On the way back from Tianjin's inner city, even the wind seemed to carry the warmth of something fresh from the oven.
The heads rolling across the execution ground and the blood spraying through the air had stirred little in Qin Geng's heart. Instead, they had helped him see the world a little more clearly.
More than anything, he felt fortunate.
Qin Geng was fortunate that his father had been well-off when he was young and had paid for him to learn to read. Though his father had later become a gambling addict, the family had fallen into ruin, and Qin Geng had ended up a beggar, he had not starved to death.
He was also fortunate to have the Book of a Hundred Trades and to have met a group of people who had helped him.
By the time he returned to Ping'an County Town, he could hear firecrackers crackling in the distance, even before he reached the district.
The sound came from the direction of Hongsheng Cart Company.
No, it should be called Ping'an Cart Company now.
The old gold-lacquered signboard had been taken down and replaced with a brand-new plaque, its black face bearing gold characters: "Ping'an Cart Company."
The four characters were square and firm, without any showy flourishes. They conveyed the confidence of Mount Tai standing immovable.
Lanterns and decorations festooned the entrance. Red silk covered the doorway, and a thick layer of red paper scraps lay on the ground like fallen red snow.
The air was thick with the sharp smell of sulfur, mingled with the sour sweat of the onlookers gathered nearby.
Abacus Song was directing several workers as they tidied things outside the entrance. Sweat covered his forehead, but his face glowed.
He was still the bookkeeper, but everyone knew he was