Chapter Twenty-One: A Windfall

Boss Huang’s full name was Huang Nianguang. Though he was over fifty, he was remarkably well-preserved, with three long wisps of beard. He had received a formal education and had once sat for the imperial examination; when that failed, he turned to commerce instead, and there he found great success, becoming the very model of a scholar-merchant.

His specialty was silk, and he owned a vast establishment in the southern market, his business flourishing on a grand scale. Yet for all his wealth, he was a man of understated manner, dressed simply, adorned with nothing precious. But his calm and composed bearing marked him unmistakably as a man of accomplishment—an air that Xiao Bao had encountered many times in his previous life.

There are many sorts of successful men. Some are nouveau riche, desperate that all the world should know of their fortune. But the truly wealthy—those akin to magnates—are humble and courteous, their presence gentle and unhurried. Boss Huang was just such a man.

This impression mattered greatly. Only when someone found you pleasing to the eye would they extend a helping hand or invest real money and time on your behalf. Otherwise, seasoned merchants would hardly bother with you at all.

The roadside tavern where they sat was sparsely furnished, the wine bland and insipid, but neither Boss Huang nor Xiao Bao cared in the least. Boss Huang poured with enthusiasm, while Xiao Bao grabbed the jug—yet neither drank more than a few cups.

Neither spoke, and when Xiao Bao remained composed beyond his years, Boss Huang approved silently, and then, wasting no time, got straight to the point. “Xiao Bao, I’ve tried the ‘Immortal’s Pill’ you sell. It’s genuine, with real effects.”

“Thank you for the praise. It’s a family secret, a legacy from my ancestors,” Xiao Bao replied, bowing to show respect for his forebears.

“Indeed. I myself live off my father’s legacy,” Boss Huang agreed, his eyes suddenly sharp. “Xiao Bao, have you ever thought of expanding your business?”

“I await your guidance,” said Xiao Bao respectfully.

“Good. Then let me speak plainly.” Boss Huang was direct, dispensing with further courtesies. “You toil every day for little gain, and it’s a hard life.”

“You are a man of great promise—surely you’re not content to spend your days on such trivial pursuits!”

This struck a chord with Xiao Bao. Indeed, he thought, he had not come to this world to be a penny-pinching merchant. The destiny of a traveler through time was to change the world, not to fritter away his days.

Whether rebellion was in his future was a matter for another day—but it was never too soon to prepare. If every day was consumed by the drudgery of earning a living, there would be no time to read, to study, to practice martial arts—or to bond with those childhood companions who would one day be the most reliable of allies.

“You have no fixed shop. Even if people seek your fine medicines, they must wait for you to appear—thus losing much business.”

“Moreover, you make your pills in the back courtyard of Daoist Xuanqing’s temple. This is, in my view, inappropriate. After all, the temple is a sacred place, and the odor from your work—pardon my frankness—pervades the air, sometimes drifting to the front hall while people are offering incense. It’s disturbing, to say the least, and damages relations with neighbors as well, since the smells drift into their homes. The place is cramped, too, ill-suited for expansion, and being so close to the bustle of the city, it’s difficult to keep your family’s secrets safe.”

He was not wrong. Xiao Bao nodded heavily. What else could he do? Using the temple courtyard was not ideal. Xuanqing was a brother, never one to complain, but Xiao Bao understood all too well how disruptive the process could be. Small batches were manageable, but in larger quantities, the fumes were overwhelming.

He ventured tentatively, “I wonder if…”

“I happen to have a small shop in the southern market,” Boss Huang interrupted. He gestured—a mere meter and a half of storefront, just enough room for a counter and a narrow entrance.

It was indeed small, but not to be underestimated. Owning a shop in the southern market of Tang Dynasty Luoyang was akin to possessing a space on Beijing’s Wangfujing Street, Shanghai’s City God Temple, or Guangzhou’s Shangxiajiu. Every inch was worth its weight in gold, the rent astronomical—if, indeed, you could find one for sale at all. No one would sell a hen that laid golden eggs.

“Moreover, I have a small estate outside the city that could serve as your workshop.”

A shop in the southern market and an estate outside the city—such an offer could only mean Boss Huang had more to say. Sure enough, he produced a contract, proposing a partnership.

Xiao Bao, having learned simplified characters, had claimed some education since arriving here and could read. The Tang Dynasty used classical script, but the continuity of Chinese civilization made the transition easy enough for simple literacy, though he was no scholar, nor did he aspire to a bureaucratic career.

His heart pounded as he read the contract. The terms were astonishingly generous.

Boss Huang would contribute the southern market shop and the estate as equity; together, they would produce and sell the “Immortal’s Pill” and other medicines. After necessary expenses, profits would be split: eighty percent to Boss Huang, twenty to Xiao Bao for the first five years; then seventy-thirty; then sixty-forty; and finally, after fifteen years, evenly—fifty-fifty, generation after generation. After fifteen years, the shop and estate would be transferred to Xiao Bao as his private property.

Meanwhile, Boss Huang would be responsible for smoothing over any trouble, whether legal or illicit, and would grant loans to Xiao Bao at favorable rates, without interfering in his business or claiming the family secret formula.

To safeguard his interests, Boss Huang stipulated an annual net profit of no less than ten thousand strings of cash; otherwise, the transfer of the shop and estate would be delayed. If profits fell short three years running, the contract would be void.

Xiao Bao clicked his tongue in amazement. Boss Huang was being extraordinarily generous and thoughtful! Though his ancestral recipe was valuable, the shop and estate were prized assets, easily rented to others if not used for this partnership—and such properties were rarely, if ever, sold outright.

As for the ten thousand a year, that was no real hurdle. Once production scaled up, with the efficacy of the “Immortal’s Pill” and the future “Six-Flavor Rehmannia Pill,” annual profits of a hundred thousand would scarcely be an exaggeration.

A windfall from the heavens! Xiao Bao thought, marveling at his fate as a time traveler, his golden finger shining bright.

Boss Huang seemed sincere, and Xiao Bao, experienced at reading faces, saw no sign of deceit.

In truth, Boss Huang had weighed the decision carefully. Few would offer such advantageous terms. At first, he had considered a more traditional partnership, retaining ownership of the shop and estate. In the end, however, he was convinced of Xiao Bao’s potential—his appearance and manner inspired confidence, and with the support of Xuanqing, he was certain this young man was destined for greatness. If he was to act, it must be decisively and without delay—better to offer help in someone’s hour of need than to join the crowd when success is assured. If he waited, others would compete for Xiao Bao’s favor, and he would lose his advantage.

Thus, he made a bold investment, moving Xiao Bao deeply.

Seeing Xiao Bao’s heartfelt gratitude, Boss Huang smiled and said, “Gai Shisanlang, take Xiao Bao to see the shop in the southern market and the estate outside the city, then bring him to my main shop.”

“Yes, sir!” replied a young attendant at Boss Huang’s side.

Gai Shisanlang was a capable and trusted servant, already privy to the details of the deal. Following Boss Huang’s instructions, he led Xiao Bao first outside the city to see the estate, then back to the southern market shop, and finally to Boss Huang’s main establishment for a decision.

They set out from Xiushan Ward, passing Yongfeng, Zhengsu, and Renhe wards, and exited through the Changxia Gate. Ten li from the city lay Boss Huang’s estate. For convenience, they hired a donkey cart to speed the journey.

Leaving the highway for winding country paths, they traversed rolling green fields and crisscrossing dikes. Though called a “small” estate, it covered over thirty mu—ample land, with a stream of clear water running through, lush green rushes along the banks, fish darting beneath the surface, flocks of wild birds competing for food, sending up splashes, cattle grazing idly by the water, and fields and low hills covered in fresh crops and grass—a rich pastoral scene.

The farmhouse, though old, had recently been renovated, surrounded by tall trees, with a small canal drawn from the river to irrigate the grounds.

Such a fine place! According to Gai Shisanlang, once Xiao Bao signed the contract, he could use it as he pleased.

Gai Shisanlang called out, “Old Gu, Old Gu!”

Old Gu and his family were the estate’s caretakers, loyal retainers of Boss Huang.

As they approached, dogs barked and a tall, sturdy farmer emerged. “I heard magpies chattering in the trees—so it’s you, Shisanlang,” he greeted.

“The magpies are for Master Xiao Bao here!” Gai Shisanlang smiled, then explained Boss Huang’s intentions to Old Gu.

Old Gu was dumbfounded. Could this Xiao Bao be Boss Huang’s son-in-law? Such generous terms were unheard of!

Once the introductions were made, Old Gu bustled about, eager to please—offering tea, calling his wife to greet the guest, but uncertain how best to win Xiao Bao’s favor.

Gai Shisanlang laughed, “No need for all that. We’re just here to look at the place.”

Xiao Bao was thoroughly satisfied. The estate had straight roads, orderly buildings—plenty of rooms for both lodging and production. Most houses stood empty but were spotless, a testament to Old Gu’s diligence. The largest, most elegant residence was locked; Gai Shisanlang explained that Boss Huang reserved it for his own occasional stays.

“The estate may be small, and the surrounding land is not for sale, but my master has bought a much larger one elsewhere—five times as big, and finer still. That’s why he seldom comes here now,” Gai Shisanlang confided.

After touring the estate, they returned by donkey cart and headed to the southern market.

The estate was spacious, but the shop was pitifully small—one and a half meters wide, seven deep. Boss Huang used it for snacks, but with its modest size and average location, business was neither good nor bad.

“For high-value goods, though, it’s perfect,” thought Xiao Bao. He didn’t have many products yet—just two kinds—so the space suited him well.

Gai Shisanlang then took him to Boss Huang’s main shop in the southern market—a full twenty-five meters wide, bustling with activity.

When they returned to Boss Huang, Xiao Bao readily expressed his willingness to sign.

To refuse such favorable terms would be the act of a fool.