Chapter 298: Ajia

Liu Chengzong spent this New Year at Dajianlu.

It wasn't that he was idling for pleasure — Muya had long wanted to invite Liu Chengzong to Dajianlu. He said Dajianlu had thirteen Guozhuang inns, and every Guozhuang had a young beauty serving as its manager.

Liu Chengzong was not tempted.

But Muya believed this was because his own words were too hollow, so he added descriptors: just how beautiful were those young and lovely managers? In all thirteen Guozhuang, every single one had Ming scholars who lingered, unwilling to leave, utterly infatuated with the manager.

Sure enough, Lion Liu was tempted. On the spot, he ordered his uncle to lead troops into Dajianlu, round up every armed warrior and soldier guarding the Guozhuang, and not let a single man leave!

Although this was plainly treating West of the Long River as his own domain, Muya did not mind. At this season, Dajianlu had no business.

There were only poor scholars from Sichuan on pleasure trips and settled merchants. Liu Chengzong could do whatever he pleased — it didn't matter.

Because he could finally be certain that Liu Chengzong truly had little interest in annexing him.

Having confirmed this, Muya could proceed with his next plan: finding a way to get Liu Chengzong to buy shares in Dajianlu's inns.

"Share" was an old term. Several portions of capital pooled together formed a joint share; applied to commerce, the shares were divided according to the amount of capital.

On the road to Dajianlu, Muya told his plan to the Native Chiliarchs traveling with him, and those old subordinates, loyal for generations, all exploded.

An old Chiliarch who had lived through the market wars between the chieftains on both banks of the Dadu River said, "My lord, this absolutely must not be done. The Marshal's Command holds sway over Qinghai and Dokham with vast capital. If they station themselves in Dajianlu, what business will remain for our thirteen Guozhuang families!"

Muya nodded very earnestly. "Exactly. There are only so many customers. If there are more taverns, the customers will be split away, and income will inevitably drop."

Hearing this, the old Chiliarch thought, the lord understands perfectly well. So he had no choice but to step out of the business mindset and ponder, then asked, "Then is the lord doing this to pay tribute to the Marshal's Command for protection?"

That line of thought was reasonable enough. After all, Muya had probed Liu Chengzong quite a bit recently and found that this Grand Marshal indeed had little interest in West of the Long River, nor was he a greedy man — he was simply very short on grain.

But the old Chiliarch immediately followed up: "If it's tribute, giving gold and silver is better than letting the Grand Marshal enter Dajianlu. If the Grand Marshal originally had no intention of swallowing Dajianlu, yet as the Han say, 'wealth and goods stir the heart,' once he sees the markets of Lucheng, it's not certain he'll still lack that intention."

Muya first shook his head, then his brows lifted with delight. "Isn't that a good thing?"

The old Chiliarch was dumbfounded. "My lord, no one joins a partnership like this!"

But Muya waved his hand. "What partnership? Let me ask you — how big is West of the Long River, and how much annual income do Dajianlu's thirteen Guozhuang bring in?"

This was not easy for the old Chiliarch to calculate. He muttered to himself at the side, "On a slow day, they slaughter one ox and one sheep; on a busy day, three..."

"Enough. You don't know these things. Let me ask you something else." Muya asked, "How large is Marshal Liu's family estate?"

The old Chiliarch couldn't even figure out West of the Long River's income — how could he know the size of Lion Liu's estate? This time he didn't even try to calculate, simply lowering his head. "My lord, your subordinate is dull-witted."

"Don't be dull-witted. When the Grand Marshal stretches out his hand, the silver that slips through his fingers is greater than my family's entire trade, which brings in less than ten thousand taels a year. If he wants Dajianlu, I couldn't ask for more."

There was ambition in Muya's eyes. He said, "In this lifetime, I can never defeat King Mu, nor can I defeat the Shen and Leng families. The market will forever be east of the river; West of the Long River will never expand outward. Do I look like a chieftain to you?"

"I'm just like a head manager, doing a bit of small business west of the river generation after generation, opening a fine room and frying a couple of dishes for people."

"Suppose he takes half — a few thousand taels of silver a year. Compared to the Marshal's Command's enormous expenses, would he even care about this pittance?"

Muya answered his own question, wagging his index finger from horseback. "He wouldn't. Borrowing the Grand Marshal's influence, can't we pull the market to Dajianlu? Once the market comes, even if the money is split, we'll earn far more than we do now."

The Native Chiliarch was silent for a long while, then asked somberly, "When did the lord start having this idea?"

Muya said nothing. The idea of bringing Liu Chengzong in as a shareholder in Dajianlu had first sprouted when he went hunting with Liu Chengzong.

It was a bit laughable, really. Though born into a chieftain family, Muya was not versed in martial arts, nor could he fight wars.

His father understood military strategy. The dream of two generations of chieftains of West of the Long River had been to break through Shenbian and Lengbian and seize the tea-horse market.

So all his time had been spent learning Han Chinese, Shaanxi dialect, Sichuan dialect, Confucianism, arithmetic, and the tea-horse trade.

If everything had gone smoothly, by the time he inherited the chieftaincy, the tea-horse market should already have been established in West of the Long River. All his talents should have flourished, making West of the Long River the most dazzling chieftain domain in the southwest.

It was a pity his father had failed to destroy the Shen and Leng families. He had prepared his whole life, fought one battle, and lost to a river, swearing against his will an oath that the market would remain on the opposite bank for all eternity.

Yet it was precisely Muya, who knew nothing of military affairs, who discovered that Liu Chengzong's army possessed a kind of large two-man fire lance that could shoot two to three hundred paces.

This range meant that when the Dadu River was not in flood, the defenders on the opposite bank could not stop the Qinghai Marshal's Command's troops.

Only, Muya had never imagined that regarding Liu Chengzong's desires, he had guessed wrong.

Traveling southeast from Luhuo, the surrounding land was densely populated with sturdy villages, the wind grew stronger and stronger, and the road was fairly level all the way. Only upon reaching Zheduo Mountain — true to its name, "winding and twisting" — did they have to lodge on the mountain for a night.

Approaching Dajianlu, the dwellings and fortified villages around grew sparser, but market stalls multiplied. Liu Chengzong observed as he traveled.

When the common folk along the road saw troops entering Lucheng, they hurriedly fled in panic to the roadside. There were not many ordinary folk, however; they were mostly monks in red cotton robes, red woolen cloth, and draped in red monastic shawls.

There were also Tibetan men and women idling through the market streets, wearing rough clothes made of woolen cloth and woolen cloth boots with attached stockings. Both men and women wore skirts, not trousers.

Seeing Liu Chengzong frown at the sight of so many monks, Muya explained, "There are many monks in Lucheng for four main reasons. First, they are sent from Tibet to station here and conduct affairs. Second, King Béri has expelled monks. Third, the Guozhuang of Lucheng provide them free lodging. And fourth... because of the Grand Marshal."

Liu Chengzong frowned. "What does that have to do with me?"

Muya chuckled lightly. "The Grand Marshal raises troops in the northwest. To the northeast is the Songpan Grassland. Monks can naturally only flee southeast. Any further and they'd flee into Han territory. Many of them have no ordination certificates and can only stay in Lucheng."

"Why don't they flee toward Lijiang?"

"Lijiang?" Muya laughed even harder at this, shaking his head. "The Grand Marshal may not know, but King Mu once tolerated monks. Now, however, he only permits monks of the White Sect to preach. If commoners wish to become monks of the Yellow Sect, those children's heads and hands are to be chopped off in public, and their parents made to carry the corpses on parade."

As he spoke, Muya observed Liu Chengzong's expression, then nodded heavily and stated, "The Grand Marshal is not mistaken. You are the great chief most tolerant of Yellow Sect monks on this land. The Qinghai Marshal's Command is the place with the greatest religious freedom."

When Liu Chengzong first heard this, he found it very strange — it even made him feel Muya was speaking sarcastically.

But after mulling it over carefully, it seemed that was indeed the case.

The missing Dönyö Dorje went without saying — he was a staunch opponent of all sects. The Tsangpa Khan in Tibet was also a firm opponent of the Yellow Sect. Add to that King Mu in the south — they expelled the Yellow Sect without the slightest mercy, all resorting directly to physical elimination.

And what about him, Liu Chengzong? Within his domain, from the Eternal Venerable Mother to Maitreya Buddha, from Erlang Shen to the Zhenwu Emperor, from abolishing slavery to abolishing the imperial court — there were even the Pickled Vegetable Deity sect and the Donkey Meat Fire-Bun sect.

All manner of faiths flourished vigorously. And sandwiched between the two prefectures of Xikang was a Yellow Sect guru of all Qinghai Mongols, a master of gaining something for nothing.

Lion Liu was filled with bewilderment. How the hell had I become the last defender of religious freedom from Qinghai to Ü-Tsang?

Arriving at the Guozhuang near Lucheng, the Tibetan headmen of West of the Long River had long been waiting. The moment the troops approached, the headmen dressed in silks and satins presented khata scarves.

Liu Chengzong accepted the khata and examined it closely, a trace of dissatisfaction in his heart. This made Muya tremble with anxiety, thinking he had done something wrong. Only when he drew near did he hear Liu Chengzong muttering quietly to his guards, "The Marshal's Command's Weaving Bureau is no good — they haven't even sold their goods here. Next year, next year all of these must bear the Weaving Bureau's mark."

Immediately after, the mistresses of the thirteen Guozhuang, with their retinues, offered New Year felicitations to Muya.

It was the New Year, after all. According to local custom, the Guozhuang masters came every year on the first day of the new year to the chieftain's official residence in West of the Long River to offer congratulations to the chief. People would dance around the Guozhuang hearth to pray for blessings.

Liu Chengzong was invited into the official residence and thus met the thirteen female managers of Dajianlu. They were not quite what he had imagined.

The managers were all beautiful, all appearing to have excellent backgrounds. They were neatly dressed, their clothes all Shu brocade fur-lined robes, yet their jewelry and adornments differed from those of noble Tibetan women. They all wore very light, simple jewelry, capable and efficient, with a masculine bearing.

Liu Chengzong felt that if a girl possessed such a bearing, complemented by such attire, there could be no unattractive person among them.

"Well, Grand Marshal? I didn't lie to you, did I?"

At the head of the pot-house, Muya said with a face full of pride: "The a-jia of Dajianlu's thirteen pot-houses are all beauties."

Liu Chengzong nodded, looked at the female managers seated along the side of the official stockade, and asked Muya: "They are all barbarian girls — why are the pot-house managers all women?"

"Most are, but there are two Han women." Muya spoke, then gave a sly grin: "It's convenient. The Grand Marshal has seen the pot-houses — they're all built grand and spacious. Before coming, I imagine the Grand Marshal took them for Han-style wine houses?"

As Liu Chengzong nodded, Muya waved a hand: "Not so. Does the Grand Marshal recall, before entering Furnace City, I said there were four reasons for the many monks — that no matter where a guest came from, they could lodge at a pot-house, and all would have tsampa and guokui to eat, so long as they helped with the work when trade was thriving."

Liu Chengzong nodded slowly, signaling Muya to continue.

"Among the people of Furnace City, farmers are barely one in ten, craftsmen two in ten, soldiers one in ten — the rest all engage in commerce. Barbarian men train in martial arts from childhood and know very little of Han customs, language, or business matters. These a-jia are the heads of the pot-houses, and also the intermediaries on the Tea-Horse trade route."

Muya called the female managers of the pot-houses a-jia, and said: "The Tea-Horse trade involves a great variety of goods, prices differ on both sides, languages are mutually unintelligible, even the coinage is different — and situations like buying on credit are unavoidable."

"There is the business of storing horses, goods, and tea leaves. But when Han and Tibetan merchants come here, trading directly inevitably leads to disputes. The tea merchants on both sides are nobles whose hands reach the heavens. To keep them from quarreling, the a-jia came into being."

"The pot-house master selects girls from the household who are fair of face and clever. Before the age of fifteen, they study the Han and Tibetan languages, customs and habits, master mathematics, and learn the market conditions for all kinds of goods. When they reach fifteen, they inherit the pot-house family business, serving as translators and intermediaries for the merchants."

Liu Chengzong listened very intently. This was a mature commercial model four hundred years in the making since the Yuan dynasty, and held great significance for reference and study for the Juerwan market. He said: "They are brokers between the merchants."

Broker was also an old term, the common name for a middleman.

"Right, exactly brokering. Accustomed to seeing transactions come and go at the pot-house, and able to act as guarantors, over time they can set the final price in a deal with a single word."

Muya said: "And they are all very wealthy. A tea merchant's deals routinely involve thousands of packs of tea, hundreds of jin of cordyceps and fritillary bulbs. When a deal is struck, the a-jia's income is a four-percent commission."

Liu Chengzong suddenly understood. No wonder the a-jia's attire and jewelry were all top quality — this profession indeed brought a considerable income. The trade volume of this southern Tea-Horse route was generally two to three million jin of tea leaves. On that value alone, four percent came to nearly a hundred thousand jin of tea.

"Ah, but now the market is east of the river. My a-jia here in Furnace City can only earn from Tibetan merchants' goods. The lion's share is taken by the Leng and Shen families on the opposite bank."

Muya did not dwell on this matter. Raising an eyebrow in a strange grin, he said: "Barbarian girls are the most passionate. The Grand Marshal is so young — is there any you fancy? Pick freely. If a match is made, even the pot-house will be yours."

"The pot-house will be mine?"

Muya, as if it were only natural, said: "The a-jia have always taken husbands by uxorilocal marriage. To the north is the former Kingdom of Women. If any of them had the fortune to be taken in by the Grand Marshal, the person would be yours — so wouldn't the pot-house naturally go to the Grand Marshal as well? Rest assured, I wouldn't dare take a commission from the Grand Marshal."

Liu Chengzong rubbed his chin, his gaze roaming among the a-jia. The barbarian girls all watched him with smiling eyes. Then he turned his head and, with a completely serious face, asked: "Is there any who knows the Mongol tongue?"

Muya scratched the top of his head like a big macaque, casting a helpless glance around — and caught sight of Fan Sanlang, standing guard with her hand on her saber, struggling to hold back a laugh.

Sanlang just wanted to give Liu Chengzong a big thumbs-up: truly worthy of Liu Chengzong, who had her accompany him to look at beauties!

As for Muya, his head was buzzing. He thought to himself: The Mongol tongue — this Grand Marshal's tastes... are a bit peculiar!

He shook his head helplessly: "Grand Marshal, for someone who knows the Mongol tongue, I fear you'll have to search east of the river. Everyone here is Tibetan; the Tatars are on the opposite bank."

Liu Chengzong nodded in understanding: "They can be trained."

"Then..." Muya looked toward the a-jia sitting upright in the hall, his face turning bitter: "Then I shall train them."

Seeing him agree, Liu Chengzong was thoroughly delighted. The khata had been accepted, the a-jia had been met — he felt it was time to get to the main course. Rubbing his hands together in excitement, he said: "Then let's begin. What are you standing there for? Quickly, bring out those scholars who've been charmed by the a-jia. This is exactly the matter I came to Furnace City for!"