Chapter 9
At first light, the moment the city gates opened, Gong Lang and I joined the people leaving, disguised and carrying our bundles.
At the same time, I saw the carriage from the night before returning amid the incoming crowd.
Hooves clattered.
The window curtain stirred, carrying a cloying fragrance.
What Mother called “the scent of wealth.”
A pale, unclothed body flashed briefly inside.
I turned my head sharply away.
Something felt odd against the shoulder bag I was carrying. I pressed a hand to it and discovered that Widow Liu had slipped the silver inside after all, along with a handkerchief she had embroidered herself.
Even my callused heart stirred a little.
Once outside the city, we headed north.
With the caravan and route I had chosen, the journey went smoothly.
Gong Lang made no attempt to hide his admiration. “Miao… Brother, how did you know to choose this road? Ten routes ran into trouble, and only ours was so uneventful.”
“Good luck, perhaps.”
He marveled again. “Those two shopkeepers you recommended were good too. Not the least bit inclined to bully a small customer.”
The blizzards hadn’t arrived yet, but scattered northern troops were already coming south to harass the borderlands.
Bing City gradually grew busier, filling with people fleeing trouble or seeking safety.
Of all the isolated northern cities, it was the safest, being closest to the Sheng dynasty’s Wanchao Pass.
We spent the next month moving about Bing City and made considerable gains.
The herbs we had bought earlier were stored in different places under different guises.
Selling half recovered our investment and left us a handsome profit.
Whatever price the rest fetched, we would make a great deal.
I used some of that capital to buy and store seed grain. After next spring’s minor locust plague, those seeds would be invaluable.
I had yet to decide what to do with the rest.
Gong Lang suggested buying furs to take south. The capital’s wealthy loved fur in winter; a single coat made from the finest pelts could fetch a hundred gold pieces.
But fine pelts were hard to find.
He tried several dealers and was turned away by all of them.
They said a major buyer from the capital had reserved everything.
He would collect the goods in two months, when the foxes and lambs were at their fattest. His people wanted the freshest, finest pelts.
But in two months, war would break out.
Then even the finest pelts brought in would be impossible to sell.
They would be worthless.
Pelts once worth ten gold pieces could be had for a few dozen coppers.
And as I remembered it, Bingzhou would never fall.
My heart began to pound.
If I could pull this off,
I would have no worries for half my life.
“Fortune requires risk. People lie; money doesn’t. We stay.”