe how they were selling.

Hauling the coal balls by donkey cart was no easy task. The lanes twisted and turned, the road was bumpy, and two black tracks were left in the cart ruts.

Along the way, they frequently encountered competitors: firewood haulers, straw peddlers, old charcoal sellers... Just as Diwu Lun had predicted, due to the butterfly effect triggered by Wang Mang's anti-corruption drive, the price of Zhongnan firewood and charcoal had nearly doubled compared to the tenth month. In terms of price, coal balls had an advantage over charcoal.

With each cry of the peddlers, quite a few villagers were drawn over — most of them precisely Diwu Lun's target market: households of middling means with assets around a hundred thousand cash. Only they had the standing to choose what to burn.

The villagers first asked why this "charcoal" so closely resembled horse dung pellets, unlike the long sticks of charcoal. Upon learning it was rock coal, half of them turned and left. Those who remained frowned and asked over and over, "Does this charcoal burn well?" Then they began to haggle, and in the end, those who actually completed a purchase were very few indeed.

Diwu Lun understood. After returning, he said: "When selling, we can no longer call them rock coal balls. We must change the name — to something that makes people feel warmth and sunny cheer when they hear it."

Diwu Xian agreed wholeheartedly: "Blazing Coal?"

Diwu Lun laughed: "And what if the government thinks of 'Blazing Han'?"

Diwu Xian was startled. After thinking for a long while, he had an idea: "Perhaps we could call it Diwu Coal, or Filial Piety and Righteousness Coal. These past few days in the market, I have heard Boyu's name and reputation everywhere."

So he wanted to cash in on his reputation. Diwu Lun was unwilling. Burning coal indoors carried risks; if an accident happened and someone died, and people made the connection, his good name would be ruined.

Diwu Lun still had Diwu Xian manage the coal ball business, and even the rented market stall was under his name. He feared that if he took the stage himself, someone would report him for "using office for private gain, illicitly multiplying production," and in the end, Wang Mang would harvest him like leeks, confiscating four-fifths of his family property — then all his work would be for nothing.

His reputation was an ox-butchering knife, to be cherished — it could not be used on a chicken-slaughtering task.

What was more, the reason the coal balls found no buyers was not just in the name. Production at the mine had kept pace, but the sales process was far too weak. The Fourth clan's method of selling goods remained at the level of a small peddler with a shoulder pole.

In the final analysis, it came down to one thing: sales were low because not enough had been invested in advertising!

Even if he had never eaten pork, he had seen a pig run. How could the ancients compare to modern people, bombarded daily by countless dense advertisements, when it came to broadcasting a message far and wide?

Diwu Lun then said: "Stop selling for today. Send someone to get a large wooden signboard and nail it up on the warehouse, and also get a banner to hang."

Diwu Xian understood about the banner. The shops and stalls inside and outside Chang'an often hung banners very high, precisely so that passersby could spot them from afar and come in.

But what was the point of making that big wooden plaque?

Diwu Lun did not explain. He had to return to Xuanming Quarter first.

"By the way, in the wards north of Chang'an city, are there any street variety shows?"

On the twelfth day of the eleventh month, the weather grew ever colder. Even young Liang Hong, sitting in the carriage, could not stop a long trail of snot from running down his face.

As a father, Liang Rang did not mind the mess and simply wiped Liang Hong's nose with his own sleeve. His tone carried a hint of reproach: "So bitterly cold today, and you, a mere child, insisted on making a fuss to go out."

The Liang clan held distinguished status as the "Xiuyuan Baron." The matter dated back to the founding year of the Xin Dynasty, when Wang Mang, imitating the ancient system of the Two Kings and Three Revered Houses, sought out the descendants of the great sages among the ancient kings — the Yellow Emperor, Emperor Shaohao, Emperor Zhuanxu, Emperor Ku, Emperor Yao, Emperor Shun, Emperor Yu of Xia, Gao Yao, Yi Yin — determined to gather them all.

Such people were, of course, a dime a dozen. As it happened, Liang Rang's father was singled out, identified as a "descendant of Shaohao," charged with offering sacrifices to the Jintian clan, and thus enfeoffed as a baron.

Liang Rang was the second-generation Xiuyuan Baron and also served as Colonel of the City Gates, subordinate to the "General of the Five Majesties' Central City," in charge of the Heng Gate and the security of the thirty wards beyond the city. Today was his turn for rest leave, and it happened to be a morning market day north of the city. With no duty to perform and his son Liang Hong, only eleven years old, having been cooped up at home for many days and clamoring to go beyond the city, Liang Rang had, for once, put on plain clothes and taken Liang Hong to stroll through the market.

Besides the usual goods, the market sold quite a lot of cooked food. Cooked dishes were arrayed in profusion, mixed delicacies forming a market of their own. That was just how Chang'an people were — lazy when it came to labor, yet insistent on eating with the seasons and tasting fresh fare. Fried fish and sliced liver, mutton steeped in wine and chilled chicken, fermented fish and sweet gourds, cooked sorghum and mo roasted meat — everything one could want was there, the vessels kept warm over charcoal fires below, steam rising in billows.

And the already scant fuel supplies of the households north of Chang'an were being consumed at an accelerating rate.

The liveliest spot in the market was a storehouse near the market pavilion, now converted into a row of shop stalls. From far off, one could hear gongs and drums resounding to the heavens — an extraordinary clamor.

Children are by nature drawn to noise and bustle. Liang Hong tugged his father over, and there before the shop stalls, a street variety show was in progress. These were the folk hundred entertainments: high-rope walking — that is, treading a high cord — along with sword-swallowing, fire-walking, pole-climbing, and other such skills. Two stout men were wrestling in front, and cheers rose around them without end.

Liang Rang was somewhat surprised. Ordinarily, these street variety shows were staged mostly at community shrine sacrifices, or when princes and nobles held banquets and summoned them to perform. Now, for some unknown reason, they had all been gathered together here.

Coupled with the ceaseless folk music, nearly half the market had been drawn over. This was only to be expected: in the spring of the third year of the Yuanfeng era under Emperor Wu of Han, the imperial house held a hundred-entertainment performance in the capital, and people came from three hundred li around to watch. Today's affair, drawing over a thousand people from three wards, was still quite achievable.

For a time, shoulders rubbed and heels pressed; the spectators formed a solid wall. The Liang family carriage could no longer move.

Once the crowd had gathered sufficiently, a drumbeat sounded, and the street variety show stopped. Diwu Xian, dressed in the plain white robes of a merchant, stepped onto a small wooden platform. He bowed deeply to the onlookers, cleared his throat, and began to explain the reason for all today's clamor.

He started with the fuel shortage, then mentioned a certain young Palace Gentleman of filial piety and righteousness, who, mindful of the common people's suffering without firewood or charcoal and enduring the bitter winter cold, had set his hand to improving coal, making it burn much better. Now, his own family, having been blessed with that gentleman's skill, had opened a coal-ball shop north of Chang'an. On ordinary days, they would sell by cart throughout the thirty wards north of the quarter, and he hoped the common folk would give them their generous patronage.

The crowd looked at one another, wondering who this young gentleman he spoke of might be. Liang Rang, however, knew.

Some days earlier, Diwu Lun, who had since become "Yang Xiong's disciple," had come to visit and smooth the way for his clan to open a shop stall here.

In his youth, Liang Rang had admired Yang Xiong's learning and studied under him for a few days. Seeing that Diwu Lun held an official post and had long been known for filial piety and righteousness, he had readily agreed.

Given the anti-corruption climate, the two had no monetary dealings whatsoever — merely opening a door of convenience and leaving a personal favor owed.

Liang Rang could understand Diwu Lun. Among the hundred officials, ministers, and nobles, it was hardly rare for them to use their clansmen to engage indirectly in commerce — which family did not have some side enterprise? Diwu Lun at least had some sense and was not so foolish as to take the stage himself. Right now, he was probably lurking in some corner of the crowd, watching in secret.

And when Diwu Xian, in a slightly nervous voice, finished his speech, another burst of drumbeats sounded, and the cloth covering the shop stall's main door was yanked down with a sharp tug, revealing three large characters on the wooden plaque:

"Warm Sun Coal!"

Beside this large wooden signboard, a big wooden board had also been set up, painted with no great artistic skill, depicting some black round balls burning in flames — a guide for those who could not read.

Diwu Xian even had the advertising slogans ready, and had the younger clansmen shout in unison:

"Price lower than charcoal, flame fiercer than firewood — once in the stove, warmth like the rising sun."

"Truly a household essential."

"All sales on the first day at ten percent off!"

The crowd looked at one another. Especially upon hearing "ten percent off," some began to stir, yet still no one took the first step.

At last, a man dressed as a servant stepped forward and entered the shop. Not long after, a horse-drawn cart drove out from the back door, asking the crowd to make way — they were going to deliver goods at once.

And Diwu Xian, mustering all his strength, had the younger clansmen shout loudly along with him: "Palace Gentleman Wang Wenshan sends a servant to purchase three hundred jin of Warm Sun Coal!"

That's right — Diwu Lun's scheme, besides the standard performance that accompanied a tavern's opening, had another word to it.

"A plant!"

A second person went in, also a servant. A moment later, he emerged holding a large basket of coal balls. Diwu Xian had them shout again: "Palace Gentleman Jing Sunqing sends a servant to purchase fifty jin!"

Liang Hong stared, utterly entranced. Liang Rang's expression, however, gradually grew grave.

Well-read, he could more or less see through Diwu Lun's tactic. The Strategies of the Warring States: Yan Strategies, compiled by the State Preceptor, recorded this story: A man selling horses at the horse market went three days without a single customer. So he sought out Bole, hoping Bole would come to the horse market and pay attention to his horse, and when leaving, turn back to look at his horse once more. If he did so, Bole would receive a day's wages as reward.

The next day, Bole came to the horse market. According to the prearranged plan, Bole "circled back to look at it, and when leaving, turned his head to gaze at it." The result was that "in a single day, the horse's price increased tenfold."

Diwu Lun likely harbored the same idea. This Wang Wenshan and Jing Sunqing were only the beginning. His final aim was probably to borrow Yang Xiong's name to achieve the effect of Bole's single backward glance.

After all, Yang Xiong was far too famous in Chang'an — whether it was good repute that won praise or ill repute that drew mockery.

The more Liang Rang thought, the angrier he grew. Diwu Lun was utterly unfilial and unrighteous, single-mindedly pursuing fame and profit, even exploiting his nominal teacher Yang Xiong. What filial piety and righteousness remained? It was likely all a pretense put on by this brat!

This manner of grasping was far too ugly. Displeasure rose in Liang Rang's heart. If Diwu Lun next truly dared exploit Yang Xiong's name, then tomorrow... no, today, he would send men at once to have this coal-ball shop shut down for good!

Yet he waited a long while. One after another, some Lord Zhao of the Eastern Ward, Young Lord Zhao of the Northern Ward, Lord Hei of the Southern Ward, and Lord Ren of the Western Ward all went in and bought coal, from twenty jin to a hundred jin — but no Yang Xiong.

"Almost gone!" Diwu Xian shouted again.

"Today's Warm Sun Coal is nearly exhausted — only the last two thousand jin remain! Gentlemen, do not miss out!"

Whether out of some herd mentality, or the urge to snatch a bargain — who knows — in any case, the onlookers, who had never in their lives seen so many tricks, could no longer hold back and flocked into the market stall to buy.

"Diwu Boyu still understands reason and knows the proper measure in doing things."

Not having heard Yang Xiong's name, Liang Rang breathed a slight sigh of relief. It seemed he had not been used by a shameless and virtueless scoundrel. Diwu Lun had not lost his virtue; he was still that filial and righteous Diwu lad.

Since the other party was still a gentleman, and what he was doing seemed to be honest trade, merely a touch clever in its approach, then what harm was there in giving him a helping hand along the way?

His heart at ease, Liang Rang smiled and sent his own servant into the shop stall to add fuel to the fire of this shop's business.

"The Xiuyuan Baron, Lord Liang, purchases four hundred jin of Warm Sun Coal!"

PS: Two big chapters — begging for recommendation votes.