Chapter 20

The hour was still early, and though the sky had not yet darkened, there was no pressing need to rush home. Yang Manniang picked up a second mutton and scallion pancake. Nibbling on it in a leisurely fashion, she exited Ox Row Street and headed south along Panlou South Street.

Before long, she arrived at the renowned Jieshen Lane. As the largest hub for gold, silver, and silk trading in the capital of Bianjing, with transactions frequently reaching tens of millions, it functioned much like a modern banking district—wealthy and imposing. Consequently, the buildings here were grand and magnificent, with expansive storefronts.

To the east of Jieshen Lane lay the famous Panlou. Panlou was not merely a single building, but a massive, open-air free trade market. Stepping into it, one was immediately met with a cacophony of noise and vendors hawking their wares. Everything imaginable was for sale; if you could think of it, you could find it here. There were vendors of second-hand clothing, calligraphy and painting supplies, jade and curios, deer antlers, rhinoceros horns, gold ornaments, and women’s hair accessories, combs, collars, and daily necessities. Others sold vegetables, sheep heads, lungs and tripe, red and white kidneys, honeycomb tripe, and milk, alongside live chickens, ducks, geese, quail, rabbits, turtledoves, and pigeons. There were also those selling aquatic products like crabs, fish, shrimp, razor clams, and mussels. Various artisans crafted clay figurines and sugar sculptures, while others sold kites, lanterns, and pottery figures of oxen and horses. Still more stalls offered freshly made sweet pastries—honey crisps, osmanthus cakes, jujube cakes, rice cakes, red bean glutinous rice balls, sugar-coated fruits, and honeyed preserves. Each vendor vied for attention, calling out loudly to entice passersby.

Yang Manniang was not idle. At a stall selling second-hand clothes, she haggled with the old proprietor and spent eighty wen on a second-hand sheepskin coat for her younger sister, Yang Panniang. It wasn't that she didn't want to buy new, but eight hundred wen, while sounding like a lot, was merely eight hundred copper coins. She had to set aside funds for rent, boots, improving their diet, charcoal, grain, and the pen, ink, paper, and stone she would need for writing future stories. Until her next royalty payment arrived, she had to be frugal and prioritize necessities.

However, no matter how much she scrimped elsewhere, their standard of living had to improve. The three of them at home were gaunt to the point of being unrecognizable. Yang Manniang and the second child, Yang Shilin, were faring slightly better, but the youngest, Yang Panniang, was in a dire state. Unlike Yang Manniang, who could occasionally afford a decent lunch at a tavern, the youngest had not eaten meat in a year. She was so thin that her clothes hung loosely on her frame, leaving her little better than a refugee. Her hair, dry and yellow like withered straw, was a clear sign of long-term malnutrition. Therefore, she could not cut corners on food.

After some mental arithmetic, Yang Manniang spent one hundred wen on a pound of pork, seventy-five wen on five dou of rice, and thirty-five wen on a pound of brown sugar. With that, her shopping trip at Panlou concluded.

By now, night had fallen. The public ox-carts at Panlou were still plentiful, and Yang Manniang signaled one to stop. Because she was carrying goods—the five dou of rice alone took up nearly an entire seat—the elderly driver charged her six wen. Since the cart was not yet full, it continued to pick up passengers heading east along Panlou.

They passed the famous Xu Family Gourd Soup Shop. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze. A half-grown boy in a rabbit-fur jacket sat in front of the shop, calling out to passersby, "Free bones! Free bones!" This meant that anyone who came in for a bowl of gourd soup would be given a serving of bones, boiled until the meat fell off. Gourd soup—a thick broth made from gourds and mutton—was incredibly popular in the Great Song, especially in winter. It was warming to the stomach, and almost every street in Bianjing had two or three such shops, their rich aroma wafting far and wide. A large bowl of soup paired with a meaty bone cost ten wen, a price not unreasonably high.

Inhaling the rich fragrance of the soup, Yang Manniang squeezed the four hundred-plus wen remaining in her pocket. She secretly resolved that the next time she submitted a manuscript and received her payment, she would bring the second and third children here to taste it.

The ox-cart moved slowly. Before long, it reached the south side of Panlou Street, home to the Sang Family Wazi, the largest entertainment center in Bianjing. Yang Manniang had visited once before while running errands for a client. The Wazi was a hub of activity: storytelling, opera, farces, puppetry, acrobatics, cuju matches, pitch-pot games, and polo. There were also medicine sellers, fortune tellers, wrestlers, food stalls, barbers, paper-cut artists, and singers. It was a melting pot of all walks of life, from merchants to commoners. Those with spare time could spend an entire day inside, eating, drinking, and playing until nightfall. Much like a modern shopping center, it was never boring.

"Whoa!" With the driver’s shout and the crack of his whip, the cart came to a stop. The curtain was lifted, and two girls of about fifteen or sixteen—one plump, one thin, both wearing plain silver hairpins and matching grey rabbit-fur jackets—climbed in, laughing and chatting. Seeing Yang Manniang sitting in the cart surrounded by her goods and dressed in humble attire, they exchanged surprised glances, pursed their lips, and sat as far away as possible, continuing their conversation.

Since they ignored her, Yang Manniang naturally had no intention of striking up a conversation. She leaned against the side of the cart, pondering her work for the next day while admiring the bustling street scene around the Wazi.

However, the cart was small, and before long, the girls' voices drifted into her ears.

"Oh, if we had known, we shouldn't have come out today. I heard that Master Wang Tuanzi and Master Zhang Qisheng are performing at the Yezha shed tomorrow. And Li Jieyuan is going to tell the story of *The Plum Blossom Pledge* at the Elephant shed. Now that we're out today, my mother surely won't let me out again tomorrow."

The thinner girl, named Su Yueliang, lived near Qu Yuan Street. Her father owned a silk shop, and as the youngest child, she was quite pampered, often receiving coins from her grandmother—which was how she could afford to sneak out to the Wazi with her childhood friend, Wang Cai'er.

"I don't really like Wang Tuanzi. Even though he's good at farces, he’s as round as a dumpling and too clumsy. I like Li Jieyuan; he looks so refined and outstanding, and so dashing. I really want to hear him tell his stories!" At the mention of him, the plump girl, Wang Cai'er, couldn't hide the look of infatuation on her face. She was clearly a devoted fan.

"It’s impossible. My mother won't let me out, and your mother certainly wouldn't let you come alone either. Still, even if we can't hear Li Jieyuan, my third sister bought the manuscript of *The Plum Blossom Pledge*. Come to my house tomorrow, and we can read it together."

"Mm, alright. I'll bring some of the dried sweet apricots my mother sun-dried over the summer."

Though unintentional, the small space of the cart meant Yang Manniang could not help but overhear their gossip. She found herself curious about this storyteller, Li Jieyuan. The second child, Yang Shilin, had mentioned that whenever Li Jieyuan told a story, many noble ladies and wives from Bianjing’s high-ranking families would flock to support him. It seemed these two girls from well-to-do families were among his fans as well. In modern terms, this Li Jieyuan was clearly a trending star in the Wazi.

The ox-cart moved slowly, stopping along the way to pick up two elderly women and a middle-aged man who had been out buying birdseed. Winter days were short, and by the time Yang Manniang reached Nanxun Gate, it was pitch black. Guided by the bright moonlight and the sporadic glow of lanterns in front of the houses, the cart meandered into Little Fish Lane.

As soon as it came to a halt, the sound of a door bolt being pulled back echoed from a nearby house.

"Big sister, is that you?"