Chapter Thirty-Two: Oh No, Brother Zhang Has Fallen Into the Pit of Greed

Chapter Thirty-Two: Disaster Strikes—Brother Zhang Has Fallen Into the Money Trap

There is an old saying, renowned across the ages: failure is the mother of success.

Even though Zhang Qian had already grasped the general direction for his research and mastered the basic formula, it still took him hundreds of close, intimate encounters with failure’s mother before he finally caught a glimpse of what success actually looked like.

Meanwhile, time slipped quietly from the Autumn Equinox to the Cold Dew.

During this period, tenant farmers came to pay their rents, and officials arrived to collect taxes. Everything was handled by Ren Cong, who managed these affairs for Zhang Qian. No matter how unreliable the little plump Ren Cong might be, he was well-versed in the ways of the world, and he had the moderate backing of the Marquis Bao’s household. Whether dealing with tenants or minor officials, he far outperformed Zhang Qian, the outsider.

Another reason Ren Cong was willing to step forward was that he simply couldn’t stand Zhang Qian’s madness during the “alchemy” process—a frenzy that recognized neither friend nor kin.

He commanded the clever assistants selected from the Ren and Guo families as if they were ants and would lash out at both him and Guo Nu, often with no real cause. Most of the time, their only offense was speaking a bit too loudly or standing too close to the half-finished medicine.

“It’s all Ren Quan’s fault!” Unable to comprehend Zhang Qian’s drastic change in character between his usual self and his alchemical mania, Ren Cong began frantically searching for the reason. Once he started, the answer became painfully clear.

Zhang Qian’s shift in temperament began on the fourth day after the Autumn Equinox. The day before, he had consulted Ren Quan about managing the estate. Ren Quan, always too quick with his tongue, actually advised him to buy an official post, claiming that the most profitable business belonged to the Empress’s family, and that even a nominal minister’s office could keep Guo Erlang’s entire enterprise busy for a whole year...

That Ren Quan—always too sharp-tongued! Why would he say such things to Master Zhang? Now, Zhang Qian had become obsessed, thanks to Ren Quan’s mouth!

In response, Ren Cong had secretly given Ren Quan several severe beatings over these past days. If it weren’t for their shared years of camaraderie, he would have sent Ren Quan off to Gold City to join Steward Ren Fu in developing new trade routes!

After Zhang Qian’s obsession took hold, he became impossible to serve. Ren Cong preferred to stay outside, managing the estate, rather than risk his ears by the alchemical cauldron. Guo Nu, the “stinky fellow,” showed a resilience out of keeping with his status and background, enduring Zhang Qian’s scolding and insults as if they were delicacies.

All endurance and effort were finally rewarded on the day of Cold Dew.

Three huge copper basins brimmed with finished medicine, each holding five dou. If the liquid or ointment inside were water, each basin would weigh sixty jin! (Note: In the Tang Dynasty, one da dou was 6000 ml; one dou was ten liters; one liter was ten ge; each ge held 60 ml.)

Three great basins of medicine, each differing in color, scent, and appearance, emitted enchanting fragrances and sat quietly before the gourd-shaped furnace, intoxicating all who beheld them.

“S—S—Sage! Sage Thirteen! Is—Is this—Is this the Wind Oil Essence you gave me last time?” After a long while, Guo Nu, disheveled and covered in oil, crouched before a basin of crystalline, jade-green liquid, asking cautiously, as if even a slight raise in his voice might prompt Zhang Qian to shake his head in disappointment, as he had hundreds of times before.

Fortunately, this time Zhang Qian did not declare failure. Instead, he stared with bloodshot eyes and nodded gently. “It’s not exactly the same, but the effects should be similar. From today onward, you don’t need to be frugal—after bathing, apply as much as you wish.”

“Awooo—” Before he could finish, a piercing wolf’s howl erupted beside the basin. Guo Nu, the “stinky fellow,” knelt with both hands clutching the rim, wailing like a wronged infant.

Ren Cong, who had finally remembered to come and help at the last moment, grabbed a measuring spoon, scooped a generous spoonful of Wind Oil Essence, and brought it to his own lips.

“There’s holly oil in there. If you swallow that spoonful, you’ll wish you were dead for the rest of your life!” Fortunately, Zhang Qian was quick, and slapped the spoon to the ground before Ren Cong could ingest it.

“I—I just wanted to taste it, not drink the whole spoon!” Ren Cong, face full of grievance, quickly explained. He picked up the spoon, rinsed it in cold water, and rushed to another basin filled with medicine.

This basin was even more tempting than the Wind Oil Essence. The Wind Oil Essence was green, carrying the cool scent of mint; this basin, named Six-God Floral Dew by Zhang Qian, was pink and exuded a rich peach blossom fragrance.

“One ge, one string of coins!” With just four words, Zhang Qian froze Ren Cong’s hands and feet at the rim of the Six-God Floral Dew basin.

“What?” Guo Nu, still sobbing on the ground, looked up in disbelief. “Thirteen, what did you just say? How much for one ge of Six-God Floral Dew?”

“This batch, I plan to sell at one string of coins per ge (60 ml),” Zhang Qian replied, walking towards the basin and smiling, his voice so calm it seemed unearthly. “In the future, I’ll extract different essential oils from different flower petals, create other scents and colors, package them in various bottles—and the price could go even higher!”

“How is that possible?” Not only Guo Nu and Ren Cong, but the four assistants who helped in the final stage stared hard at Zhang Qian, waiting for him to admit he was joking.

They had all watched the final preparation of Six-God Floral Dew. To be honest, it was much simpler than Wind Oil Essence, with less complex ingredients and lower costs. The entire basin, not counting earlier failed batches, cost less than a string of coins. But Zhang, the young alchemist, wanted to sell each ge for a string. The whole basin would fetch five hundred strings! This wasn’t business—it was daylight robbery!

“You must think like this!” Under their doubtful and astonished gazes, Zhang Qian slowly approached the basin, his youthful face wild with fervor. “A woman who can spend a string of coins for a bottle of Six-God Floral Dew doesn’t care about the price. She cares about the unique fragrance, about feeling elevated above others. So, a string is just the starting point. Next, we change the bottle, change the name—and the price can double, triple, quadruple. We can even manufacture scarcity, making it impossible to buy no matter how much money one has!”

“Oh no, Brother Zhang has truly gone mad!” Looking into Zhang Qian’s eyes, Ren Cong yelled, feeling as though Zhang’s pupils had transformed into perfect square holes, just like the coins of the Kaiyuan era. “Go! Someone grab Ren Quan and bring him here—I’m going to enforce family law on him!”