Chapter 105: Compensation

Wang Cong was filled with awkwardness; he rarely stayed at home, and the herbal medicines the monastery acquired were always purchased by his Third and Fourth Masters when they descended the mountain—he had no idea why they hadn’t come to the apothecary.

Though he didn’t know the reason, whether or not they chose him was surely a matter of price or herb quality.

Wang Cong smiled faintly and whispered, “Shopkeeper, the prices listed here are the same, but Mount Sanqing purchases regularly, and each order is substantial—what they pay us isn’t the market rate.”

The shopkeeper clenched his teeth inwardly; he’d known it all along—those people must have given Mount Sanqing special favors, otherwise why would Mount Sanqing buy only from him?

He lowered his gaze, thought for a moment, then whispered, “How about this: from now on, whenever Mount Sanqing buys herbs, I’ll give you a discount?”

Wang Cong: “What kind of discount?”

Shopkeeper: “For any herb, I’ll charge you ninety percent of the market price.”

Wang Cong frowned, silent.

The shopkeeper gritted his teeth. “Eighty-five percent.”

Seeing Wang Cong still didn’t speak, the shopkeeper said, “I can’t go lower—I know well that every time Mount Sanqing buys, you take expensive items like cinnabar, ginseng, lingzhi, and mercury; even a fifteen percent discount on those is already substantial.”

Wang Cong said, “Shopkeeper, I’m also in business—I know well that the higher the price of an item, the greater the profit margin. Licorice is cheap; an eighty percent discount means giving away a few copper coins. But with cinnabar and ginseng, even a fifty percent discount still leaves you with profit.”

“Mr. Wang, you’re exaggerating—our apothecary takes great risks too.”

Wang Cong shook his head. “Other goods may be risky, but medicine isn’t. Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are life’s constants. Whether one is born, dies, grows old, or falls ill, medicine is always needed. So in this world, everything might lose money and go unsold—but medicine never will.”

“Mr. Wang, you’re trying to make me feel guilty. Everything has its high and low prices—medicine too. I buy something for ten taels, and the next day the market drops to one tael—what can I do?” The shopkeeper looked distressed. “Do you think my meager capital can raise the market price back to ten taels?”

“Medicine always sells, but if I lose nine taels on every transaction, would you be willing? Mr. Wang, since you run a business, you must understand my predicament.”

Wang Cong nodded. “I understand. Then how about eighty percent? For every herb, give Mount Sanqing eighty percent of market price.”

He added meaningfully, “Since you know where we buy our herbs, you must know our monthly herb expenditure is substantial.”

“My junior master and two junior sisters are still young. As they grow, their herb consumption will only increase. Think back to when my father raised me and my three uncles—how much money did he spend?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up. Wang Feiyin had raised his three junior brothers and sisters and Wang Cong—he’d completely squandered the Wang family’s fortune.

The Wang family had once been one of the major households of Yushan County.

He recalled the gossip he’d heard: every time the Daoists of Mount Sanqing descended the mountain to buy herbs, they spent at least dozens of taels, sometimes over a hundred.

Just that purchasing volume alone could sustain an entire apothecary.

The shopkeeper gritted his teeth and nodded. “Fine—eighty percent!”

They reached an agreement: next time Mount Sanqing bought herbs, they’d come to him.

“Shopkeeper, if the price drops, the herb quality mustn’t. You know Mount Sanqing has always been strict about herb quality.”

“I know, I know. Mr. Wang, rest assured—our apothecary’s herbs won’t be inferior to theirs. We’ve been here for decades; our reputation speaks for itself.”

Wang Cong nodded.

Pan Yun waited until they finished speaking before speaking up. “Can we go now? If we don’t leave soon, it’ll be dark.”

Wang Cong reached for his money. “How much for the medicine?”

The butcher beside them shouted like thunder: “We’ll pay! We’ll pay!”

Wang Cong looked pained, glancing at Pan Yun.

Pan Yun sighed and waved at the butcher. “Forget it—you don’t need to pay. This is just my bad luck—”

“What do you mean, bad luck? I never said I wouldn’t pay! Why do you say it’s your bad luck?” The butcher angrily snatched the money bag from his wife’s hand. “See? We even brought the money!”

He shouted, “Tell us how much to pay—we’ll pay!”

Pan Yun’s eardrums throbbed from his voice. Wang Cong stepped forward, shielding her. “Sir, you misunderstand. My junior master says no compensation is needed because this isn’t your fault—she’s been having bad luck lately…”

“You Daoist are too superstitious! Bad luck? Isn’t this knife mine? Didn’t I throw it?” The butcher glared angrily. “Tell me—is this not my fault? It’s clearly mine, yet you say it’s not your problem—what kind of mind do you have?”

“Fine, fine, it’s your fault, it’s your fault,” Pan Yun surrendered, waving her hand. “Then pay for our medical expenses.”

But the shopkeeper refused to take their money. “It’s nothing. Now that we’re partners, and I saw your junior master injured, I must help.”

It was just a little wine and cloth, and the wound salve was Wang Cong’s own—total cost barely ten copper coins. Better to waive it outright.

The shopkeeper refused payment, but the butcher insisted on giving them money. He asked the shopkeeper, “How much would this injury cost to treat at your apothecary?” The shopkeeper replied, “With the cool weather, change the dressing every other day—three applications will seal the wound. Not expensive. Including the salve—”

“So expensive to remove scars?” The butcher spoke the words but immediately opened his money bag. “I’ll give you two hundred copper coins for the injury, the fright, and the trouble—consider it settled, how’s that?”

Wang Cong glanced at Pan Yun and whispered, “Junior master, from years of observing my father, if you take this, you’ll get even worse luck.”

Pan Yun: “Do you think not taking it will stop me from being unlucky right now?”

Wang Cong looked at the furious butcher, his eyes bulging like copper bells, clearly ready to strike if they refused.

Wang Cong fell silent. He thought refusing might not make his junior master unlucky—but he himself would definitely be.

He hesitantly reached out to take the two strings of coins, when a small hand pressed down on his. He turned.

Pan Yun paused, then said, “Brother, we’ll accept compensation—but can it be less? Just pay for the medical expenses: ten copper coins. You heard—the Mount Sanqing monastery has its own herbs, so healing costs nothing. And you didn’t scare me at all—really, that knife didn’t frighten me.”

Pan Xiao let out a mocking “meow.” Pan Yun ignored it.

She’d decided: when they returned, she wouldn’t let Pan Xiao ride in the cart or perch on her shoulder—she’d make it walk back on its own four legs.

“Ten copper coins? Are you mocking us?” The butcher shouted. “If word gets out, the neighbors will think I, Pig Meat Chang, am bullying people. No—two hundred copper coins. Not a single coin less. Take it!”

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Seeing they wouldn’t take it, he shoved the money straight into their arms.

Wang Cong panicked, clutching the money, turning to look at Pan Yun.

Pan Yun looked utterly defeated, then snapped in anger. She snatched the two strings of coins and flung them back, jabbing her finger at his nose. “You think money makes you superior? Don’t you understand I’m having bad luck? I’m speaking politely and you won’t listen—you want to yell, is that it? I said I don’t want compensation, I don’t want compensation—do you understand?!”

Pig Meat Chang was stunned by her outburst.

The butcher’s wife, who had been watching silently, finally confirmed her suspicion. She yanked Pig Meat Chang behind her and smiled at Pan Yun. “We understand, we understand. Little Daoist, don’t be angry. My husband’s like this—strong arms, no brains.”

She smiled sweetly and took back the two strings of coins. “Fine, no money then. How about I give you two pieces of pork? You went to the market to buy meat, didn’t you?”

Pig Meat Chang had recovered and pushed forward. “No way! If we don’t pay, I’ll never have face again—”

“Shut up,” the butcher’s wife snapped. “Apologizing means respecting the other person’s feelings. You only care about your own face—is that apology? It’s forcing them to suffer to satisfy your pride!”

Pan Yun nodded vigorously. “Exactly, exactly.”

Wang Cong nodded too.

The butcher’s wife warmly took Pan Yun’s hand. “Come, sister-in-law will take you to pick pork. I’ll tell you—our pork is delicious, all from fat pigs raised in the countryside. I’ll have him cut you two slices of belly pork and some ribs—”

The wife’s “two slices of belly pork” meant cutting out the entire belly section from half the carcass and stringing it for Pan Yun.

“Some ribs” meant cutting off both sides of one rib section, splitting it in half, then stringing the two halves together for her.

Pan Yun’s mouth fell open—this much meat and bone couldn’t be worth less than two hundred copper coins.

Pig Meat Chang’s mood lifted instantly. He sliced and trimmed the belly meat, strung it together, and handed it to Wang Cong.

Wang Cong swallowed hard, glancing at Pan Yun.

Today’s pork price: twelve copper coins per jin. These two slices of belly pork weighed about ten jin?

Ribs were cheaper, ten copper coins per jin—this half-rib section must be…

He quickly calculated the price—it matched the compensation they’d demanded. He exhaled, looking at Pan Yun.

Pan Yun paused. “Sister-in-law, this pork is a gift to Mount Sanqing, right?”

The butcher’s wife’s eyes flickered. “Yes, it’s a gift to Mount Sanqing—please let the Daoists taste our pork.”

Pan Yun exhaled, waved to Wang Cong. “Take it.”

“Yes.” Wang Cong immediately accepted the belly pork and ribs.

Pig Meat Chang’s expression brightened now that they’d finally accepted. “That’s better! All this hesitation—what’s the point?”

He said, “Next time you want pork, just come to me—I’ll give you a discount.”

Pan Yun thanked him and pulled the stunned Wang Xiaojing away. “Hurry up—we’ll be late if we don’t go now.”

Today’s lucky number ends in 3, screenshot as proof.

(End of Chapter)