Chapter Twenty: Establishing a Foothold (Part Two)

“Woof woof woof…”

“Hahaha…”

Above the bustling marketplace, the frenzied barking of a dog mingled with the raucous laughter of the crowd!

Feng Xiaobao had become famous—truly famous. His Immortal Pill (also known as the Mighty Pill) was the star of the day, with every last piece swept off his table by eager customers!

Here’s how it happened:

Some mischievous soul took him at his word and brought forth one male dog and three females. The male, thin-coated, missing teeth, and listless, hung his head as though at death’s door. Yet, when the pranksters helped Feng Xiaobao pry open the dog’s mouth and force ten of the Mighty Pills down its throat, what followed was a scene of utter mayhem—a brawl worthy of the wildest legends.

As soon as the dog swallowed the pills, it was as if a bolt of energy struck it. Its lethargy vanished, and its eyes gleamed with manic intensity. With a low growl, it lunged at the three females!

The dogs fought, and the people were treated to a spectacular dogfight, bursting into laughter and shouting, “Go, go, go!”

The commotion was so great that it attracted the local constables, who, hearing the uproar, came to investigate. At the sight, they frowned, deeming it indecent, and attempted to intervene. But they barely got out, “Hey, you there, boy, stop that—” before the delighted crowd drowned them out, swallowing their words.

“It’s not easy for a child to make a living—leave him be!” someone with an excess of sympathy called.

“You’re going to intervene in a dogfight? Next you’ll be stopping cats, crows, sparrows, or even fish! If you don’t stop all of those, you’re not fit to be a constable!” added another, more sarcastically.

“The law of the Great Tang doesn’t forbid dogs from fighting in the street. If you can find a statute that says it’s illegal, show us!” said a bystander with a bit of learning.

In most places, commoners would never dare challenge officials. The saying goes, “The will of the people is like iron, but the law is a furnace.” Ordinary folk couldn’t afford to cross the authorities.

But here, in the imperial capital, officials were everywhere. Toss a stone on Vermilion Bird Avenue, and you’d hit three who hold office, three who aspire to it, and three who are related to someone in power. There was nothing mysterious about officials for the commoners here; everyone knew what they were.

As long as they weren’t blatantly breaking the law, the people of the capital dared to talk back to the constables—especially over trifles. If the authorities tried to deprive the common folk of their little pleasures, the people would not stand for it!

Thus rebuffed, the constables slunk away, tails between their legs.

They returned to report to Liu Renming, the Prefect of the Southern Market, a cousin of the famed statesman Liu Rengui. Known for his upright character, Liu brooked no criminal enterprise: extortionists, tax cheats, and fraudsters all found themselves in his net. Under his governance, the Southern Market was orderly and well-run.

After hearing his men’s report, Liu Renming merely smiled and said, “It’s no great matter. If the people enjoy the spectacle, let them watch. As long as it’s not men and women making a public scene, it’s fine!”

Thanks to Liu Renming’s leniency, Feng Xiaobao escaped trouble and was soon collecting money by the handful.

The male dog, fueled by his newfound vigor, routed all three females. By the end, the three were whimpering and cowering from his pursuit, drawing even more laughter from the crowd.

Thus was the efficacy of the Immortal Pill proven by the dogfight. Seeing the fervor, Feng Xiaobao announced, “The enhanced version is twenty coins per pill, the standard version five coins. Within one day, no more than three for young men, five for strong adults, only one for the elderly, and none for children!”

“Didn’t you say the first day was a free trial?” someone protested.

“Yes, I did intend to give them away, but you all refused. Since you don’t want them for free, you’ll have to buy them!” Feng Xiaobao replied cheekily.

“Boy, if you don’t keep your word, you’ll never grow up!” someone scolded.

“I’m plenty tall already!” Feng Xiaobao boasted, proudly displaying his height of over six feet. “It’s all thanks to my family’s Immortal Pills!”

“Come on, you’re saying your pills can make you taller too?”

“Yes!” Feng Xiaobao replied with sparkling eyes and utter sincerity.

Faced with his shamelessness, the crowd was speechless, but soon they began tossing coins at him:

“Give me three to try!”

“I’ll take ten!”

“I want eight!”

That day, he’d prepared a thousand pills (half enhanced, half standard), averaging twelve and a half coins each. Every single one sold out, earning him twelve strings of cash.

Don’t think it’s not as much as Xuanching’s grand opening—that was a one-off event. If Feng Xiaobao could sell like this daily in the bustling Southern Market, soon he’d match Xuanching’s total profits.

With Luoyang being a major hub for medicinal herbs, his costs were low—just thirty percent—leaving him with a seventy percent profit margin!

The demand was so great that even his dog-skin plasters sold out completely!

For three days straight, Feng Xiaobao set up his stall in the Southern Market, selling a thousand pills each day.

Those who bought pills on the first day tried them at home, to the mingled delight and trepidation of their spouses and, sometimes, other partners. The little green pills proved genuine, and those who tasted their benefits returned the next day, handing him their cash with no hesitation.

The Southern Market was lively and crowded, word spread fast, and every time Feng Xiaobao set up shop, his wares were swiftly cleared out.

But now, production was in crisis! He couldn’t keep up with the demand!

Feng Xiaobao was busier than ever, working day and night to make more pills, while still finding time to accompany Xuanching on visits to those who’d sent invitations after the temple’s opening, to return their courtesy.

Besides the wealthy and powerful, Xuanching also chose ten ordinary families at random from those who’d offered incense, paying visits in return.

Xuanching’s return gift was always a talisman for household safety and a bundle of consecrated incense—a modest gift, but full of meaning.

Talisman-making was a Daoist’s core skill. Feng Xiaobao had watched Xuanching at work: first, silence of mouth, body, and heart; then recitation, blessing of brush, ink, and paper; next, purification; then raising energy and visualizing the symbol; careful strokes for the head, body, and foot of the charm; finally, a spray of water to infuse it with spirit, holding it in the palm for blessing, then sending off the invoked deity.

To Feng Xiaobao, it all looked like doodling—he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But Xuanching’s solemnity while drawing, and his exhaustion afterward, suggested there was something real about it.

Those who received the talisman were invariably delighted and expressed their thanks repeatedly.

If Xuanching was a fraud, he was a masterful one. But after being struck by Pandora and sent to the Tang dynasty—surely the most outlandish thing possible—what else was truly impossible?

Noticing his curiosity, Xuanching smiled, drew a talisman, and handed it to Feng Xiaobao. “Keep this safe—it’s worth ten strings of cash!”

“Unbelievable!”

Feng Xiaobao thought of his own exhaustion, toiling early and late to roll pills, hawking them with every ounce of effort for twelve strings of cash—while Xuanching could simply stand at his desk, brush in hand, and earn ten strings for a few strokes.

Indeed, manual labor could never outdo the work of the mind.

Feng Xiaobao accompanied Xuanching on their rounds, and Xuanching was generous in his reciprocation—assessing each household’s feng shui, analyzing the main door, the layout, the placement of objects and trees, all with the aim of achieving harmony between man and nature. His advice, though it required only minor adjustments, transformed each home, filling it with light, vitality, and freshness—a genuine sense of renewal!

He truly had a gift. Feng Xiaobao was astounded, reminded of the master Wang, his former consultant, who was also a feng shui expert. Every building Wang designed was full of life and always sold well.

As Master Wang said, “Feng shui isn’t superstition—it’s about helping people live better in harmony with nature, in good health and happiness.”

Could Xuanching be his counterpart in this life? If he ever went into the real estate business again, he’d never do without Xuanching!

Feng Xiaobao even felt an urge to swear brotherhood with him, cutting a chicken’s head and burning yellow paper. Fortunately, their relationship was already close, and even if not sworn brothers, they called each other so.

Xuanching lived up to the name—always supporting him, introducing him everywhere as his own brother, urging others to look after him.

People, seeing Xuanching’s favor, treated Feng Xiaobao with warmth as well.

Afterward, when they met on the street, everyone greeted Feng Xiaobao, and he quickly became familiar with the neighborhood.

Knowing the value of connections, Feng Xiaobao greeted everyone with a sunny smile, helped the elderly with their burdens, bought sweets for children, and chatted with housewives—“Aunt Zhang, those three wild ducks you bought look so lively! Where did you get them? I’ll send my maid there too. Oh, stall 167 at the Wild Game Market? I’ll have her go!”

With peers, he’d slap chests and plan outings together.

It wasn’t long before he had a group of young friends, always coming and going together.

With elders, he’d chat and, when the time was right, gift them Immortal Pills—“Oh, don’t mention money, it’s nothing, just take them, it’s my honor!”

Within a month, the whole neighborhood had taken a liking to this cheerful youth—so sensible, good-natured, handsome, and enterprising. Such a lad was hard to find, even with a lantern.

Even the accomplished Daoist Xuanching called him brother—what more could be said!

And, knowing he was orphaned, yet diligent and capable, with such good looks, some families with marriageable daughters began to hint at taking him as a son-in-law.

Feng Xiaobao, being a man of stories, knew his own mind and politely declined—he had plans for himself and would wait for a truly advantageous match. “Who would I sell myself to? Would I be a stallion or a wolf?”

Though marriage didn’t materialize, as a newcomer he quickly won the neighborhood’s approval. Xuanching’s help was crucial, but as the saying goes, the master opens the door, but cultivation is up to the individual—his success was his own.

Once accepted, the neighbors began to look out for him. One day, Huang, one of the four wealthy men of Xiushan Lane, greeted him warmly and invited him for drinks.

Feng Xiaobao, knowing what was meant, immediately agreed.