Chapter Thirteen: Shopping

The purpose of his descent from the mountain was not merely to buy grain.

Rice, medicines, clothing for spring and summer… Though the temple still had some silver left, there were many things to purchase this time. Chen Yu worried it might not be enough, so before he began shopping, he planned to sell the orange-silver grass and the long-eared white fungus he carried in his pouch at the pharmacy.

He intended to first secure the most important medicine blend, White Cloud Powder, so as not to forget it amid the errands.

Several pharmacies in the county were managed by prominent families, and prices differed little among them. Chen Yu chose a familiar one—the very place where he and the old Taoist had previously sold wild herbs.

The Pingjiu Apothecary.

A young attendant was busy serving customers, but upon seeing Chen Yu enter, hurried forward to greet him. “Are you here to purchase medicine, Master Taoist?”

He waved his hand and got straight to the point. “Not to buy medicine. I recently entered the mountains and chanced upon two herbs. They’re of no use sitting idle, so I’d like to know the pharmacy’s offer. If suitable, I’ll sell them before their potency fades.”

The attendant acknowledged him and led Chen Yu into a room deeper within the pharmacy.

Upon entering, a wave of warmth enveloped him.

A large Flying Cloud cauldron stood in the center, glowing with red embers that lit the room brightly.

Inside were many people; besides a few attendants carrying porcelain dishes, most wore gray jackets and fur wraps, dressed as hunters.

Daggers hung at their waists, some bore longbows, others mountain knives slung across their backs. All were fully armed.

In the corner, piles of bamboo baskets and hoops overflowed. A closer look revealed fresh herbs still clinging to soil and wood chips.

Some leaves and roots were stained with blood.

These were the true herb gatherers.

The deep mountains held not only medicinal plants but also man-eating beasts, predatory birds, venomous insects, and snakes. Anyone lacking skill would long since have become a meal; those who remained had all seen blood.

Chen Yu ceased wandering and, guided by the attendant, went straight to the counter, taking out the orange-silver grass and the long-eared white fungus.

Though his haul was less than others’, the middle-aged manager’s eyes instantly brightened.

“Thick roots, ear-shaped in three points, four inches long.”

“This is a top-grade snow fungus!”

The long-eared white fungus, so called for its snowy-white roots, was often referred to as snow fungus.

The manager, well-experienced, recognized the specimen’s fine quality at a glance—a prime tonic for replenishing yang energy.

As for the shriveled orange-silver grass, it was entirely ignored. Working in Pingjiu Apothecary, the manager saw hundreds of herbs daily. Even if he recognized the maturity of the orange-silver grass, a single leaf and stem without fruit was hardly worth much.

“Young Master Taoist, we’re all regulars here. Old Xu wouldn’t cheat you, nor could I. You know this snow fungus is fine, but the apothecary already has plenty in stock.”

They’d dealt several times before; last time Chen Yu came down to sell herbs, it was through this manager.

He had sharp eyes and was skilled at identifying herbs, but always liked to haggle for a bargain. No matter whether the seller was new or familiar, he’d always try to shave off a bit.

As expected, his words suggested the pharmacy was overstocked and supply exceeded demand. But before Chen Yu could reply, he paused and added, “Yet recently, Old Master Zhang of the county government took a sixteenth concubine. The apothecary’s owners are considering gifts, and those dried-up stocks lack sincerity. Your snow fungus comes at the perfect time.”

“Fresh herbs are always favored!”

Chen Yu sensed an implied message. He remained silent, knocking gently on the wooden counter to prompt the manager to get to the point.

The manager’s fingers flew across the abacus, and after a moment, he raised a finger with a pained expression, offering a ‘high price.’

“One tael of silver—what do you say?”

Chen Yu shot him a sidelong glance, as if looking at a fool, and uttered his first words since entering, “Two taels.”

“Master Taoist, you—” the manager tried to protest.

“Two taels, one mace.”

“Brother Chen, considering my relationship with Master Li—”

“Two taels, one mace, and one candareen.”

“Fine! We’ll take the herb!”

With a forced smile masking his pain, the manager handed over a purse. Chen Yu weighed it, the coins jingling.

Altogether, two taels and four maces.

The long-eared white fungus fetched two taels; the dried orange-silver grass, four maces.

Currency in this world was mainly copper coins, though exchange rates and purchasing power varied.

One tael of silver exchanged for ten maces; one mace for ten candareens, which amounted to two hundred copper coins, each copper coin being one wen.

Thus, one tael of silver equaled two thousand wen.

Of course, this rate fluctuated; sometimes silver was hard to exchange and worth two hundred more wen, sometimes only seventeen or eighteen hundred.

No fixed number.

Purchasing power shifted with the year. In times of abundant harvest and no disaster, four wen bought a large meat bun, the pork ones costing just two wen each. In famine or turmoil, even rice could cost several hundred wen a pound.

A tael of silver would buy less than three to five pounds of millet.

But for now, it hadn’t reached that point—though he suspected it might not be long.

“Two taels of silver, plus what’s left from before, makes about thirteen or fourteen taels of small silver in total.”

Estimating his balance, Chen Yu thought for a moment. Leaving the room, he didn’t exit the pharmacy but summoned the attendant to inquire about the price of White Cloud Powder’s ingredients.

Most were reasonable, except for one problematic herb.

“Master Taoist, there’s not much willow pine root in stock. If you can wait, the price would drop.”

Unlike the penny-pinching manager, the attendant was diligent and didn’t exaggerate.

Chen Yu didn’t want to wait. He knew willow pine root grew in late summer, still months away. Pingjiu Apothecary and others would all be out of stock. Who knew how long until it was available?

“Just fetch two maces’ worth.”

“Very well, please wait a moment.”

A quarter of an hour later, he had gathered seven kinds of ingredients, all in the quantities he specified.

Chen Yu carried them out the door.

He didn’t take more—there were only four orange-silver fruits, enough for two doses, and these seven ingredients would still have surplus. Two doses of White Cloud Powder would last him a long time.

Silver was limited; he saved where he could.

That was why he hadn’t bought orange-silver fruit directly from the pharmacy.

Still, Chen Yu purchased something else.

It hung at his waist—a pouch full of medicinal seeds.

Seeds were cheap, especially common ones. He didn’t buy them for future planting, but to experiment with spiritual energy. If ordinary white roots could become strange under its influence, what about these herbs?

Curious, Chen Yu planned to try it as soon as he returned. After so many days, the spiritual energy in his sea of consciousness had accumulated several more grains—not yet scarce.

With the ingredients bought, it was time to buy clothes and some provisions.

Recalling the location of the grain shop, Chen Yu was walking when a sudden clamor erupted from the street.

“Congratulations on Old Mother He Wukong’s birthday! Welcome to the arrival of the Lotus Saint!”

He turned to look and saw a crowd of ragged poor people gathered, some kneeling, some prostrate, all facing a single figure.

That person wore a white veil and a moon-white robe, her posture graceful, her exposed neck slender and jade-like, her arms fine and pale as snow.

It was clear the woman ahead was the so-called Lotus Saint.

Chen Yu observed her at first with curiosity, but the longer he looked, the stranger his expression became.