Beagle Fine and Salt at 1,500
“Your Highness plans to open… a Women’s Academy? Am I right?”
She hid a smirk as she glanced at him mid-move, then set down a stone. “You’ve lost.”
— — — — —
Once the kiln permit was approved, Zhou Yao hired workers to clear the open ground near the Jiuyao Kilns. It took a while, but the new kiln was finally completed. With the daily workload at the kilns growing ever heavier, she knew the current arrangement wasn’t sustainable. She’d wanted to hire more workers, but given the situation, she had to shelve that plan for now.
Bige, now fully trained, was officially put to work delivering liuli from Golden Curtain Pavilion. The clever little dog, with its goofy charm, quickly won everyone over. People would even wait by their gates for the delivery, just to pet its fluffy head.
Bige pulling its cart soon became a common sight on Chang’an’s streets, drawing in people who had never heard of the Golden Curtain Pavilion or Fragrant Orchid Pavilion, and expanding their business reach.
“Look, that dog is so cute! It’s so well-behaved—here, here, here.”
“Hey, what’s that behind it? It’s like a little carriage. Is it… delivering something?” She nodded toward the cart.
“Seems like it.” As they chatted, one spotted the carved pattern on the wooden box. She tapped her friend’s arm excitedly. “Look! That box has the Fragrant Orchid Pavilion mark—the one that’s all the rage in Chang’an right now!”
“With that setup, it’s probably perfume.”
“Perfume? Oh, I know about that! At the family gathering the other day, my oldest uncle’s daughter used it. A tiny bottle cost a fortune! I envy anyone who can afford it.”
“Delivering perfume like that—no wonder they charge so much.” With that, they walked off.
Meanwhile, thanks to Bige’s popularity, Zhou Yao’s businesses—both Fragrant Orchid Pavilion and Golden Curtain Pavilion—boomed. Before long, she opened branch shops elsewhere in Chang’an.
Unlike the previous ventures in liuli and perfume, these two new shops targeted different clientele. The street-front tea house catered mainly to Chang’an’s common citizens, selling inexpensive loose-leaf tea and coarse salt to cover costs. To let ordinary folk enjoy decent tea without undercutting the small vendors who depended on such trade, she set a rule: during the hottest hour of noon each day, premium tea was offered at a thirty percent discount, and anyone bringing their own container could have plain loose tea for free.
At the same time, Zhou Yao leveraged Bige’s constant street presence to open a Dog Teahouse near Fragrant Orchid Pavilion.
Near the city gates, vagrants always begged along the streets—men, women, and children, many barely clothed. With the imperial treasury long depleted and frequent disasters in the surrounding regions, no one had bothered to care for them.
En route to her new shop, Zhou Yao occasionally witnessed their plight. She sent people to register their numbers and promised them work to earn a living. She assigned able-bodied young men to the new kiln, the dexterous to powder-making at Fragrant Orchid Pavilion, and settled the elderly and very young children in the street-side tea house.
Some literate elders volunteered to help Zhou Yao keep accounts, while the illiterate offered to assist with odd tasks.
In an unnoticed corner, a few old men—both lame and illiterate—sat in silence, heads hanging in despair. They had worked the fields in their youth, only to be cast out by their families in old age, left to drift.
As if struck by a thought, Zhou Yao glanced toward them. The vows she had made to her father the King in the palace still echoed in her mind: that the elderly should be cared for, and the young nurtured.
She arranged for the young children to be placed in the not-yet-opened academy, and using the money she had earned, she established a home for the elderly just outside the city walls. The elders who couldn’t move well were settled there, and she assigned a crew to tend them.
All expenses for the home for the elderly were directly funded by Golden Curtain Pavilion. Any displaced commoner without shelter could apply for lodging there at any time.
She continued this work day after day, and her every move was watched. At court the next morning, someone reported it to the King.
But just as Zhou Yao had said, everything she did had value. The number of vagrants in Chang’an plummeted—after she settled them, the city was free of beggars entirely. The shortage of hands in the new kiln and the teahouse was also resolved.
Zhou Yao thought she could rest a few days at the Princess Mansion. Unfortunately…
She had just woken from sleep, still dazed, when she noticed Ling’er waiting outside the door.
“Why are you here so early today?” Zhou Yao yawned, still groggy.
“Well…” Ling’er hesitated, glancing from Zhou Yao to the door. “This morning, some officials from the yamen went to the Dog Teahouse. They said Bige is too noisy and disturbs the neighbors… so it was reported.”
“People there said our delivery dog is cute enough, but the moment it starts pulling the cart, it goes ‘werwerwer~’ nonstop, sometimes even running while…”
Uh…
Embarrassed, Zhou Yao looked away. She could guess Bige’s behavior without hearing more. That naughty little dog couldn’t stop causing trouble even on duty.
“So the Dog Teahouse was fined half a month’s revenue…”
“Half a month’s revenue?!” Zhou Yao repeated in shock, muttering, “That’s a heavy fine…”
Argh! She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.
Ling’er added, “Beyond the fine, they also ordered the Dog Teahouse to suspend business for rectification, and to post public notices throughout the city for the rest of the year, condemning the incident…”
“What did you say?!” Zhou Yao’s jaw clenched involuntarily. This came out of nowhere, and her otherwise peaceful days had taken a sudden turn for the worse.
Citywide public criticism… She’d lose all face.
But more importantly, if they could get Bige reported for noise once, they could do it again.
“As for the Dog Teahouse,” she thought for a moment, “pay the fine and keep it running. Talk to the neighbors—buy out those willing to move, and pay off those who won’t to keep quiet.”
This all happened so suddenly, it was hard for Zhou Yao to believe no one was pulling strings behind the scenes.
“Fine, if you strike first, don’t blame me for striking back. This royal brother of mine has been idle too long; the lesson I gave him recently wasn’t enough.” Her eyes darkened, and she sneered coldly.
“Ling’er, send word to the salt mine in the west—they can release the stock they’ve been holding onto.” She rose from the bed and walked to the desk before the screen. “What’s the market price of salt outside now?”
“Your Highness, with the famine outside, salt costs several times more than grain. A dou of salt was only 700 coins before the new year, but now it’s risen to 1,500.”
“1,500 coins? The poor commoners can hardly afford salt at that price.”
The room fell silent for a moment, then Zhou Yao curled her lips into a cold smile.
“All their hard-earned money going into his pockets… that’s hardly fair. Today, this princess will release all that salt at fifteen coins per dou.”
As if still unsatisfied, Zhou Yao lifted her gaze to Ling’er and smiled softly. “Ling’er, you may have the day off tomorrow. I’ll give you some spending money to buy grain—as much as you can.”
“Yes.”
Word spread by noon, and the western salt mines released high-quality refined salt at rock-bottom prices. This sudden cheap salt caught the Crown Prince off guard, sending the several granaries of refined salt he had bought at high prices straight into ruin.
By the time Zhou Yao heard about it, the streets were already crowded with common folk queuing before her salt shop, eager to snap up the low-priced salt.
Her shop bustled with customers, while every other salt shop was left deserted.
She had dared to undercut the Crown Prince this way because she knew that official salt had always been under Zhou Yu’s management. Calculating current prices, even with the officials’ corruption and the frequent disasters, the treasury should never have been so depleted…
Unless those in power were embezzling state funds and setting a bad example.
In the following days, anyone who came to her shop—starving or half-dressed—was offered work at the salt shop in exchange for food and clothing.
Perhaps out of compassion, or because there were still too many needy commoners, Zhou Yao used the attention from the Dog Teahouse fine. Next to the public criticism notice, she posted another: “All properties under the Ninth Princess are hiring long-term. Any poor commoner may come and work, paid 300 coins daily.”
The notice drew an overwhelming response. It solved the staffing shortages at the new kiln, the salt shop, the salt factory, and the various teahouses, while giving the people more ways to survive.
Wasn’t hiring better than buying slaves? The slaves held by traffickers had been taken from who knows where, mostly women. If she were to fight for women’s rights, she had to start with their basic human rights.
The Women’s Academy was completed under Zhou Yao’s supervision. From a mere handful of students at the start to over thirty now, she knew the difficulty behind that growth.
The first hurdle was finding teachers. Only aristocratic children—both boys and girls—received an education; in common families, only boys were taught, as they were expected to pursue official careers. When scholars heard they’d be teaching only girls, they refused, using propriety as an excuse to hide their contempt.
Even the would-be teachers despised it. Left with no choice, Zhou Yao had to teach the classes herself.
Recruiting female students was even harder. The older generation clung to stale ideas, telling girls “a woman’s virtue lies in her lack of learning,” so that even at marriageable age, they couldn’t even read a notice posted at the city gate.
At first, Zhou Yao set up a stall in front of the academy, calling over any passing girl to teach them simple characters. For every character they learned, she rewarded them with a slab of preserved tangerine candy. Over time, she gathered a small crowd of children learning to read around the stall.
Everything had been going according to plan—until that morning, when the early market had just opened and the steamed bun vendors were starting to call out their wares. As usual, she had set up her stall, laying out silk, brushes, ink, inkstone, and other supplies neatly on the table.
A man in rough cloth suddenly upended her neatly arranged stall. With dirt under his fingernails, he jabbed a finger at Zhou Yao’s nose and cursed aloud.
“You witch! Stay away from my daughter! Who told you to teach her?”
He was fuming, dragging his struggling daughter by the hand. “If a girl learns to read, no one will marry her. Who’s going to be responsible when people laugh at her? I don’t hit women, but you’d better leave while I’m still in a good mood!”
Zhou Yao’s guards, sensing danger, immediately drew their swords and blocked the man. “How dare you! Show respect to Her Highness, the Ninth Princess!”
Author’s note: None.