Chapter 293: Gaining Insight

Yushan County wasn't large; their village lay at the county's edge, its houses dilapidated, and every autumn and winter after the farming season ended, some temporary laborers would come to rent rooms here.

So this area had rental business.

Mourning period and the others knew this neighborhood well—who rented out rooms and who didn't—and since they were all fellow villagers, they didn't need a broker; they could arrange leases directly.

Building a mud-brick house took longer, so Pan Yun decided to rent for a month.

Old Yu said, "No need to rent that long—by the day after tomorrow, my son will bring back the timber; once the timber arrives, it'll take at most half a month to build the house."

Pan Yun said, "Mud houses aren't like wooden sheds; after building, you still need to remove dampness and let it air out for two days to get rid of the smell. Since we're renting, we might as well rent the full month."

"Having extra time gives you more room to prepare for winter."

The next day, when Pan Yun returned, she bought them plenty of cloth and cotton, asking Old Yu to sew them winter cotton coats.

Wang Cong took them to a pawnshop, where they bought secondhand quilts and… pots.

Pan Yun was stunned—she'd never known secondhand quilts were so popular in pawnshops.

Wang Cong said, "I brought Little Master Shu here to buy a few small beds for them, but there aren't any suitable ones in the pawnshop now; it seems we'll have to have them made fresh."

Beds were in high demand.

In this era, a single bed could last a lifetime—and even be passed down through three generations.

So most families didn't sell their beds, making secondhand ones rare; nearly all were custom-built.

Yet at current price levels, beds were indeed expensive—but their quality and lifespan justified the cost.

Mourning period hurried to say, "Sister Daoist, we don't need beds—just lay down a plank of wood, then cover it with straw; it's comfortable, really!"

Pan Yun said, "Don't worry—I won't buy you expensive beds."

She paused and said, "Isn't Xiaojing's uncle a carpenter? Have him make them."

Wang Cong: "... He's only been apprenticing for a year or so—how much skill could he have learned?"

Apprenticeship started at five years, with no upper limit; Xiaojing's uncle might not even be allowed to touch a saw yet.

Pan Yun glanced at him and said, "That's exactly why it's cheap—and doesn't he have senior apprentices to practice on? We don't need much—a bed that's sturdy is enough."

And they'd be single beds—about 1.2 meters long—arranged in two rows along the walls, leaving a three-meter-wide aisle in the middle; one room could fit about twelve beds, maximizing space!

Since Old Yu's land was large enough, Pan Yun planned to build the rooms bigger, even adding an outhouse behind each one.

Eating, drinking, urinating, defecating—these were vital matters, none could be omitted.

Wang Cong knew the county well; he not only helped Pan Yun buy cheap quilts, but also cheap wooden buckets, kitchenware, and… herbs.

Pan Yun crouched to examine the herbs dug up by the herb gatherers, then turned to look at Wang Cong and gave him a thumbs-up.

Wang Cong smiled and said, "Little Master Shu, with a little money, you must accomplish big things—increasing income is one thing, but cutting expenses is just as crucial."

"Save a little here, a little there, and it adds up," Wang Cong, who managed Mount Sanqing's finances and had lived through hardship, was exceptionally skilled at budgeting.

Pan Yun was the opposite—money came easily to her, in both her past and present lives; she rarely haggled and spent freely.

Today, Wang Cong showed her the art of haggling; even Mourning period and the others, who were seasoned street dwellers and poor, stared in awe, realizing they couldn't match him.

After all, they'd seen plenty—but had no real practice.

Wang Cong was different—he could haggle with anyone, from shopkeepers down to street vendors.

He told Pan Yun, "Little Master Shu, don't think you shouldn't haggle with street vendors just because they work hard—they're willing to sell because they still make a profit; haggling helps more people, and money must stay in your hands to do what you truly want."

"So haggle boldly—don't feel guilty, and don't be afraid."

Then Wang Cong took Pan Yun on a shopping spree down the dim alley.

The vendor said, "Eighty cash."

Wang Cong said, "Fifty cash, no more."

Vendor: "Same items sell for ninety cash in shops—I'm already ten cash cheaper!"

Wang Cong: "You said it yourself—it's a shop. Never mind their rent and labor; even their craftsmanship doesn't compare. You've only got decent wood—look at this…"

Wang Cong critiqued the item thoroughly and successfully closed the deal at fifty cash.

The vendor grumbled, but his lips curled upward—he clearly wasn't losing on this deal.

Pan Yun fell silent.

Wang Cong bought nearly all the herbs the gatherers had, haggling down prices by about a third.

After packing up, the herb gatherers muttered about losses, how Wang Cong was too good at haggling—but their smiles couldn't be hidden, and they made plans to head home together.

"Since it's not too cold yet, we can still go into the mountains two more times."

"Too bad we only know how to dig herbs—we don't know how to process them; otherwise we could sell them higher, even to herb shops."

Wang Cong, who had already turned to leave, turned back and said, "You want to process herbs yourselves? I happen to know a few common processing methods."

The herb gatherers exchanged glances, silent for a moment. Wang Cong added, "I'll teach you for free—no charge."

The herb gatherers immediately brightened, surrounding them. "Good Daoist! Which temple are you from? We'll come to burn incense later!"

Wang Cong: "Mount Sanqing Temple. Learn to process herbs, and next time our people come to buy, you'll give us fair prices."

Wang Cong said, "They're not good at haggling."

Behind him, Pan Yun, Seeing Miao Zhen, and Miao He nodded vigorously—yes, yes, they were bad at haggling.

The herb gatherers agreed at once.

Wang Cong took out the herbs they'd bought and showed them how to process them.

He taught the most common methods: drying in the sun, drying by fire, steaming dry, drying with wine…

They just couldn't control the heat, and sometimes needed to add things during steaming or drying.

Wang Cong explained each step carefully; once they could recite them and answered half an hour's worth of questions, he finished teaching.

But whether they could produce qualified herbs still depended on practice.

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Nearby, Mourning period and the others listened with bright eyes; as they carried their purchases out of the alley, they couldn't help asking, "Daoist, can we use these processing methods too?"

Wang Cong stared at them in surprise. "Of course you can. Did you write it down?"

Xiao Qi and Xiao Liu nodded together. "We wrote it down."

The other few hesitated, then nodded too—they hadn't remembered it all, but they could ask Xiao Qi and Xiao Liu when they got back.

Wang Cong fell into thought. As he helped them carry their purchases back to their rented room, he took a moment to say to Pan Yun: "Now I understand why Little Master Shu wanted to send them to school for two years. Some of these children are truly clever."

Pan Yun: "Can you find a school willing to take them? I've seen their aptitude. Most will only study two years—learn a few characters, basic arithmetic, become more grounded in this world, then find their path."

They've always been beggars, wandering the streets and alleys. They seem to live in this world, but in truth, they're disconnected from normal society.

Without access to normal human relationships, it's hard for them to find a proper path. School is the most suitable, fastest stage.

There, they'll meet Mr., meet classmates, meet classmates' parents, and their social network will spread outward.

They'll rejoin normal human relationships—not the relationship of begging.

Knowing basic characters and simple arithmetic—even if they go to cut rice—landlords will prefer to hire them.

This is all Pan Yun can do for now.

Wang Cong thought for a moment, then said: "I'll have to ask, but Little Master Shu, don't hold out too much hope."

These children are beggars by birth. Even if the teachers are willing to teach them, the original students may not want to sit beside them.

Pan Yun knew this. She nodded. "Don't force it. If it truly won't work, I'll think of another way."

Wang Cong agreed, set down the items, and went to find a school.

Pan Yun herself was also thinking of solutions. As she pondered, she found herself walking to Yushan County Office.

She looked up—and Wang Cong stood right before the county office, hands clasped.

The two martial nephews stared at each other. Ming Ren stepped down from his sedan chair, saw them gazing across the distance, and pressed a handkerchief to his mouth as he coughed.

The two martial nephews snapped back to awareness, turned their heads together, and spoke in unison: "Magistrate Ming, are you ill?"

Ming Ren coughed several times before stopping. "Just a touch of wind-cold. Not serious. You two never come unless you have business. What do you want?"

Wang Cong glanced quickly at Pan Yun, then spoke up: "Three small matters."

Ming Ren smiled. "Let's talk inside."

The two martial nephews followed him inside.

Wang Cong walked beside Pan Yun and quietly asked via voice-transmission: "Little Master Shu, where are Seeing Miao Zhen and the others?"

"They went to the herbal shop to buy medicine. We need herbs for the temple fair, and to prevent wind-cold in Xiao Qi and the others."

Ming Ren suddenly turned around.

The two martial nephews stopped short, nearly colliding into him. Both frowned. Wang Cong said outright: "Are you sick? You nearly got run over."

Ming Ren's gaze swept between them. "You didn't speak, but I feel you're loud. Tell me—were you whispering behind my back? I know jianghu people with deep internal energy can transmit voices secretly."

Pan Yun was surprised. He's sharp.

"Yes," Wang Cong said bluntly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the main hall. "We were saying you've turned into a sickly wreck. Let me feel your pulse."

Ming Ren didn't refuse. He followed Wang Cong into the hall. "I've been ill for a week. This is already better. A few days ago, I could barely get out of bed. On the night of the thunderstorm, I got up fearing trouble in the county, accidentally got caught in the rain. I thought it'd worsen—but the next day, I felt slightly better. That's why I could work."

Wang Cong pulled him into a chair, carefully felt his pulse, examined his complexion and tongue coating, asked what medicine he was taking, then said: "I'll revise your prescription. Tonight, I'll ask my Third Master to write you a new one. This illness, if dragged on, won't be easily rooted out."

Ming Ren smiled and agreed, withdrawing his hand. "I was going to ask Tao Daochang myself, but heard he wasn't on Mount Sanqing, so I didn't. I didn't expect him to return suddenly. Now tell me—what do you two martial nephews want?"

(End of Chapter)