novelSusiti Chapter 10 Jubaozhai
Chapter 10 Jubaozhai
Their eyes met briefly in mid-air before quickly looking away. Neither of them could have imagined the ripples this chance encounter would create in their lives.
Fang Yingyu stood by the deep pool, watching the departing figures of the Ruan family until they disappeared around the bend in the mountain road, before she looked down at the jade pendant in her hand.
The jade pendant was smooth and lustrous, gleaming softly in the setting sun. Its front was carved with exquisite cloud patterns, clearly indicating its considerable value. He carefully wrapped it in coarse cloth, tucked it into his robes, and turned to head home.
"Yingyu, you're finally back!" As soon as she entered the courtyard, her brother Fang Xiaohe and niece Fang Ke came to greet her. Fang Ke teased her uncle with a smile, "Grandma asked several times, saying that if you didn't come back, there wouldn't be any dinner for you."
Fang Yingyu smiled wryly, "I'm not lucky today, I only caught two small fish." As he spoke, he took out two palm-sized fish strung on a straw rope.
My little niece's eyes lit up: "Great! Great! We'll have fish soup tonight!"
Fang Yingyu looked at the dilapidated thatched roof and felt a pang of sorrow. At dinner, the family of six sat around a rickety wooden table, sharing a pot of thin fish soup. Fang's mother put most of the fish into the bowls of her granddaughters Fang Ke and Fang Yingyu, while the others only drank a few sips of soup.
"Mother, please eat more." Fang Yingyu tried to put the fish back, but her mother stopped her.
"Mother isn't hungry. You and Ake are still growing." Mother Fang coughed twice, forcing a smile on her sallow face. "Why are you back so late today?"
Fang Yingyu briefly recounted how she had saved the person, then took out the jade pendant and showed it to her father. Old Man Fang took the pendant and examined it carefully under the oil lamp, his expression suddenly changing: "This...this is top-quality Hetian jade, worth at least twenty taels of silver!"
"So much?" Fang Yingyu exclaimed in surprise. He had thought it was worth at most a few taels of silver, but enough to buy some rice and flour to get through the spring famine.
Old Man Fang looked at his son seriously: "Yingyu, this jade pendant is too valuable, we can't accept it. We'll return it first thing tomorrow morning."
"But..." Fang Yingyu hesitated, "I don't know where the Ruan family lives. I only heard that Young Master Ruan said they are merchants in the city."
Old Fang sighed, "We can't accept such valuable things from them. Here's what we'll do: in a few days, go to the pawnshop in town and see if you can pawn some money for emergencies. Once you find out where the Ruan family lives, redeem it and return it to them."
Fang Yingyu nodded, but she had other plans in mind. The Ruan family were wealthy merchants, while she was just a poor hunter. The difference between them was like heaven and earth. Why bother them? She might as well pawn the jade pendant and exchange it for some money so that her family could have a few good days.
That morning, Fang Yingyu got up early, changed into the only piece of coarse cloth clothing without patches, and walked into the city with the jade pendant in her tucked pocket.
Yuanzhou City was more bustling than usual, with all sorts of vendors lining both sides of the street, their calls echoing throughout. Fang Yingyu walked through the throng and arrived at the most prosperous market street in the west of the city. Shops lined the street, among which a two-story building with a plaque that read "Jubaozhai" was the largest pawnshop in the county.
Fang Yingyu stood in front of the Jubaozhai pawnshop, his fingers unconsciously stroking the jade pendant wrapped in coarse cloth in his bosom. The morning sunlight slanted onto the pawnshop's mottled wooden door; the plaque bearing the name "Jubaozhai" had faded, and cobwebs clung to its edges. He took a deep breath and pushed open the creaking wooden door.
The dim light, carrying with it a complex array of smells, assaulted the senses—the musty odor of aged wood, the smoky scent of burning incense and candles, and the unfamiliar aura of countless old objects that had passed through the hands of different people. The shop was even darker inside than outside, with only a sliver of daylight filtering through a narrow window behind the counter, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air.
The most eye-catching feature was the unusually tall counter. The glossy black hardwood surface reached up to an average person's chest, like a silent and arrogant barrier. At this moment, behind the counter, the shopkeeper, Li San, was standing on a low stool, bending over to examine an item.
Li San was thin, with neatly trimmed mustaches, and his triangular eyes darted about in the dim light. Before him stood a man dressed in coarse cloth, his face sallow, with grime between his fingers—presumably a tenant farmer or peddler from the outskirts of town. On the counter was a small red clay teapot, its rounded body and warm patina revealing, in the dim light of the window, the fine texture and flowing lines of its surface—clearly a carefully maintained and elegant piece.
"Shopkeeper..." the man said in a hoarse voice, fidgeting nervously with his hands on his clothes, "Please take a look."
Li San didn't answer, but gently lifted the teapot and slowly rotated it in the light. His fingertips caressed the body of the pot, then carefully examined the spout, lid, and bottom, his movements slow and deliberate as if he were handling some rare treasure. After a while, he gently placed the pot back on the velvet cloth on the counter, pulled a plain white handkerchief from his sleeve, and slowly wiped his fingertips.
"How much are you planning to pay?" he asked, drawing out the question, his eyelids drooping, but his gaze fixed on the pot.
The man swallowed hard, held up three rough fingers, and said in a weak voice, "Three...three taels of silver. This is genuine Yixing red clay. Years ago, when my family was doing well, we had someone bring it back specially. It's worth at least..."
"Three taels?" Li San snorted briefly through his nose, tapping the counter with his thin fingers. "Look at this spout—there's a hidden crack; tea will leak eventually. And look at this lid; it's been knocked, and it doesn't fit tightly anymore." He shook his head, held up five fingers, and waved them in the dim light. "It's only worth five coins."
"Five coins?!" The man trembled and leaned forward hastily. "This...this isn't even enough to pay for the labor of shaping and firing the clay! Shopkeeper, please take a closer look at the clay and the shape..."
"Pawnbroking has its rules." Li San remained unmoved, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his triangular eyes. "Pawnshops only accept fixed pawn prices. Your pot would take up space here, and I'm afraid of it getting bumped or knocked over. Five coins is already a huge favor."
The man's lips trembled, his hardworking hands clenching and unclenching. He glanced back at the door—there were voices outside the market, but no one looked into the dimly lit pawnshop. Silence settled in the musty smell, broken only by the tapping of Li San's fingertips on the counter, unhurried, as if he were counting something.
"Then...that one or two taels?" The man's voice seemed to be squeezed out from between the millstones, carrying the last shred of humble hope, "Shopkeeper, please have mercy and give me one or two taels, okay? My old mother is sick and needs the money for medicine..."
Li San lifted his eyelids, his gaze sweeping coolly over the man's faded collar and worn-out cuffs, as if assessing a pile of junk for sale. Then he slowly shook his head and uttered four words: "One tael? No way!"
He turned and took out paper and pen from under the counter. The ink in the inkstone had been ground long ago, as black as night. "I'll give it to you for five coins. Take it as a lunchbox, or leave it as is." His tone was as calm as if he were talking about the weather, yet as hard as iron.
The man's shoulders slumped abruptly. He stared at the teapot that had once offered him and his elderly mother some solace during countless impoverished days, something in his eyes gradually dimming and finally going out. After a long silence, he finally managed to squeeze out a single word from deep within his throat: "...Clang."