Registered Hand

A man wearing a dog-skin plaster told Zhang Laifu that he had eaten the wontons wrong, and Zhang Laifu still did not understand what he had done wrong.

This plaster-wearing man set his birdcage aside, also called out to the old man for a bowl of wontons, first added soy sauce, then added chili and minced garlic, tasted a sip of the broth, smacked his lips, and said, "This can still be considered to have a bit of flavor. Let me tell you, little brother, the wontons at this place are not bad either; where you went wrong is that you shouldn't have eaten at the place across the street first and then come to eat at his. If you aren't afraid of not knowing goods, you're afraid of comparing goods—with the two places compared like this, the wontons here can't be eaten anymore."

While speaking, this man also glanced at the stall owner: "Shopkeeper, I'm just speaking based on the facts, certainly not meddling with your business."

The stall owner smiled: "Guest, what you said is right. Comparing goods, I truly cannot compare to them; they are artisans."

Zhang Laifu looked at the stall owner. "You also know how to make wontons. Aren't you a Craftsman too?"

The stall owner waved his hands repeatedly: "Guest, words like that cannot be said."

Zhang Laifu didn't understand: "What is there that cannot be said? Aren't they all the craft of making wontons, merely that his craft is somewhat better than yours?"

The plaster-wearing man looked Zhang Laifu up and down. "You're from out of town, aren't you? How come you don't understand anything? You can't just call someone a Craftsman! Do you think a Bowl of wontons is a trivial matter? There's a lot to learn about it!"

Zhang Laifu shook his head: "Then tell me, what kind of learning is there?"

The plaster-wearing man snorted, shook his fan, and ate another wonton: "Why should I tell you? To learn skills and gain insight, you have to show some sincerity, right? Bow, pay your respects, and call me master—this bit of etiquette is only right and proper, isn't it?"

Zhang Laifu actually stood up, bowed and paid his respects to this plaster-wearing man, and called him master: "Master, I have a matter I wish to ask for your instruction on."

The plaster-wearing man put down his chopsticks and sat up straight: "Speak, what matter."

Zhang Laifu asked directly: "Is the skin thin, or is it thick?"

The plaster-wearing man replied: "No matter how thick the skin is, it still has to wrap the filling."

Zhang Laifu asked again: "Is it tumbling in the water, or sinking in the pot?"

The plaster-wearing man said: "They are all rolling in one's own broth."

Zhang Laifu said: "What on earth do these few phrases mean?"

The plaster-wearing man put down his fan, picked up his tobacco pipe, and took a puff. "This is the Spring Code of wonton sellers, what people in their Trade Circles use to test your intentions."

"Do you know what the Spring Code is? The Spring Code is cant, it's trade slang. To drop spring is to exchange cant."

"Whether the skin is thin or thick asks what your craft is like; whether it turns over in the water or sinks in the pot asks whether you've joined the local Trade Guild."

Zhang Laifu pinched his chin and thought for quite a while. "I just wanted to buy a Bowl of wontons. Why did he speak the Spring Code to me?"

The plaster-wearing man looked at the wonton cart across the street. "He's kind-hearted and looks after people in the trade. If you can match the Spring Code, it proves you're a fellow in the trade, and perhaps he'll even treat you to a Bowl of wontons."

"So that's how it is!" Zhang Laifu got up, preparing to go across the street and speak the Spring Code.

The plaster-wearing man stopped Zhang Laifu. "Do you think you can just learn a couple of phrases of Spring Code and go around pretending to be an insider? Do you really think that'll work?"

Upon second thought, Zhang Laifu realized this was indeed the truth: "Or perhaps you could teach me a few more phrases?"

The plaster-wearing man shook his head. "I don't know many phrases myself, and besides, I shouldn't be the one teaching you. Wontons are an industry, and people in this trade have master-apprentice lineages. If you truly want to enter the trade, you must first find a master to learn the craft and have him teach you the Spring Code."

Apprenticing.

This was also an option.

Zhang Laifu didn't know where he was, nor did he know where he should go; he had only a single large copper coin left plus twenty-odd small copper coins, and he didn't even know whether he would have his next meal.

If he could apprentice and learn a craft, he would at least be able to find a means of making a living in this place.

Yet the problem was: could someone stay long in a place like Heishakou? If he didn't want to stay in Heishakou, where could he go? With so little money left, even buying another Bowl of wontons would be a struggle.

While Zhang Laifu ate wontons and racked his brains for a solution, the plaster-wearing man spoke from the side: "If you want to take a master, you'd better do it early; in a little while he'll be packing up his stall."

"Packing up his stall?" Zhang Laifu looked at the sky. "He just brought his stall out, and he's already packing up?"

The plaster-wearing man let out a laugh: "Don't refuse to be convinced—that's how artisans do business."

The stall owner sighed. "Craftsmen have real skill. I sell wontons too, and I know how to make them, but I'm no Craftsman. I've been in business for decades, yet I'm still just a bottom-rung errand boy."

Zhang Laifu looked at the stall owner's age—a man over sixty years old, yet he actually called himself an errand boy?

The plaster-wearing man said, "If you're not a Craftsman, you'll be a bottom-rung errand boy your whole life. Shopkeeper, save up a few more coins and enter the trade to learn a craft."

The stall owner shook his head: "Money is not so easy to save. I wake up every day at two in the morning, knead the dough and roll out the wrappers, chop the filling and simmer the broth, and set out the stall at five o'clock.

A Bowl of wontons sells for two large coppers. Selling until half past eight in the evening, I can manage to sell seventy or eighty bowls. After deducting the cost and the Trade Guild's dues, I can earn fifty or sixty large coppers a day, and in a month I only make about twelve or thirteen Silver Dollars. My whole family relies on this little bit of money to eat.

Look at the fellow across the way—he also sells wontons, but he's a Registered Hand.

He sleeps until twelve every day, and after finishing lunch he still has to take a nap; at three o'clock he prepares the ingredients, at four o'clock he sets out his stall, and a bowl of wontons sells for five large coppers. Selling until past six o'clock, two hundred bowls of wontons are sold out.

Deducting the cost and the merit money for the trade guild, he can earn three silver dollars a day, and by the end of a month, he can earn nearly one hundred.

He only sets out his stall for two hours a day, and after packing up his stall, he strolls through the markets, strolls through the theaters, and even strolls through the foreigners' grand theater, eating, drinking, and making merry every day. His whole family not only has no worries about food and clothing, but can also have a considerable amount of savings.

He has this ability and can earn this share of money, so he doesn't need to suffer fatigue, and thus enjoys blessings with complete peace of mind!"

The plaster-wearing man looked at Zhang Laifu and smiled: "Two hours a day, and you can still earn one hundred Silver Dollars a month—do your eyes water with envy?"

Zhang Laifu's eyes didn't water with envy at all; he first wanted to figure out a concept: "What is a Silver Dollar?"

The plaster-wearing man frowned: "Silver Dollar coins, Silver Dollars! You've never seen them?"

"Never seen them." Zhang Laifu had never laid eyes on a Silver Dollar. "How many Copper Dollars can one Silver Dollar exchange for?"

"One hundred and thirty! You don't even know this?"

One hundred and thirty Copper Dollars?

You could earn one hundred Silver Dollars a month?

A Bowl of wontons for five large coppers—how many wontons could that buy?

Zhang Laifu's eyes were watering with envy now: "I'm going to go work as an apprentice for him!"

A wonton carrying-pole, a small peddler making wontons—one of the three hundred and sixty trades.

Zhang Laifu was not unfamiliar with wontons, but he had never expected that there could be such a huge gap between a Craftsman and ordinary people, with a difference as vast as heaven and earth in their quality of life.

He decided to go find the wonton seller to learn the craft, but was stopped once more by the plaster-wearing man: "He is a Registered Hand, a first-tier Craftsman, and generally doesn't take on apprentices.

Besides, take a look at his wonton carrying-pole: pots, Bowls, ladles, basins, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, stove, firewood, flour, meat filling, along with several large buckets for adding soup—all of it is carried on that pole.

He carries it himself, sells it himself, earns the money himself, and spends it himself. Does a livelihood like this need an apprentice to help out?"

Then what else could be done?

Zhang Laifu racked his brains with no solution. The plaster-wearing man put down his chopsticks, bit down on the stem of his pipe, and said, "I see you're short of money to spend. Let me find you a job to do: go help me buy back two steamed stuffed buns, and I'll give you five large coppers as errand money. Will you do it?"

"Five large coppers..." Zhang Laifu calculated. "How much is a stuffed bun?"

"You don't need to worry about the money for the buns; I'll figure it out separately." The plaster-wearing man fished out five Copper Dollars and set them on the table. "As long as you buy the buns back, this money is yours."

Zhang Laifu finished his wontons in two or three bites and got up to buy the buns.

Five Copper Dollars were very important to him; at least his next meal would be settled.

Seeing a cart displaying a stack of steamer baskets, he stepped forward to ask: "Do you have stuffed buns?"

The stall owner waved his hand: "We sell sticky rice cake here."

"Which place sells stuffed buns?"

The sticky rice cake seller looked all around: "He hasn't set out his stall today. Come have a Bowl of rice cake—it's delicious!"

Zhang Laifu walked straight on to the next stall. This place also had steamer baskets, and the stall owner opened the lid of the steamer basket. After taking a look, Zhang Laifu felt somewhat disappointed.

"Is this... steamed bread?"

The stall owner waved his hand and said: "This is steamed bread-head, not mantou; we are two completely different things from mantou! Would you like to try a bread-head?"

"I want to eat stuffed buns. Which place sells stuffed buns?"

"Didn't the sticky rice cake seller tell you? The one who sells stuffed buns hasn't set out his stall."

Zhang Laifu continued walking down the line, passing a dozen or more stalls in succession. There were those selling corn, those selling hawthorn jelly, those selling rice dumplings, and those selling rolling donkey pastries...

Every single stall's business was unique, and the crucial point was that they didn't even moonlight: the one who sold fried dough cakes didn't sell sugar cakes, and the one who boiled corn didn't sell tea eggs. A single stall did only a single trade.

Zhang Laifu asked several times who on earth sold stuffed buns, and they all said the stall wasn't out.

Just as Zhang Laifu was searching all around for stuffed buns, the faint sound of a pipa drifted to his ears.

"This slave only thought the split cassia mirror was hard to reunite; who could have known that today we could still reflect our rosy faces. The Golden Phoenix is drawn anew, returning once more to the slave's hands, just like that kite with a broken string joined together once again."

Someone was singing Pingtan!

Zheng the Pipa!

He had come?

To think he had arrived this fast?

PS: A Pingtan artist, one of the three hundred and sixty trades.

What Old Zheng sang was the classic Pingtan repertoire "Drawing the Golden Phoenix". This lyric fit the mood of this chapter very well—the kite with the broken string had been found by him, and whether he could escape or not remained to be seen. I had to listen to no small amount of Pingtan before I finally selected this passage.