Lin Wanrong was dog-tired that day. The moment he got home, he hit the sack. In this era, the sky was a deep blue, the water a vivid green, the air crisp and fresh, and the vegetables free of poison. In such a rare, pristine environment, sleep came easy and sweet.
As for those lustful thoughts that come with a full belly and warm bed—not that he didn't have them, just hadn't figured out who to tangle with yet.
The next morning, he woke bright and early, joining the first wave of street-goers. He wolfed down two crispy oil cakes and a bowl of fresh tofu pudding—green eats really hit different. Feeling spry and swaggering, he headed to Old Dong's place.
Old Dong was slurping porridge when he arrived, a freshly steamed white bun half-bitten in his hand.
"Big Brother Lin, you haven't had breakfast yet, right? Try my new white buns!" Dong Qiqiao brought him a bowl of porridge and picked out the two biggest buns, handing them over.
Since last night's dinner, when she'd learned Lin Wanrong was a lone soul—and no matter how you sliced it, he didn't look like some fancy young master—Dong Qiqiao had demoted him from "Young Master" to "Big Brother Lin." She'd warmly invited him to take all three meals at their place daily.
Aw, shucks, how could he impose? Lin Wanrong was a shy guy—five days, ten meals would do just fine.
Staring at the two white buns, a joke from his old life popped into his head.
A guy in love, groping his girlfriend's chest for the first time, sighs, "Wow, feels like buns."
She blushes, "Oh, no way, mine aren't that big."
He grins, "I meant Wangzai mini buns."
Too bad if he told that one to Old Dong and his daughter, they'd probably chase him out with a broom.
The buns sparked his appetite. Shameless by nature, a bit more wouldn't hurt. "Perfect timing, Qiqiao—I'm not full yet. Thanks!" he hollered.
Old Dong's eyes were bloodshot—clearly up all night. Lin Wanrong, meanwhile, had slept like a log. Disrespecting the old man like that tugged at his conscience a bit. Still, doing his job well was his duty.
"Uncle Dong, how's the printing going?" Seeing Old Dong focused on his porridge, Lin Wanrong prodded.
Old Dong wiped his mouth and jerked a thumb behind him. "There—five hundred copies, all stacked up."
Lin Wanrong leapt up, swallowing half a bun in one gulp. Turning, he saw it—five hundred neat little booklets, still wafting the scent of fresh ink.
He grabbed the top one, flipping through. The print quality was decent, and Eldest Miss Xiao's portrait was crystal clear. That chick probably never heard of "portrait rights"—this cash was his for the taking. He'd be serving her soon anyway; call it her compensation.
Gazing at the five hundred copies, Lin Wanrong smirked inwardly. Boss of a three-edition tabloid? Felt pretty damn good.
"Young Master Lin, how much we pricing these at?"
Ever since learning he was a half-baked scholar, Old Dong's respect hadn't wavered. But "Young Master" sounded off now—even Lin Wanrong felt it didn't fit anymore.
"Five taels of silver each," he said, caressing the booklet fondly, not looking back.
Thud. Old Dong's half-eaten bun hit the floor.
Lin Wanrong turned to see the father-daughter duo gaping in disbelief. Chuckling, he asked, "What, you don't buy it?"
Dong Qiqiao hesitated. "Big Brother Lin, you're really selling them for five taels each? Isn't that… isn't that steep?" Five taels was half a year's living for a common family—no wonder they were floored.
"Don't doubt it—five taels, no haggling. Ever heard of 'rare goods command a premium'?" Lin Wanrong flashed a sly grin, utterly shameless and unfazed.
He couldn't see his own face, but he knew he looked every inch the crooked merchant—the most brazen kind. Shamelessness was his core; no point hiding it.
"You've gotta get the talents' mindset. The ones shelling out for this? They don't care if it's one tael or ten. They want intel—first-hand dirt. One tael or ten, it's all the same to them. Their rule? Not the best, just the priciest. Weird psychology, right?"
His spiel left Dong Qiqiao and Old Dong dazed. Their grasp of human nature was shallow—they needed more of his "guidance."
"Think about it. Once one guy buys, who'd wanna lag behind? Who doesn't want the scoop on Eldest Miss Xiao? It's a domino effect—tip one, and the rest crash down."
He slipped up, blurting "domino effect," then backpedaled. "Point is, nobody wants to be outdone. That's why this booklet's gonna fly. Fly up to a phoenix's perch one day, and this pocket change won't mean squat." His silver tongue worked overtime, hyping it up.
Dong Qiqiao, sharp as she was, spotted a snag. "But even if Eldest Miss Xiao picks a husband, it's just one guy. We've got four or five hundred copies here."
Lin Wanrong chuckled. "Only one tops the exams, but don't The Analects, Book of Songs, Tao Te Ching, and Mencius still sell like hotcakes? Until the result's out, anything's possible."
Dong Qiqiao, ever the soft-hearted saint, worried for the miss. "I've heard talents rise from humble homes. Poor scholars can't afford this—won't that mess up her perfect match?"
Lin Wanrong nearly keeled over. This girl took them way too seriously. If a booklet could sway Eldest Miss Xiao's marriage, the Xiao clan's high gates were a sham.
Facing her earnest, knowledge-hungry eyes, he sighed into teacher mode again, smirking coldly. "Poor talents showing up? They'd better brace themselves. If they've got real chops, they'd win her with skill. Buying our rag? What's that about? Hoping to snag a rich bride on the cheap? Sorry, climbing the dragon's tail ain't free—it's their price to pay. They'd better think hard. I'm not forcing 'em—guilt's on them. True talents? They wouldn't touch our book. But how many of those noble types exist? We're merchants, chasing profit. Cash in hand, we sell. Marriage? That's her headache—we couldn't sway it if we tried."
His logic had Dong Qiqiao nodding, half-convinced. She still balked at the steep price, but she was coming around.